Page 288 of What We Bury

“Hey,” I say, sitting beside her. “Random question. Does the name Stephen mean anything to you? In connection to Brock?”

She frowns. “Stephen? No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“It came up somewhere. Someone mentioned Brock might have had a friend named Stephen.”

“Brock had a lot of friends I never met. Tyler would know more about that side of things, but—” She laughs bitterly. “Doubt he wants to take my calls right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s probably nothing.”

“Is someone called Stephen bothering you?”

“No. Like I said, just something I heard. Food shouldn’t be much longer.”

I go back to the bedroom and wait until I’ve closed my door before I speak.

“She doesn’t know anyone named Stephen,” I say, taking my position back on the bed.

The same frustration that’s been building all week presses down on the room.

“Odin’s team should have something by now,” Micah says quietly.

“I’ll follow up tonight,” Knox says.

Holden signs off, saying he’ll be here by seven and to save him some Pad Thai and egg rolls. Milo starts packing the rest of my clothes into bags with the focused intensity of a man redirecting his homicidal energy into folding. We leave him to it and head into the living room. Knox settles onto the couch and Micah drops into the armchair.

Amy appears in the hallway. She peeks out, then steps out fully when she knows nobody’s naked or armed.

“My show finished,” she says. “Hope you guys don’t mind if I hang?”

“Of course,” Micah says, gesturing for her to come sit.

Amy settles onto the other end of the couch from Knox, tucking her legs underneath her, and I watch her take the measure of him the way everyone does. She glances at me with a wide-eyed expression that I already know means she’s wondering how the two of us fit together, and I just give her a tiny smile and a shrug.

“So,” Amy says, turning to Knox with tentative friendliness. “You’re Knox.”

Knox looks at her. “I am.”

“And how did you meet Sage?”

“The beach.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Just lets it sit there, like a dead fish on the coffee table.

Micah fills the space, because bless him, he can’t not. “We all met on the beach. It’s a very . . . boring origin story. We were there. She was there. We saw each other and?—”

“And now you all live together?” Amy’s trying for casual but her voice goes up half an octave. “Is it, like, a commune?”

“More like a crime syndicate,” Milo says, emerging from the hallway with a duffel bag over his shoulder. “But with better snacks and far less paperwork.”

Amy grins, and you can see some of the old brightness coming back. She tucks her hair behind her ear, keeps her focus on Knox. “So what do you do for work?”

“Security,” Knox says.

“And you?” she asks Micah.

“Bartender aka counseling for the inebriated,” Micah deadpans. If there’s a more perfect answer, I cannot imagine it.

Amy laughs, and just like that, the tension in the room drops a notch. Micah starts asking her about her teaching work, and Amy responds the way most people respond to Micah—by relaxing without knowing why. He has that effect. Something in his voice, or his eyes, or the way he listens like you’re the only person in the room.