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“I’ve never seen so many people deal with death announcements so calmly,” Teddi remarked as Nora chuckled at a joke the cook shared. There was something magnetic about her, something that drew the eye. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful or overtly charming, she just beamed.

It reminded Vera of Teddi. One couldn’t help but want to be near her, listen to honeyed words with rapt attention, and have her light shine on them like the sun kissing long-forsaken flowers.

Teddi said something but she didn’t hear it. “Hmm?”

“I said what do you think about the name change?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s common after decades of marriage and a sudden death but I guess not everyone is happy.”

“But her husband drops dead and she’s glowing. We all deal with grief differently but if you ask me, I would say that woman is living her best life.”

“Maybe she is now,” Vera wondered. Scanning the room, she noted the other occupants. Elderly men, pairs of women with matching books, couples, people eating alone. “Where are all of the kids in this town?”

Teddi evaluated the room, turning to get a look across the parking lot and town square. “I have no idea. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single one. I know Jackson Grennan had eight-year-old twins but I haven’t seen them.”

“What kind of town doesn’t have any children in it?” She couldn’t recall a playground in any of their wanderings. It could just be the time of day but there were no toddlers, no teenagers, no one under eighteen as far as the eye could see. Everything about Sylen felt as if it rested upon a tilted axis. The interactions, the perfectly manicured lawns in the middle of Autumn. That strange blackness of their forest seemingly devoid of any touch of the typical Colorado colors.

“I texted her in the car. It was over but now it's officially dead.”

Vera looked up from her menu, confused.

“Autumn and I.” Vera had been attempting to forget about it. “I don't want you to think it was anything more than casual.”

“Her very personal contact screen would suggest otherwise,” Vera replied.

“She did that, not me. I just haven’t had the chance to change it yet. I don’t want you thinking that… that something is going on that isn’t. I’m not dating her.”

“But you’re dating someone.” Vera needed her to say yes. To have some barrier between them to stop herself from doing something stupid.

“I’m not dating anyone and neither are you.”

Vera scoffed. “And you would know that how, exactly?”

“C’mon, Ver. I know what you look like when you’re in love and this”—she waved her hand at her—“is not it.”

“Not everyone who’s dating is in love, Teddi.” Her skin felt flush at the inspection. She didn't know what she looked like in love.

Teddi dropped her hands to the tabletop. “No, but I know what you’re like. You don’t just fuck around and you sure as hell don’t date casually. I remember how hard it was to get you on that first date with me.”

A wall slammed down around the memories. She wasn’t doing this. Not with Teddi. Not about them. Not about their past. “I don’t care about who you’re sleeping with and who you’re dating, alright? I already told you we’re here for a job and nothing more. I thought we already covered this.”

Vera hated the way Teddi looked like she’d been slapped. There was no ‘going back’ for them.

“Fine.”

Finding something else to look at while she tried to bring her pulse back to normal, she was glad to see the dark truck in the corner spot had disappeared. Panning over the few meandering residents, Vera’s eyes locked onto a vaguely familiar form hurrying across the flat expanse of the town square, a large rucksack on her back.

The girl from the jail cell. Glancing around repeatedly, her eyes were round, the inward curve of her shoulders looking closed-in and tight. Vera lurched out of her seat, jogging for the exit.

“What is it?” Teddi called after her but she didn’t stop.

She watched as she crossed the street, peered around quickly, and then disappeared into the alleyway between a brick building and an unlit house. The towering trees behind the buildings told her there was nothing beyond. Jogging faster, Vera passed into the same small alleyway, watching as the bouncing rucksack disappeared around the back of the house.

The crunch of dried leaves sounded underfoot as her shoulder brushed against the peeling siding. It appeared abandoned, the business next to it dark and lifeless as well.

Vera’s chest was a vise in the unfamiliar space. She palmed the flashlight on her waistband and she slipped behind the home, scanning the weather-worn porch. A singular wooden chair decorated the place as she took a tentative step up the stairs.

The creak it made was nearly a siren in the dead quiet. Easing off the old board, she tried again on the next step.