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His expression softens. “Thanks, Laney. For everything tonight. For staying. For being there.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

I pause, hesitating before adding, “Would it be okay if I stopped by your place and grabbed Merlyn? I don’t want her to be on her own too long. I’ll bring her home and come back here after.”

“Of course,” Lucas says, pulling a key from his pocket. “You know where everything is.”

I take the key, squeeze his hand gently, and turn to go.

The drive back to Lucas and Sam’s is quiet. The streets are mostly empty, the city winding down into that strange in-between place where the night blurs into morning.

When I unlock the front door, Merlyn rushes to greet me with an enthusiastic tail wag and excited hops, clearly ready for company. But my eyes immediately go to the small wet spot on the tile near the sliding door.

“Oh, sweet girl,” I sigh, crouching down to scratch behind her ears. “It’s okay. You did your best.”

I grab paper towels and cleaner from under the sink, moving on autopilot, heart still thudding with everything this night has thrown at me.

Once we’re cleaned up, I clip her leash on and lead her out to my truck, giving her a small treat when she hops into the back seat and head home. Eddie’s place, but it definitely feels like my home too—our home.

The house isquiet when we step in. Too quiet.

I pause in the entryway, keys in my hand, Merlyn’s leash loose in the other. There’s something… off. The air feels thick. Still. Like the space has shifted somehow.

I shake it off.

You’re exhausted, I tell myself. You’re emotionally wrung out. Everything feels strange right now.

I unclip Merlyn’s leash and let her wander, watching as she pads softly toward her dog bed near the fireplace. She yawns, circles once, and curls up like the sweet, sleepy pup she is.

I head for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and stepping under the hot water. The steam wraps around me like fog, washing away the last few hours with each slow breath.

But halfway through rinsing my hair, Merlyn barks.

Sharp. Short. Alarmed.

I still, my heart lurching.

She’s never barked like that before.

“Merlyn?” I call, cutting the water, foam still clinging to my skin. My pulse kicks up instantly. I grab a towel, then fumble into my yoga pants and one of Eddie’s hoodies, still damp, my hair soaking the back of it as I step into the hallway.

The house is still.

Too still.

I walk slowly through the living room, barefoot on the hardwood, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Merlyn sits near the door now, alert, tail rigid. Growling low in her throat.

But nothing’s there.

Nothing I can see, anyway.

Maybe she sensed my nerves. Maybe she’s just reacting to everything.

I squat down beside her, running my hand down her back. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

She gives a small, uncertain whine, and I plant a kiss on her head.

“Let’s eat something,” I whisper, forcing calm into my voice. Popping my hair up into a wet bun to keep my neck dry, I head to the pantry to see what I can rustle up. Nothing heavy, because it’s so early but my body needs something after expelling all of that nervous energy.