Book 1: Knotted in the dark
I pushed the front door open with my shoulder and stepped inside. The late-afternoon quiet of the house settled around me the way it always did at the end of a long week. Keys went on the little table by the entrance. Work bag slid off my arm and landed with a soft thud against the bench. My boots felt heavy after a full day in the field, the soles still carrying a faint trace of mud from the preserve trails. I toed them off one after the other and left them by the door.
Phone was already against my ear.
“—no, Mom, the professor’s not that bad, he’s just weird about deadlines,” Lily said. Her voice had that slight outdoor echo, like she was cutting across the quad between buildings.
I walked into the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the tile, and started flipping through the mail I’d grabbed from the box outside. Electric bill. Thick HOA newsletter. A couple of coupons for the grocery store two streets over. “Weird how? Like actually mean, or just the usual academic-ego speech?”
“The usual. Yesterday he went on this whole thing about how ‘the natural world doesn’t care about your feelings.’ Half the class just stared at him. We’re stuck doing a group project on local wetland species and I might’ve mentioned that my mom literally does that for a living. The whole table went quiet for a second.”
I smiled a little, sorting the junk into the recycling bin under the sink. The kitchen still smelled faintly of the coffee I’d made that morning, mixed with the clean lemon scent of the counter spray. “You didn’t have to name-drop me.”
“I didn’t say your name. Just ‘my mom’s a wildlife biologist.’ Close enough.” A soft laugh, then her voice dropped a notch. “Miss you, though. Dorm food is still garbage. Soph’s been living off those cheap ramen packs again like it’s a personality trait.”
“Tell your sister to buy actual food. I’ll send her money if she needs it.” I moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. Late sun was coming through the big front windows, laying long gold rectangles across the hardwood and the couch. The throw blanket the girls always fought over was still draped over one arm, a little wrinkled from the last time they’d been home. “Work’s been steady. Spent most of today out near the north side of the preserve. We’ve been tracking that fox family again—three kits this year. One of them’s got a slight limp on the back left. Might be nothing, but I’m keeping an eye on it. If it doesn’t clear up by next week I’ll call the rehab center.”
“You sound tired.”
“End of the week. They always feel longer.” I kept walking, phone warm against my cheek, past the low bookshelf that still held the twins’ old field guides mixed in with mine. “Miss you both. The house gets too quiet when you’re not crashing in your rooms every other weekend. I keep catching myself listening for the sound of the upstairs shower or the fridge door slamming at midnight.”
Lily made a soft sound on the other end. “We’ll be home for the long weekend next month. Promise. Soph already switched her shifts so we’re both free.”
“Good.” I reached the wide sliding glass doors at the back of the living room and stopped for a second, just looking out. The backyard sat quiet under the slanting light—green grass still a little damp from the morning sprinklers, the small pool flat and blue, a couple of leaves floating near the far edge. Patio chairs angled toward the water like they’d been left mid-conversation. I slid one of the heavy doors open. Warm evening air pushed in, carrying the smell of cut grass, the faint sharp chlorine from the pool, and that dry late-summer heat that always settles over the neighborhood around this time.
I stepped out onto the patio barefoot. The concrete was still holding the day’s warmth. “How’s the roommate situation holding up?”
“Better, actually. She finally stopped blasting music at two in the morning. And there’s this new guy on our floor who keeps offering to ‘help with biology homework.’ Soph thinks he’s kind of cute. I think he’s trying way too hard.”
I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and let out a quiet breath of a laugh. “Trust your gut on that one, kiddo.”
The conversation kept going easy after that. Lily complained about a required literature class that had nothing to do with her major. I told her about the guiding trip tomorrow—six adults who wanted a basic tracking and plant-ID overnight up in the hills. Nothing heavy. Just the regular back-and-forth that made the empty rooms behind me feel a little less empty for a while.
I was still leaning in the open doorway when she started wrapping up.
“Okay, Mom, I gotta go—Soph’s yelling something about dinner and I think the microwave just died again. Love you. Talk soon?”
“Love you too. Tell your sister I said hi. And eat something green for once.”
She laughed, soft and quick, and the line clicked off. I lowered the phone, thumb already hovering over the screen, when it buzzed again almost immediately. Julia’s name lit up.
I answered on the second ring, stepping fully out onto the patio. The concrete was warm under my bare feet. A light breeze moved across the pool and carried that mix of chlorine and cut grass.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey yourself.” Julia’s voice came through warm, a little low, the way it always got when she was off the clock. “You home yet?”
“Just got in. Standing on the patio looking at the pool like it might jump in by itself.” I walked a few steps further out, past the table, and rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “What’s up?”
“Last-minute logistics. Final headcount for the tracking group is six adults, all beginners. I booked the same ridge trail we used last fall—good sightlines, easy plant ID, and that little clearing near the top for the overnight. Tent sites are solid. You still good to lead the morning segment?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the fox-kit notes I can fold into the animal-sign part if anyone asks. Weather looks clean.” I glanced out at the backyard, the fence line already starting to throw longer shadows. “You bringing the usual gear?”
“Plus the better sleeping pads this time. Last trip those cheap ones tried to kill my back.” A short pause, then the smile came into her voice. “Also bringing the good whiskey. Figured we earned it after dealing with that last group who kept asking if every bird was an eagle.”
I felt the corner of my mouth lift. “Fair. I’ll bring the extra tarp in case the wind picks up overnight.”
“Perfect.” Another small beat of quiet. Then, softer: “Looking forward to it, Cyn. Been a few weeks since we actually got a whole night out there. Miss having you on the other side of the fire. Miss the way you steal the blanket when it gets cold.”
I let out a quiet breath and shifted my weight, feeling the warm air move across my arms. “Miss that too. Miss your hands when no one’s looking. Timing’s just been shit lately.”
“Yeah.” Her voice dropped a little more. “But this time the timing’s finally right. Tent’s big enough. Fire’ll be going. No interns, no early alarms. Just us after the group turns in.”
I stared out at the still surface of the pool, watching a single leaf drift toward the filter. “Sounds good. Really good.”
“It does.” I could hear her moving around on her end—probably in her own kitchen, same end-of-week quiet. “Don’t stay up too late tonight. Save some energy. I’ll handle the gear check-in so you can just show up and look competent.”
“Deal.” I turned and leaned back against the patio table, phone still warm against my ear. “See you at the trailhead in the morning?”
“Bright and early. Bring that soft shirt you always wear under the flannel. The green one. Looks good on you when the firelight hits it.”
I huffed a small laugh. “Flirt.”
“Always. Talk later if anything changes. Night, Cyn.”
“Night, Jules.”
The line went quiet. I stayed there a moment longer, phone lowered, the evening air settling cooler against my skin. The backyard was still empty, the pool reflecting the last of the gold light, and somewhere two houses over a lawnmower finally shut off. The quiet felt different now—less empty, more like something was already waiting just a few hours ahead.
I stayed on the patio a little longer after Julia hung up, phone still loose in my hand, the last of the sun sliding down behind the fence. The air had cooled enough that the concrete under my feet felt just warm instead of hot. Eventually I turned and went back inside, sliding the door shut behind me.
Kitchen was quiet. I opened the fridge and pulled out leftover roasted vegetables from two nights ago, a bit of cold chicken, some greens. Nothing fancy. I heated the chicken and veg in a pan while the greens went into a bowl with a drizzle ...