Before I can respond, the sound of tires crunching on gravel draws both our attention. A car door slams, and a moment later, Bennett appears in the driveway, his expression cautious as he spots the hulking figure on the porch.

“Who’s this?” Bennett asks, jogging up the steps gesturing to the giant in front of me.

“I’m just a friend, and I’m assuming you’re Bennett?” He turns slightly, no one at his back, a move that’s second nature to men who don’t like surprises.

Bennett narrows his eyes. “How do you know who I am?”

The man’s smile sharpens, just a fraction. It seems like an expression meant to make people feel like they’re already three steps behind. He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking over Bennett in open assessment.

“Lucky guess,” he says, voice smooth, almost playful. A hypnotic voice that could lull you into a false sense of security if you weren’t paying attention. He then pulls out his badge again, flashing it like an ace up his sleeve. “I’m also the FBI agent who’s been tracking all your digital breadcrumbs. And let me tell you, you’ve left quite a trail.”

Bennett stiffens. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s already doing the mental math, running through everything we’ve done, every conversation, every search that might have put us on the FBI’s radar.

“You’re the one at the FBI who was looking into the poisonings?” Bennett asks, voice tight.

“Among other things,” he says, his tone casual but his gaze sharp as a blade.

I glance between them, the tension crackling in the air. I don’t like this. The way the agent stands there like he’s already figured us out, like we’re just a puzzle he’s piecing together at his own damn pace. I don’t like that he knows more than he’s letting on.

“So you’ve been digging into all of this, and now you’re here to what—interrogate us about what we know?” I ask, crossing my arms. My pulse is steady, my expression unreadable, but I hate the feeling that I’m on the defensive. “Why have you been looking into them? How did you find them?”

His hazel eyes lock on mine, and the intensity there hits me like a strike of flint against stone. Sharp. Unrelenting

“I’m here because someone, without the proper training, is connecting dots they shouldn’t be, and it’s putting people in danger. That includes you.”

The warning in his tone is clear. But it’s not the words that unnerve me—it’s the way he says it like he’s not just stating a fact but giving me a chance to back off before it’s too late.