Page 18 of Mate Night Snack
She pulled her boots back on, shrugged into her jacket, and headed downstairs. No point in pretending she wasn’t going to follow Emmett. She needed a guide and he was insisting on being that to her, whether he wanted to or not, she couldn’t tell. But if she was going to get any answers for her podcast and this case, then she needed a guide.
She found him kneeling near the garden, stacking chunks of broken stone into a neat pile.
“You digging a grave or fixing something?”
He didn’t look up. “Marker stone fell in the wind. I’m resetting it.”
“Can’t have crooked markers,” she said dryly. “What would the squirrels think?”
Emmett stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You planning to follow me all day or just heckle from the sidelines?”
“That depends. You planning to ignore every warning sign I point out along the way?”
His eyes flicked toward her, sharp and a little tired. “You mean your ‘vibes’?”
“Yes, my vibes. It’s called intuition.”
“It’s called seer magic,” he muttered, turning toward the woods.
She frowned and fell into step beside him. “I’m not magic.”
“Never said you were.”
“You just did. You said seer magic.”
He didn’t slow. “I said whatyou’redoing has a name. Doesn’t mean you’re throwing fireballs or glowing under the moon.”
“Well, thank god for that.” She exhaled. “I’ve never even held a crystal, Emmett. I don’t meditate. I believe in ghosts because I’veseenthem. But all this talk about visions and ancientwalls whispering to me? It sounds like the start of a mental breakdown.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then explain it to me like I didn’t just walk out of a fantasy novel.”
He paused, eyes scanning the tree line before speaking again. “Some people are born with one foot on either side of a wall. They can’t see it, not at first, but theyfeelit. That tug. That gut-deep knowing something’s wrong before it happens. It’s the Veil, trying to get through.”
She squinted at him. “The wall is called the Veil?”
He nodded. “Separates what you know from what you don’t. Most folks never get close to it. But you… you brushed up against it hard enough that it cracked something open.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “But stop pretending everything’s either fake or explainable.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m just not ready to believe I’m the ghost-whisperer prophet of Hollow Oak.”
Emmett stopped walking and turned to her, jaw set. “You collapsed. Twice. Yousawthings before they happened and things that already had. And you still think this is just a coincidence?”
She hesitated. “I think trauma does weird things to people. Stress. Neurological spikes. I’ve been digging through cold cases since I was twenty. This town’s creeping under my skin, that’s all.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. “You don’t have to believe it for it to be real.”
She looked away, pulse tapping on her throat. “I just don’t want to lose control of my own head.”
He was quiet for a long beat. Then, softer, “Neither did I.”
She glanced back. He didn’t offer more, and she didn’t push, but something in his voice left a quiet echo in her ribs.
They started walking again.
