Fog hangs low enough to catch on fence posts. The smokehouse door sticks again; it gives when I lean my shoulder into it. The heater coughs and holds. I wash up at the hall sink until my hands stop feeling like gloves.
"Runs first," Sue says, handing me a short list. "Clinic board, grocery board. Then back on south line with Rina. Keep it boring."
"Boring is my brand," I say.
Rina tosses me the truck keys, then doesn't let go until I meet her eyes. "No detours."
"No detours."
Forks is gray and awake. The grocery lot has three trucks, two sedans, and a silver Volvo that looks too clean to belong to our side of the map. I tape COMMUNITY DINNER- WED 6 PM next to Piano Lessons, $15/half-hour and a lost dog with one ear. Inside, I keep my head down while the cashiers talk over the beep of milk and bread.
"Engagement party at the lodge, I heard."
"Uh-huh. They got money. Feels weird."
"Town likes weird if it's shiny."
I tap the flyer into place and leave. The Volvo slides out of its space without a sound. The driver doesn't look my way. He doesn't need to. I don't look his.
At the clinic, I pin another flyer under Seasonal Flu Shots and step back. In the reflection a white coat flickers at my hairline where it wasn't a month ago. I tuck it behind my ear on habit, as if that hides anything.
Rina keeps the truck idling at the curb, music low, fingers drumming. "Folks're chatty," she says when I climb in.
"About the same things."
"Mm."
Back on the rez, Sam has the board out. "East ravine needs eyes. Leah with me," he says. "Embry- west trail. Jared pull an extra hour at the lot, we got a tourist dump yesterday."
"Not me," Jared says, already guilty.
Sam doesn't bite. He tips his chin at me. "Ana, south line with Rina. Quiet. No solo. If you feel heat, call."
"Copy," I say.
Paul leans back in his chair until it creaks. "You sure we're good letting 'em throw a parade downriver and pretend that's fine?"
Leah: "It isn't fine. It's not our parade."
Paul smirks. "Nice slogan."
Sam caps the marker harder than necessary. "We don't light anything we can't put out. That includes tempers."
He moves. We move. The south line is damp and narrow. We walk human, because it blends, because Sam says so. Rina takes point like the trail belongs to her legs. I read the small notes, the deer track, the scuff where a raccoon decided a puddle needed rearranging, the faint chemical thread of a boat engine from the river.
At the turn where the brush thins, the roofline out past the trees cuts the sky clean. I keep my attention on our side. The ground is moss and mud and patient.
We do the passes slow. Nothing stirs but wind. On the way back, Rina breaks the quiet.
"You're good at not making noise," she says.
"Less complicated than making it," I say.
"Mm."
Hall duty again after lunch. I inventory a closet full of folding chairs and bad brooms. Embry shows up with a box of basketball nets and a grin that doesn't ask for anything. "I'm returning these," he says, proud of himself for not stealing from the future.
"You want a sticker?" Rina asks from the doorway.
"Two," he says.
Late afternoon pushes everyone to the beach like routine. I carry a crate down and set it beside the driftwood. The air smells salty as usual. I take the edge: shoulder to a log, eyes on the water. Close enough to help. Far enough to avoid being a target.
Leah stands a little apart too, arms folded, counting threats that are mostly kids and weather. She doesn't look at me. It feels like permission.
The boys form a knot by the fire again, the same shoving and laughing and wrong-sized jokes. Jacob arrives trailing noise and tries on a grin that fits from far away. Up close it cuts. I know that kind of fit.
"Yo, Jake," Quil says. "Truck's still crying?"
"Fixed it with moral support," Jacob says. "You're welcome."
Embry murmurs something I can't catch. Jacob's answer is too quick, like he beat the question to the punch. He looks out at the water when no one's watching him. A wind gust kills the fire for a second and kicks sparks; when it settles, his shoulders haven't.
He doesn't see me. If his eyes pass my way, they don't land. To him I'm post, shore, nobody. Good. That's safer for both of us right now.
Younger kids run circles. Someone's dog is living its best life stealing food and forgiveness. The Bluetooth speaker dies again. Embry cheers the silence. Leah smirks. Paul pretends he's above all this and laughs anyway. Jared tells a story that's mostly hands and sound effects. Rina pretends to hate it and stays.
Sam watches the edges. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The pack hums at one low note under all the other sounds. The line holds.
When people start to peel away, the road up from the beach turns into a narrow parade of hoods and bright phone screens. I take my crate back to the hall. Sue's already there wiping down tables with a rag that could file complaints.
"Quiet," she says, not asking.
"Quiet," I say.
"Good." She eyes my hands. "You eat?"
"Uh-huh."
"Eat more." She slides a foil-wrapped something across the table.
"Thank you," I say. She waves it off like I offered drama.
Outside, the dark is the kind that helps small towns sleep. Back at the smokehouse, the heater hums. I sit on the cot. Oil and salt latch to the back of my throat. Somewhere, a garage light snaps off. Somewhere closer, a bike coughs and doesn't catch. I don't get up.
Nothing changed today. The wedding is still coming. The treaty line is still where we left it. Sam is still steady. Leah is still sharp enough to keep us honest. Paul is still hot enough to set kindling just by looking at it. Embry still makes rooms easier. Rina still watches everything like it might try something. Billy still listens harder than anyone else.
Jacob laughed too loud and didn't see me. That matters less than I want and exactly as much as it should.
Breathe. Do the small work.
I tuck the foil packet under the heater leg to keep it warm for later. I lay back and let the boards of the ceiling be boards.
Present. Quiet. Competent. That's the job.
He'll notice me when he's ready, or he won't. Either way, I'll be here in the morning when the fog sits low and the lock sticks and the line needs walking.
[
Hello, readers! This fanfic is complete. If you want to read ahead of the public release, you can access my Patreon. Thank you.
link: https://patreon.com/MorpheusGrey
]