At my sister’s funeral, her boss slipped me a sealed envelope and whispered, “Don’t tell your family—you could be in danger,” while my grieving brother watched us from ten feet away like he already knew what she had left behind.

She’s never forgiven me for being the responsible one. I’ve never forgiven her for making every family gathering a competition I never signed up for.

I told Mark to keep it quiet for now. I wanted to fly home, meet him in person, go over everything before anyone else got wind of it. He agreed.

I finished packing and stopped by my commanding officer’s office to tell him I was taking personal leave. He didn’t ask questions. He could read it on my face that it wasn’t military business.

The next morning, I was at Reagan National before the sun came up. The flight to Charleston was quick, but my mind didn’t slow down. I kept going over logistics. I’d have to meet with Mark at his office downtown. I’d need to check the house on the river, see what condition it was in, and I’d have to dodge Natalie like she was a heat-seeking missile.

Charleston greeted me with warm air and that mix of salt and marsh you don’t smell anywhere else. I picked up a rental car and headed toward my condo in the historic district. It’s small, but enough for me, and it’s in a quiet building where nobody cares about my job or asks too many questions. Perfect for keeping a low profile.

I dropped my bags, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and called Mark. He set our meeting for the following afternoon. That gave me the rest of the day to get groceries and maybe go for a run to shake off the travel.

While I was in the checkout line at the market, my phone lit up with Natalie’s name. I considered ignoring it, but I answered.

“Back in town?” she asked. No hello.

“For a bit,” I said.

“You could have told me.”

“It was short notice. I’ve got some personal stuff to handle.”

That was all it took for her tone to sharpen.

“What kind of personal stuff?”

“The kind that’s personal,” I said, and ended the call before she could dig any deeper.

By evening, I was unpacked, my fridge was stocked, and I’d double-checked the locks. Old habit.

I sat on the couch with my laptop, looking at my calendar. The meeting with Mark was at three tomorrow. I could swing by the river house in the morning, take a quick look. Aunt Evelyn hadn’t lived there in years, but she kept it maintained. I’d only been there twice as a kid. I remembered the wide porch and the dock that went straight into the water.

Around nine that night, I got a text from a friend at the base.

Heard you’re back in Charleston. Beer soon?

I told him, Maybe next week.