Page 150 of Hades

But now, standing in my kitchen surrounded by products I’d made with my own hands, I realized I’d been asking the wrong question.

It wasn’t why she participated in Harvest Week.

It was why only Harvest Week.

What was she waiting for?

The back door opened but I didn’t turn around. Didn’t need to. I knew the sound of his boots. The weight of his presence. The way the air shifted when he entered a room.

Cerberus lifted his head but didn’t growl. Didn’t stand. Just watched as Brock crossed the kitchen toward me.

His hand found my lower back. Warm. Solid. The kind of touch that said I’m here without words.

I leaned into it. Just slightly. Just enough to feel the steadiness of him behind me.

“You’ve been busy,” he said quietly.

“Festival starts tomorrow.” I tied another ribbon, then added another jar to the crate. “I need everything ready by tonight so I can load the truck in the morning.”

His other hand came up and brushed my hair back over my shoulder. His lips pressed against the side of my neck. Brief. Grounding.

“You need help?”

“I’m almost done.” I glanced at the organized chaos spread across every surface. “Just need to finish labeling and pack the last crate.”

He didn’t move away; he stayed behind me. His body a wall of heat and muscle and protection. His presence alone made the wrongness feel less suffocating.

I picked up another jar and tied the label. His hand stayed on my back, moving in slow circles. Not sexual. Just there.

“Your mom been out today?” he asked.

My hands stilled. “Three times.”

“Asking questions?”

“Yeah.”

His fingers pressed slightly harder against my spine. “What kind of questions?”

“The kind that feel like she’s planning something.” I set the jar down and turned to face him. “She wants to know where the booth will be. How long we’ll stay. What I’m bringing.”

Brock’s jaw tightened. His eyes scanned my face, reading me the way he always did, seeing past the calm exterior to the fear underneath.

“You think she’s a threat?”

“I think she knows something I don’t.” I crossed my arms. Uncrossed them. Picked up another jar just to have something to do with my hands. “And whatever it is, it’s tied to Harvest Week.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Processing. His hand never left my back.

“You want me to stay tomorrow? At the festival?”

“You were planning to anyway.”

“Yeah. But I’m asking if you want me to.”

I looked up at him and saw the seriousness in his expression. The way he was offering me a choice instead of making the decision for me.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I want you there.”