The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Vince noticed it every time he stepped inside, the way the scent lingered even when the rooms were quiet. Claire stood near the records shelf, flipping through a thin folder, her posture straight, expression focused. She did not look up right away.
"You're early," she said.
"Could say the same," Vince replied.
She closed the file and set it back where it belonged. Claire never left things out of place. It was a habit, maybe a defense.
"I was reviewing older intake notes," she said. "Nothing dramatic. Just patterns."
"Patterns usually matter," Vince said.
She nodded slightly. "People came in with similar complaints. Headaches. Fatigue. Trouble sleeping. Different faces, same timing."
Vince leaned against the counter. "Anything tying them together?"
"Not directly," Claire said. "That's what bothers me."
Outside the clinic window, a county truck passed by slowly. Caleb's. It did not stop, but it slowed, as if the driver were taking mental notes.
"He's been checking water lines again," Claire added. "Says it's routine."
"Routine doesn't usually feel this intentional," Vince said.
She met his eyes for a moment longer than before, then looked away.
Later, Vince walked toward the school grounds. The building sat quiet, unchanged, but the earth around it told a different story. Tire marks near the service road. Fresh, but careful. Someone who knew the area well.
Daniel stood near the entrance, keys in hand. He stiffened when he noticed Vince.
"Didn't expect anyone," Daniel said.
"Greyford's full of surprises lately," Vince replied.
Daniel forced a thin smile. "Just doing an inventory check. Old place like this needs attention."
"Funny," Vince said, glancing around, "how attention shows up years late."
Daniel's jaw tightened briefly. "You looking for something?"
"Not yet," Vince said. "Just noticing who else is."
They stood in silence. Wind moved through the grass. Somewhere nearby, something metal shifted and settled.
That evening, Vince stopped by Mrs. Hill's bakery. The lights inside were dimmer than usual. Mrs. Hill wiped the counter slowly, even though it was already clean.
"Town feels restless," Vince said.
"Restless doesn't always look loud," she replied. "Sometimes it just waits."
"For what?" he asked.
She paused, then said, "For someone who didn't leave properly."
At the rental house, Vince spread his notes across the table. Clinic patterns. Daniel's presence. Caleb's inspections. And then the name that refused to stay quiet.
Tommy Raines.
The records were clean. Too clean. Shipping logs showed routes continuing as normal. Trucks went out. Trucks came back. No disruptions. No gaps.
Except one.
Tommy's name stopped appearing.
Not replaced. Not reassigned. Just gone.
As if the town had agreed, silently, to keep moving.
Marilyn Raines had been calm when Vince spoke to her days earlier. Not detached. Just careful. Like someone who knew panic would get her nowhere.
Vince circled Tommy's name in his notebook, then Daniel's. Not accusations. Just proximity.
Outside, footsteps passed the house. Slow. Measured. Vince stayed still until they faded.
Across town, Claire locked the clinic and stood beneath the porch light for a moment. She had noticed someone earlier, watching the building from across the street. Not threatening. Just present.
She decided not to mention it yet.
At the edge of Greyford, unseen, Evan Hale watched lights go dark one by one. The town still remembered him, even if it did not want to.
The threads were tighter now.
And Vince knew that once pulled, Greyford would not pretend everything was fine.