The barn waited where it always did, old and wary, as I pulled into the gravel driveway.
I cut the engine and just sat there with my hands on the steering wheel, letting the minutes pass me by.
The windows of the house glowed warmly against the darkening sky. Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of Hailey's pigtail bobbing up and down.
With a sigh, I got out of the car and shut the door with more force than I meant to.
The door opened, and Jack walked out to meet me, posture straight and watchful.
"School still holds?" he asked.
I almost laughed in his face.
"If by holds you mean there's been no riot… yet," I said with a shrug. "Then yeah, it holds."
His mouth twitched, and he let out a grunt that might have been a stifled laugh.
Elise appeared in the doorway next, wiping her hands on her apron. There was a softness to her shoulders I hadn't seen in days.
"How's Dad been through the day?" I asked. The barn pulled at my peripheral vision. I kept my eyes on their faces. "Is he still, you know, human?"
Jack nodded. "Yes. He's holding."
"He is getting better," Elise added. "We've been in and out. He's himself. Mostly."
The way she said the last word settled heavily at the bottom of my chest.
"We brought him…" Elise hesitated. "Some of yours and Hailey's clothes to keep close." She blinked, almost apologetically. "It helps him focus, it seems."
I paused as the thought lit up something in the back of my mind.
Christ, why hadn't I thought of this before?
"I just thought of something. But I'll need to see him again," I said. "Please."
Jack's gaze sharpened. "Kelsey—"
"I know the rules," I cut in. "I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to do anything stupid. But I need you to trust me on this. Please."
Jack let out a slow breath through his nose. His eyes narrowed. "What do you have in mind?"
"You'll see. Just give me a minute."
Elise closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Jack grunted.
I didn't give them time to say no .
I rushed inside, up the stairs two at a time, into the bedroom.
My attention skimmed through the mess of the room to one thing alone: my bag and its most precious possession, Mom's pale yellow scarf. I drew it out and pressed it to my nose. The faint floral scent of her perfume was still there, or perhaps I imagined it, but it didn't matter. It was hers, and if it still carried any trace of her, Dad would know. That was all that mattered.
I grabbed it before I could second-guess myself and went back down.
Jack and Elise were already walking toward the barn, their bodies tight as spring coils.
The chains on the barn doors rattled when Jack unclipped the padlock and loosened them just enough to widen the crack.
"Two minutes," he repeated.
I just gave him a nod and slid inside.
I stopped a step away from the door and waited a few seconds, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light and my nose to the stuffy, foul-smelling air.
When I could finally see, I noticed that Dad was in the same corner as before. He still sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly.
At his side, I saw a small pile of familiar clothes. My old hoodie. Hailey's pajama top.
The moment I stepped in, he moved.
It wasn't a human reaction. One second he was sitting. The next he was in a crouch, balanced on the balls of his feet, hands splayed against the floor, every line of him ready to spring.
His eyes caught the meager light and threw it back, twin animal reflections in the dark.
My throat closed for a second. I forced myself to breathe.
Like this morning had never happened. It hurt, somewhere beneath the fear.
That's Dad. That's Dad. That's still Dad.
I repeated it in my head like a prayer.
"Dad," I said, as if the word could call him back from whatever abyss he'd lost himself in. It sounded frail, dissolving into the space like a soap bubble.
He stared. A muscle jumped in his cheek. His nostrils flared.
My chest hurt. The thing in front of me wasn't my dad, not right now, not fully. It was something other.
I could feel it like static in the air, the way his body leaned toward me without moving, drawn to scent, to sound, to pulse.
Then his fingers curled tighter against the floorboards. His jaw clenched.
He hauled himself back with brutal effort.
His weight pushed back until his heels touched the ground and his spine met the wall again. His gaze dropped to the floor between us.
And then he was Dad again, and he looked away, gaze fixed on the wall in front of him.
"Kelsey," he said, forcing his voice to sound like before and failing.
"Didn't… expect you… back… so soon," he managed. There was struggle in his words. Whether for thought or control, I could only guess.
"Yeah, well." I swallowed, pushing through the thought. "Jack and Elise told me having Hailey's clothes and mine helps you." I gestured toward the pile. He followed my gaze and swallowed, looking down and away.
He didn't say anything, but I recognized the shame on his face. I ignored it.
"It gave me an idea, so I brought you something else." I lifted Mom's scarf.
His gaze flicked up, instinctively, then paused on the fabric in my hand.
I held it up a little. I let the motion be slow and intentional.
His eyes fixed on it like it was a lit match in a gas-filled room.
"Remember this?" I asked, my voice softer.
His throat worked. He didn't speak. But his attention narrowed in a way that hovered in the space between animal need and human recognition.
"I was thinking…" I drew in a breath. "If my clothes and Hailey's help to ground you, maybe this will too."
He closed his eyes briefly, like that word hurt.
"I'm going to set it down… there," I said, pointing to a spot midway between us. "In the middle. You can pick it up after I move back. Is that okay?"
His nod was too fast to be entirely human. A jerk of the neck, like a puppet on a string pulled too sharply.
It was still a yes .
"Okay," I breathed. "Okay."
I took one slow step. Then another. The boards creaked under my sneakers.
He stayed where he was. Barely.
Every part of him screamed tension, but he didn't lunge or growl or do anything. He simply held himself there.
At the halfway point, I crouched and laid the scarf on the floor as gently as if it were made of glass.
"Alright," I said. "I'm stepping back now."
I backed away, one careful step at a time, eyes on him, heart thudding in my chest.
I'd made it three steps when he moved.
There was no warning. No shift in his shoulders. Just a blur.
One moment he was pressed against the wall. The next he was at the scarf, dropping to his knees so hard the boards groaned, fingers grabbing the wool like someone might snatch it away.
He buried his face in it.
A sound tore out of him. A broken exhale that rattled its way through his chest and into the air, something between a sob and a howl.
His shoulders shook once. Twice. He dragged the fabric up, pressing it hard against his nose, mouth, cheeks, as if he could dig through it, through its fibers, back into a kitchen several states away and a few years ago.
I stood there frozen. Even my breathing seemed to stop, then continue shallower than before.
I saw him breathe in again, deeper this time, and watched him change.
Slowly, the tight cords in his neck eased. His fingers loosened a fraction on the scarf. The set of his back shifted from braced to bowed.
He stayed like that for several long seconds, kneeling on the rough floor with his face pressed into my mother's ghost.
When he finally lifted his head, the light caught his eyes.
No reflection.
Just normal human eyes. Tired. Glistening at the corners.
"Thank you," he said, voice scraping raw. "Pup."
The word detonated like a bomb under my breastbone. My eyes burned. The part of me that was still his kid wanted to fall on my knees next to him and just let it all out until he made it better. But I knew I couldn't. It would be a mistake. So I forced my back to straighten and blinked the moisture away.
"Dad," I said, and my voice broke on the syllable. "You're coming back."
It wasn't a question. It was a rope I needed to throw into the space between us and anchor to something.
He flinched, just a little. Pain cut across his face, quick and deep, before disappearing under a thin layer of control.
"I'm… trying," he said, voice rough. "But it's…" He pressed his palms to his temples. "Broken glass." His gaze held mine. "I never want… to hurt you. Or Hailey. Ever."
"I know." My hands curled at my sides. "I know, Dad." I took in a breath. "Look… Hailey and I, we're here. We're waiting. Okay?"
He looked at me and there was so much on his face it made my chest ache to look at it. Regret, the kind that didn't expect forgiveness. Love, raw and unguarded. Fear. Gratitude.
He nodded once. Slow this time. Like my assurance calmed something in him.
"Is Hailey… is she…?" he whispered, as if he was afraid of the answer.
"She misses you terribly," I whispered. "It's getting harder keeping her from rushing over here. So you need to hurry up. For her. And me," I added, barely audible. "I miss you too… despite… everything."
I bit my lip and let silence fold over us. The good kind, for once. Not empty. Just full of everything we weren't saying yet.
Behind me, faint through the walls, I heard the click of a branch, the distant whisper of wind moving through trees.
Time was up.
"I should go," I said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Jack's probably counting my heartbeats out there."
One corner of his mouth tugged, barely. Then he gave a slow, tired nod.
I took one step back, then another.
His gaze followed me, but his body stayed where it was, knees on the barn floor, my mother's scarf held against his chest like a lifeline.
At the doorway, I paused and looked back.
"We're not leaving, Dad," I said. "As long as you keep trying. So don't give up, okay?"
I waited until I saw him nod, then slipped out into the cold.
***
The air felt lighter out here, less suffocating.
Jack and Elise were ten feet away, exactly where they'd said they'd be, bodies angled toward the barn, attention fixed.
"Well?" Jack asked.
"He's…" I exhaled. "He's in there. We spoke. It's… better, like you said."
"Better," Elise repeated, exhaling in relief.
Jack nodded as well. Some of the iron in his posture melted.
"He's coming back," I said, surprising myself with how sure it sounded. "Slow. Messy. But he is. I'm sure of it now."
Relief rippled through both of them.
It lasted exactly three seconds before they both went still.
Their heads turned in perfect sync toward the treeline behind the barn, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing.
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
"What?" I asked, my voice coming out too fast.
Neither answered right away.
Jack inhaled once, sharply, nostrils flaring.
Elise tilted her head, listening.
I followed their gaze. I saw only trees. Shadows. Nothing.
"What is it?" I pressed.
Jack's eyes stayed on the darkness. "Not sure."
"It could be nothing," Elise said, but she didn't sound like she believed it. "The wind is wrong."
"Animal?" I asked.
"Maybe." Jack's voice stayed low, eyes narrowing. "Maybe not. Whatever it is, it's positioned itself upwind."
He turned his attention toward me. "You wouldn't have any idea, by any chance?"
I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. "No. Why would you think that?"
"Greystone boy." Jack leaned closer. "You're still holding the line on that front?"
I took in a sharp breath. "There's nothing going on between him and me."
A truth and a lie.
Jack's gaze held mine as the night held itself still around us.
"Good. Keep it that way. We don't need complications on that front as well."
His attention shifted back toward the treeline.
I followed his gaze to the trees and stared until my eyes watered from not blinking.
Nothing moved. Nothing I could see.
And then, suddenly, it came, that now-familiar impossible tug low in my chest, soft and quick and gone before I could even decide if I had imagined it.
I bit the inside of my lip hard enough to taste blood.
No. Impossible. Or was it?
Jack finally broke eye contact with the treeline and looked at me instead. "Go inside."
I nodded too fast.
At the door, I turned once more.
Jack and Elise were still standing in the yard, silent, both angled toward the woods like statues.
Beyond them, the barn stood silent. And beyond that, the forest kept its secrets.
***
That evening, after the house went quiet and Hailey softly snored into Mr. Winkle's ear, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my phone.
The screen stared back.
My message window with Ethan opened on instinct.
I stared at his name. At the blank box waiting underneath the last of our stupidly boring texts. At the ridiculous intimacy of how quickly my body and mind had grown accustomed to the routine.
The memory of the yard tightened my lungs. Jack and Elise turning toward the border. That impossible tug. The sense of something out there in the dark trying very hard not to let its presence be known.
I typed before I could talk myself out of it.
Ethan, tell me the truth. Were you at the boundary again tonight?
I hit send and instantly wanted to throw the phone across the room.
God. Too direct. Too obvious. Too much.
The three dots did not appear.
I dropped the phone beside me and got up too quickly, pacing once to the window and back. Outside, the yard was blanketed in shadows. The barn was just barely visible if I looked at it sideways. Nothing moved.
When the phone finally buzzed, it startled me hard enough that I nearly swore out loud.
I snatched it up.
Yes , he wrote. Sorry. I just… sorry.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding like crazy.
He didn't deny or lie about it. But that raw, stupid honesty somehow made it worse.
My thumbs moved fast.
Don't do that. Jack and Elise will notice, and then we'll have a problem.
Long pause.
Then:
I know. It's stronger than me, Kelse. I'm sorry. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable because of me.
Something low in my chest pulled tight.
Kelse. He called me Kelse.
I didn't know why it mattered, but it did.
I typed back more slowly this time.
I'm not uncomfortable. I just don't want you getting in trouble because of me.
His answer came almost immediately.
A little late for that.
Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped me.
Fair point , I sent.
This time the pause stretched.
The three dots appeared. Vanished. Reappeared. Vanished again.
Whatever he was writing, he was fighting with it.
Finally, the message came through.
Kelse… I think you should know… I don't think this is just inversion anymore.
I sat very still.
The room seemed to narrow around the light of the screen.
My fingers hovered, then typed the only thing there was to type.
???
The answer took so long that I thought maybe he had changed his mind.
Then:
Forget it. It doesn't change anything anyway. Goodnight, Kelse.
I stared at the last line until the words blurred.
A knot formed deep inside my chest, tight and strange and impossible to name.
Because I knew what he had almost said.
And because a part of me realized that whatever stood between us now had shifted from dangerous accident into something genuine, and all the worse for it.
Beyond my window, the woods lay black and forbidden.
I set the phone face down on my blanket and lay back without bothering to undress.
The ceiling stared at me through the thin sheet made of moonlight and shadows.
I pressed the palm of my hand to the knot in my chest as if I could flatten it back down.
It didn't help.
Because the truth was there now, whether Ethan had finished the sentence or not.
And for the first time since all of this started, I knew with absolute, miserable clarity that I wasn't the only one standing at the edge of something forbidden and wanting to step closer anyway.