“It was sealed,” Kateri said softly.

“You know,” Shannon said.

“I do,” Kateri said.

From the hill, the town looks like a postcard. The steeple and the school tower. The green grass replaced with colored leaves. From Fountain Street you can see the Hub, where by now another blond boy, similar in size and shape to Shannon, has replaced him. The justice center. The train, barreling through, filled with freight.

Hurt leaves the squad car at the foot of the driveway, with Bear’s monstrosity of a house looming above. The lawn is fresh and clean, not a leaf out of place, the edges sharp and the driveway blown out.

“Not a good time,” Bear says, a little louder than Kateri expects, when he opens the door. They don’t even ring the bell; he just sweeps it open and shouts.

“It’s never a good time,” Hurt says, and pushes his way past Kateri into the open great room. There are tools on the kitchen counter, a paint can, a roll of blue shop towels.

“Do you have a warrant?” Bear asks. “I’m kind of busy.” His hair is loose and sweaty, his face flushed with anger. His eyes dart in agitation. Kateri swallows, watching him. He seems coiled and ready, like he will strike at any moment.

Hurt humors him. “Doing?” he says.

“The work that Shannon’s not here to do,” Bear says.

“Oh yeah?” Hurt says. “Can you suck your own dick? Actually, don’t answer,” he says, holding up a hand. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out.”

“Hurt,” Kateri says, trying to shut him up, but she sees it happening, Bear’s fist as it clenches, the knuckles white, the spring of his arm as he pulls back and clocks Hurt cold. She can’t stop it, and Hurt can’t get out of the way fast enough. The punch jolts his jaw upward; she hears the smack of his teeth and the knock of his head on the marble floor of the entryway.

Kateri stands still for a moment, staring down at Hurt on the floor, and realizes that in the action, as a reflex, she has drawn her gun. Bear looks at her and laughs, his teeth bared and his face devoid of humor.

“Let’s not get dramatic,” he says.

“I have a warrant for your arrest,” she says. Her heart pounds in her ears, and her armpits start to itch.

“For what?” Bear shouts. He is still smiling his mean grin, not mirth but rage. He massages his knuckles where he connected with Hurt’s face. His shoulders square up; his chest pushes out. He makes himself bigger than he is, and he comes toward Kateri.

“For the murder of Pearl Jenkins,” Kateri says. She has to clench her arm, deep in the shoulder socket, to keep her hand from shaking. A bead of sweat rolls down her back, collects at her waist.

Bear creeps closer, his eyes bright and intent, and he shakes his head. Kateri knows she needs to call for backup, but she can’t take her gun or her eyes off him. She needs Hurt to get up.