Kira Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Kira slipped the copper vine into her coat and followed the hawk's path until dawn turned the sky pale. She circled back toward the family's adobe house, its ivy curtains heavy with dew. She meant to clean the cottage before anyone saw it. She was too late. They were already standing in her doorway. Three of them, pale and silent, staring at the smashed terrarium on the floor. Broken glass and runes glittered in the moss. The thief had cracked it open looking for the heirloom inside. "Kira." The oldest stepped forward. "What happened here? Where have you been?" She felt the rusted lockbox press against her ribs beneath her coat. Inside it were the maker's mark rubbings, the fence's address, a folded list of names she had no right to be holding. If they saw it, they would know everything. They would try to help. They would die. She lied. She told them a drifter had broken in while she slept at a friend's. She told them she would handle the cleanup. Her voice stayed flat and steady, the way it always did. They did not believe her. She saw it in their faces. But the old agreement held, and they did not push. They left her alone in the wreckage. Kira pressed her hand to the lockbox under her coat. The lie had worked, but something between them had cracked, quiet as the glass at her feet. She had bought herself one more day. She would need every hour of it.