Page 69 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“They fit at the cider station.”

“Not like this.”

I turn back toward the lodge. People move through the entrance in both directions, slowing beside the charity-auction display before joining the flow inside. The case is taller than I realized from the lawn. Glass covers its front and both sides, reflecting the lights, the red banner, and anyone who walks past.

A child in a red jacket darts ahead of her parents. Her image flashes across the glass before disappearing through the doors.

My fingers tighten around Rocco’s.

“Red,” I whisper.

“The jacket?”

“No. The reflection.”

Rocco follows my gaze. The banner also moves across the surface whenever the doors open, breaking into red fragments beneath the lights.

“The flash you saw could have been reflected,” he says.

“Yes.”

The certainty moves through me quietly this time. No pain. No darkness swallowing the festival. Only recognition settling into place.

Rocco lifts the radio again. “Wade, have someone locate the auction coordinator. I want that display moved away from the entrance.”

“Why?” I ask.

“It narrows the passage and encourages people to stop where others are trying to enter. If the glass breaks, it blocks one of the primary exits.”

Rocco doesn’t need to believe every detail of my vision to see the danger in front of him. He looks at what exists, measures what could happen, and acts on the part he can prove.

“The case matters,” I say.

“I know.”

“Not only because it blocks the doors.”

“What else?”

I close my eyes and let the festival move around me. Music. Voices. The snap of burning wood. Cinnamon carried from the cider station. Each sound remains separate from the others.

I reach for the vision without inviting it to take me again.

Glass explodes outward.

A child screams.

Red moves across the broken surface.

Someone reaches through the opening.

My eyes fly open.

“The case is broken intentionally.”

Rocco’s attention sharpens. “How?”

“I don’t know.”