“Hey, buddy,” Ethan said carefully. “Where’d you come from?” The dog barked once, then bolted toward the garage. No, no, no. Ethan chased after it, but the dog was already inside, sniffing around the motorcycles with alarming enthusiasm. It stopped in front of the Norton Commando and started licking the exhaust pipe. Get away from that. The dog ignored him.

Ethan heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Aurora Sinclair standing in his driveway, wearing yoga pants and a fitted jacket, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked impossibly put together for 7 in the morning. “That’s mine,” she said. “Your dog just licked my exhaust pipe.” “He does that? Why?” “No idea.

I’ve spent $10,000 on trainers. Apparently, he’s unteachable.” The dog trotted over to Aurora and sat at her feet, looking perfectly obedient. Ethan stared. “You’re kidding. I don’t kid about dogs.” Aurora clipped a new leash onto the shepherd’s collar. His name is Titan. He’s a rescue. Previous owner kept him chained in a basement for 2 years. That’s awful. Yes.

Now he’s neurotic and doesn’t understand boundaries. We have that in common. Ethan almost smiled. Aurora noticed. You should do that more. What? Smile. You look less angry. I’m not angry. You look angry. I’m just tired. Same thing. She turned to leave. then paused. I’m having a security system installed today.

There will be workers around. Thought I should mention it. Okay. Also, if Titan gets out again, just bring him back. Don’t call animal control or anything dramatic. I wasn’t planning to. Good. She walked away, Titan trotting beside her like a showd dog. Ethan stood in his garage, staring after her, wondering what the hell just happened.

By noon, the entire neighborhood knew Aurora Sinclair’s name. Ethan heard it at the hardware store when he stopped to buy sandpaper. He heard it at the gas station when he filled up his truck. He heard it at the diner when he grabbed lunch sitting at the counter while two older women debated whether Aurora was a tech mogul, a movie producer, or a Russian spy.

She’s got cameras everywhere, one of them said. Linda saw the installers putting them up this morning. High-end stuff, military grade. Why would she need militarygrade cameras in Silver Creek? Maybe she’s in witness protection. Don’t be ridiculous. Well, something’s going on. Nobody moves into a place like that unless they’re hiding from something.

Ethan kept his head down and ate his burger. When he got home, there were three white vans parked across the street and a crew of technicians swarming Aurora’s property like ants. They were mounting cameras on every corner of the house, running cables through the walls, installing motion sensors along the fence line. Khloe stood on the front porch, watching with her arms crossed.

“They’ve been there all day,” she said when Ethan walked up. “I know. Why does one person need that many cameras?” “Privacy, I guess. That’s not privacy. That’s paranoia.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn that word?” “School, Mrs. Henderson says people who don’t trust anyone are paranoid. Mrs. Henderson sounds smart. She is.

She also says paranoid people usually have a reason. Ethan looked across the street. One of the technicians was testing a camera mounted above the front door, swiveing it left and right. The lens was pointed directly at Ethan’s house. He felt a prickle of unease. That night, Ethan was working late in the garage when he heard a knock on the side door.

He opened it to find Aurora standing there holding a bottle of wine. Peace offering, she said. Ethan glanced at the bottle. For what? The cameras. I I know they’re excessive. It’s your property. Yes, but one of them has a direct view of your kitchen window. I thought you should know. Ethan’s jaw tightened.

Why would you point a camera at my kitchen? I didn’t. The installer did. I had him adjust it. She held out the bottle. Hence the wine. He didn’t take it. I don’t drink coffee then. It’s 10:00. So So most people don’t drink coffee at 10:00. I’m not most people. Ethan almost smiled again. He caught himself and stepped back, letting her inside.

The garage smelled like oil and metal shavings. Aurora set the wine bottle on the workbench and looked around, her gaze lingering on the half assembled motorcycles. You do this alone? She asked. Yeah. No employees? Can’t afford employees? How long does a restoration take? Depends. Couple months, usually longer if the frames rusted.

She ran her hand along the seat of the Norton Commando. You sell them sometimes. For how much? Enough. Aurora raised an eyebrow. You’re not big on details, are you? Not with strangers. We’re neighbors. We met yesterday. True. She leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. Can I ask you something? You just did. Funny.

Do you always live like this? Like what? Alone. Quiet. Locked down. Ethan’s expression went flat. I’m not locked down. You’ve got one friend in this town, the guy who runs the diner. Your daughter goes to school and comes straight home. You don’t go to neighborhood events. You barely leave your property except for errands. She tilted her head. That’s not living.

That’s hiding. Ethan felt heat rise in his chest. You don’t know anything about me. I know enough. Yeah, and how’s that? Aurora’s smile was sharp because I do the same thing. The air in the garage went still. Ethan stared at her, trying to decide if she was mocking him. She wasn’t. Why? He asked quietly. Same reason as you probably.

👉 [Tap here for Next Part] 👈