The evening came down slow over Greyford, the kind of dusk that softened edges without hiding them. Vince walked the longer route back toward the square, not because he needed the time, but because stillness had started to feel heavier than motion.
He passed the clinic with its lights half on. Claire's car was still there. That told him more than he wanted to know.
He stopped anyway.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Claire was finishing notes at the desk, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back in a way that suggested she had stopped caring about how it looked hours ago. She looked up when she heard him.
"You're late," she said.
"I lost track of time."
She nodded, not questioning it. That was becoming a pattern.
They stood there for a moment, neither moving. Outside, a truck rolled past, slow and deliberate. Vince's mind snagged on the sound before letting it go. Too many trucks meant too many reminders.
"Caleb was asking around today," Claire said. "About soil samples near the creek."
"Environmental work?"
"Officially."
Vince took that in. Caleb never asked without reason. Neither did Daniel, though his reasons were harder to read. Vince had seen Daniel earlier near the school, speaking to no one in particular, watching everything.
"People are restless," Claire added. "They don't say it outright, but it's there."
"Greyford has a way of pretending nothing's wrong."
"Yes," she said. "Until it can't."
They moved to the doorway together, not touching, but close enough that Vince felt the shift in space. It surprised him how aware he was of it. He had been careful for so long that the absence of caution felt like a mistake forming.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on one by one. Harold stood across the road near his garage, wiping his hands, eyes scanning without fixing on anything. He noticed Vince, gave a short nod, then went back inside. No tension. No greeting. Just acknowledgment.
"Marilyn was here earlier," Claire said quietly.
Vince looked at her. "Did she say anything?"
"No. She asked about records. Nothing specific."
That was specific enough.
They walked a few steps down the sidewalk before stopping again. Vince did not know who stopped first. That bothered him.
"This town doesn't let things stay buried," Claire said. "It just waits."
The space between them felt charged now. Not urgent. Not dramatic. Just present.
Vince leaned in before he fully realized he had decided to. It was not a choice so much as a lapse. The kiss was brief, incomplete. It barely settled before something inside him tightened.
The weight of it felt wrong in a way he recognized too quickly.
His hand loosened. He drew back slightly, just enough to break the moment before it could become something else. Memory came with it, sharp and unwelcome. A different room. A different night. A consequence he had not paid for alone.
Claire did not step forward or away. She stayed where she was, eyes steady, understanding more than he said.
"I should go," Vince said.
It was not an apology. It was not an excuse.
She nodded once. "Be careful."
He walked away before the pause could deepen.
The night settled thicker as he moved through the streets. A figure crossed near the old hardware store, too far to see clearly, gone before Vince could slow. He felt watched without knowing by whom. That sensation had been growing lately.
Near the square, voices drifted from the diner. Someone mentioned Tommy Raines, just a name in passing, tied to a delivery that never finished. Another voice corrected the detail, then dropped it entirely. Marilyn's name followed, spoken with the same careful neutrality.
Vince kept walking.
By the time he reached the rental, the porch light was on again. He stood there for a moment before going inside. The house felt quiet but alert, like it had learned his habits.
He opened his notebook but did not write immediately.
Evan Hale had not shown himself today. That bothered Vince more than if he had. Presence was easier than absence. Absence left room for intention.
Somewhere in town, someone was waiting.
Vince closed the notebook and turned off the light, knowing sleep would come late, if at all.