Page 15

LUCAS TOLD HER , gently as he could, that it had all been in her head.

That there was no way Edward would risk attending such a large event.

That all she needed was a new mission, something to distract her.

There was a lead he wanted her to follow: a thermy in Kentucky, a few hours east of Denver.

She agreed, thinking she would be going alone.

Instead, she found herself in another awkward car ride. The landscape blurred into shades of green and gold under the September sun as she and Jonah alternated between blaring classic rock and exchanging uncomfortable glances.

The file contained a weathered photo of an older man and an address: an antique store in the heart of a small town.

“I love places like this,” Ruby said, grinning as she pulled open the door. A brass bell jingled overhead, announcing their arrival.

Jonah frowned down at her. “We’re here to work,” he muttered, scrunching his nose. The scent of aged wood, musty fabric, and a faint trace of lemon polish hit them all at once, making the air feel thick.

“This place is full of history,” Ruby quieted, as if they had entered a sacred space.

The dim lighting cast a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden floors, and dust particles floated in the sunlight streaming through the old windows.

She walked slowly, fingers brushing over porcelain trinkets, tarnished silverware, and faded leather-bound books, eyes wide with wonder. “Have a little respect.”

A flash of pink caught her attention. She stooped and pulled a cardboard box from a lower shelf.

Malibu Barbie stared back at her from behind the scratched plastic.

Her impossibly blonde hair, glowing tan, and garish sky-blue swimsuit stood out against the muted surroundings.

The box was covered in a fine layer of dust, its corners torn and peeling, as though it had been passed through countless hands before being abandoned here.

Ruby ran her finger along the cardboard, the rough texture sending a pang through her chest. Her heart clenched so fiercely it took her breath away.

She fought to keep her knees steady, to keep her tears at bay.

“You have one of those growing up?” Jonah teased from somewhere behind her.

“Something like that,” she managed to choke out, her throat tight, each word scraping against the lump lodged there.

Jonah’s expression shifted, concern flashing in his eyes before he forced his features to fall slack. He moved quickly to her side, placing his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “Hey,” he scowled, spinning her around to face him. “You alright?”

She crouched to return the doll to its place on the cabinet. “Yeah, just… caught me off guard.”

When she stood, Jonah hesitated before holding his arms out wide.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

He stepped closer.

“What are you doing?” she asked, backing up and bumping into the shelf behind her.

Another step. His arms remained in the air. “Comforting you.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Ruby grimaced. “It’s already weird.”

“My mom would never forgive me if I let a girl cry without trying to comfort her.”

She leaped forward, sticking her finger into his chest. “I did not cry. I don’t cry, period.”

“It seemed like you were about to. Last chance. Want a hug from your nemesis?” He wiggled his fingers, and it disgusted her how tempted she was.

She shoved him, gentler than she could have, and he chuckled as he lowered his arms.

They continued browsing, the quiet ticking clocks and distant creaks of the store filling the silence.

The scent of old paper and leather mingled with the faint hint of sawdust in the air.

Her eyes drifted back to the Barbie, drawn to the past it represented.

Jonah, meanwhile, picked up a stuffed chicken toy and pressed its foot.

To Ruby’s disbelief, a tiny, cheerful tune played, and Jonah danced.

“I don’t wanna be a chicken,” he sang, pressing his fingertips together.

“I don’t wanna be a duck,” he continued, placing his hands in his armpits and flapping his elbows with enthusiasm.

“Just shake my feathers.” He bent slightly at his hips and knees, swaying his butt left and right to the beat.

Ruby blinked, genuinely stunned. “What the hell was that?” she asked, a laugh bubbling up despite herself.

Jonah froze, turning to face her, mouth slightly agape. “The Chicken Dance?” he asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Did you… make that up?” she asked, still processing what she’d just witnessed.

“Did you even have a childhood?” Jonah snorted but looked genuinely appalled.

“Yup.” She nodded, her nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing. “Like sixty years ago. And that definitely was not a thing.”

He pointed the chicken at her. “The sixties sound lame.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve spent the last few years catching up on the decades. The 90s were pathetic. Frosted tips, puka shell necklaces, and grunge music?”

“Do not—” He tossed the chicken aside, and the song played on impact, “—insult grunge.”

A clattering noise echoed from the back of the shop, sharp and out of place in the otherwise still air. Ruby’s eyes narrowed, her senses sharpening. There was that familiar tug in her chest—like an invisible thread pulling her forward.

The thermophile was near.

With a brief, wordless nod to Jonah, she slipped silently through the aisles, the floorboards creaking beneath her steps. Jonah’s hand hovered near his belt, where his concealed gun lay, while Ruby remained unarmed.

“Well, hi there!” A cheerful, yet withered voice called out from their right, startling them both.

Ruby spun, instinctively nudging Jonah behind her as she faced the speaker.

In an instant, she assessed the older man as no immediate threat.

He appeared to be in his mid-60s, though his age had settled gently into his features.

His eyes were kind but tired, laugh lines deeply etched at the corners like faded ink on parchment.

His back was slightly hunched, and his skin was pale, wrinkles spreading across his face like delicate river streams. He wore a faded blue button-up shirt tucked into neatly pressed slacks, with a checkered vest hanging loosely along his torso.

His long white hair was frizzy, but carefully combed, giving him the appearance of a man who took pride in himself despite his years.

He smiled warmly, his expression full of genuine curiosity. “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked. He carried the faint rasp of age but still retained a melodic lilt.

Jonah shifted uncomfortably. Something hung between them, thick and charged, as if the shop itself was bracing for impact. “We were actually looking for you,” he said, his words careful, deliberate—like stepping onto thin ice.

“Were you now?” The older man leaned against a wooden armoire, utterly at ease, as though he had all the time in the world.

The way he moved—so calm and composed—was at odds with the dangerous energy in the air.

This wasn’t the face of a killer, nor did he exhibit the twitchy unease typical of thermophiles on the run.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, his eyes crinkling again in that kindly way.

“My name’s Ruby,” she said, nodding toward her partner. “And this is Jonah.”

The man’s smile widened as he extended his hand. “I’m Gerald.”

Ruby’s stomach twisted at the simple act of hearing his name.

It wasn’t recognition, but a feeling she’d trained herself to suppress—the instinct to humanize her targets.

This was a job, not a personal connection.

She took his hand, unsurprised by the strength in his grip, the warmth that radiated from his skin despite the chill that seemed to seep from the shop’s shadowed corners.

Jonah stood beside her, his brow furrowed.

“We’re members of the Thermophile Control Agency,” Jonah hedged, his tone cautious, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Gerald simply cocked his head, genuinely perplexed. “What was that?”

“The Thermophile Control Agency,” Jonah repeated, this time more firmly. “We track down thermophiles.”

Gerald’s smile didn’t falter. It remained patient, but tinged with bewilderment. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I understand.”

Ruby took a step forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied the older man more closely.

She focused on the veins around his eyes, noting the faint green hue—identical to her own.

This detail confirmed what she had already suspected: Gerald hadn’t consumed human phlogiston in years, maybe even decades.

“Do you run the shop on your own?”

“Nope,” Gerald replied, his grin widening, eyes twinkling like a child sharing a secret. “Me and my wife, Esther. She ran out for eggs. Should be back shortly.”

Ruby and Jonah exchanged a quick glance, unease knitting their brows. “Can’t believe how expensive eggs are these days,” Gerald continued, shaking his head in disbelief. “Nixon says he’s gonna introduce some kinda price control in the next year or two, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Dread coiled in Ruby’s chest, cold and sharp. She processed his words, trying to latch onto the threads of reality slipping through her fingers. “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Sure!” Gerald straightened, his movements slow but steady. He gestured toward the back of the shop. “Esther and I live back there. You’ll have to use the one through the kitchen.”

As she moved forward, Jonah’s hand wrapped around her bicep. The touch grounded her. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” His eyes searched hers, worry etched into his face.

“I need to check something,” she whispered, her voice threading through the ticking of clocks and the rustling of old paper. “Trust me. Keep an eye on the door.”