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“I’ve got deputies en route now. Stay put. Don’t open that door for anyone but my men.”

Finn doesn’t move from his place in front of the door. His jaw flexes. His eyes flick between the doorknob and the window like he’s counting how long it would take to get us both out if the door fails.

“I’ve got this,” he says. His voice is calm and steady. “They’re not getting in.”

There’s another sound outside. Then silence.

Minutes crawl by. The banging doesn’t return, but I feel like I can’t breathe.

The knock that finally comes is different. Three sharp raps.

“Finn, you in there?” A voice calls. “It’s Collins. We’re all clear out here. Can you open up?”

Finn moves the chair and undoes the lock, cracking the door before stepping back. Collins enters first, followed by two more deputies. They’re sweeping the hallway behind them, checkingeach window, each corner. One of them says something into a radio clipped to his chest.

There’s evidence they tried to pick the lock and there are scratches on the door frame where someone tried to force entry.

And Finn’s body is still in front of mine like he’s my personal shield.

I look down at my hands and try to make them stop shaking.

Whoever it was—they weren’t just trying to scare us. They were trying to get in.

The deputies do a full sweep of the station. I sit on the edge of the bed with my hands clasped together and try not to unravel while they move in and out of rooms. Finn stays close, never more than a few feet from me, as he gives the officers space to work. He keeps glancing at the lock, his mouth a tight line, his body too tense to disguise the fact that he’s barely holding it together.

One of the deputies steps back into the room. “The door’s compromised. Lock’s no good,” he says.

I nod, but I barely register the words. I can’t stop staring at the busted doorframe.

I hear the door downstairs creak open again and I jump. But this time the steps are familiar. Boone.

Mae is asleep in his arms, her hair a tangled mess against his shoulder. I start to speak, but before I can get the words out another voice cuts through the tension.

“Jonah took a hit.”

My eyes whip toward the sound, landing on the deputy who just walked back in. He lifts a hand, like he’s trying to calm us all down.

“He’s okay,” he adds quickly. “But he was jumped just outside. Took a hit to the head. We found him a block over. He was trying to follow whoever did this.”

My heart lurches, and I can feel the panic roaring through me.

“He’s conscious?” I ask. “And awake?”

“Awake. Lucid. He needed a few stitches, but he’s at urgent care with a patrol unit now. We’ll have him home as soon as we can.”

I nod again, but my hands start to shake.

Finn’s by my side immediately. He wraps both arms around me and pulls me straight into his lap. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice close to my ear. “He’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I can’t answer. I can’t even lift my head. I just bury my face in the space between his neck and shoulder and let him hold me.

Boone doesn’t say anything, but he moves closer too. He adjusts Mae in one arm, then rests his other hand at the base of my neck.

The room keeps spinning. But I don’t fall. Because they’re holding me.

Sheriff Collins steps through the doorway, face grim, and I know whatever he’s about to say will land hard.

“Look, I hate to add to your stress, but I looked into the conservatorship,” he says, voice low. “They officially filed. In LA. It’s not finalized yet, but it’s active.”