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Charlie's face took on the determined expression I knew meant trouble. "We could bring her some pancakes. In case she's too worried to make lunch."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. My daughter had inherited her mother's nurturing instincts along with her stubborn streak. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"And maybe we could check if her back door is locked properly," Charlie added innocently. "For safety."

The same back door she'd used to sneak into her house this morning. "Charlie..."

"What? You always say we should look out for our neighbors."

She had me there. And the truth was, every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to check on Kit, to make sure whatever had spooked her wasn't a real threat. The way her scent had shifted from contentment to anxiety in the space of a heartbeat had set my teeth on edge.

My daughter wanted to protect her, and damn if that didn't make me want to keep her too.

"Alright," I said, making a decision that was probably more about my need to see her safe than Charlie's desire to be helpful. "We'll pack up some pancakes and go check on her. But if she says she needs space, we respect that, okay?"

"Okay!" Charlie bounced up from her chair, already heading for the cabinet where I kept the takeout containers. "Should we bring syrup too?"

"Definitely syrup."

We worked together to pack up the extra pancakes, Charlie chattering about nest-building techniques while I tried to ignore the growing unease in my gut. Kit's reaction to that text had been too sharp, too immediate, for it to be anything good. Then I shooed her up the stairs to wash her face and brush her teeth. It could have waited but it would at least buy Kit an hour of peace and quiet before we barged in on her.

Who was texting her? An ex-partner? Family? Someone from whatever life she'd left behind?

The possessive growl that rumbled up from my chest surprised me with its intensity. I had no claim on Kit, no right to feel territorial about some mystery person from her past. But logic didn't seem to matter to my alpha instincts, which had apparently decided she was worth protecting whether she wanted my protection or not.

"Ready, Dad!" Charlie announced, after I’d had to send her back upstairs three times to brush her hair, put some sock on and then to put the other sock on because apparently I hadn’t been specific enough the first time. Now she was standing at the door, shoes on and holding up the container of pancakes like a trophy.

"Ready," I agreed, grabbing my keys and trying to push down the surge of anticipation that came with the thought of seeing Kit again.

We walked across the small strip of yard that separated our front doors, Charlie practically vibrating with excitement beside me. The morning air was crisp with the promise of autumn, and somewhere in the distance I could hear the sound of Reed's truck pulling up to the Carrington place.

Normal Saturday morning sounds in a normal small town.

So why did I feel like I was walking into something that would change everything?

I knocked on Kit's door, listening for movement inside. For a moment there was nothing, and I wondered if she'd decided to go out, to escape whatever demons that text message had stirred up.

Then I heard footsteps, and the door opened to reveal Kit looking smaller somehow than she had an hour ago. She'd changed clothes again, back into the oversized sweater and leggings that seemed designed to hide her curves. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though whether from tears or exhaustion I couldn't tell.

"Hey," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "Everything okay?"

"We brought you pancakes!" Charlie announced, holding up the container. "In case you forget to eat lunch."

Kit's careful composure cracked just a little, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That's very sweet of you both."

"Charlie was worried about you," I said, watching her face carefully. "So was I."

She looked between us, Charlie with her earnest concern, me with my barely leashed protective instincts, and something in her expression softened.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. "Just... dealing with some stuff from my old life."

Old life. Not "back home" or "from work." Old life, like she'd shed one skin and was trying to grow another.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle.

Kit hesitated, and for a moment I thought she might actually open up. Then her phone buzzed again, and that guarded look slammed back into place.

"Rain check?" she said, taking the container from Charlie. "But thank you. Both of you. This means more than you know."