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Another car passed by on the road below, the distant rumble carrying on the breeze. I wondered if we should have stayed down there and taken our chances hitching a ride into the next town.

Luke raised his brows at me. He was taller and more muscled than the man at the door.

Kirby shrugged, fine with staying or leaving.

The three of us could handle ourselves. “Okay,” I said. “Just for a little while.”

He moved aside as we climbed the steps, and his features became clearer. Sharp silver eyes, a scar above his right eyebrow, and a set of three almost identical faint scratches down the side of his neck. Not bite marks, but still. A reminder to be careful.

“I’m Jeremy,” he said, gesturing toward a wooden rack in the foyer. “You guys mind taking off your shoes?”

Kirby’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He gave her a relaxed smile. “It’s a pain, I know, but I’m trying to keep the place clean.”

The man wore slippers, so it was hard to argue with him when he followed his own rules.

Warmth radiated through the house, and I didn’t want to miss my chance to enjoy it through stubbornness. I removed my sneakers and lined them up beside a pair of work boots with dark stains on the toes and crumbled pieces of dirt underneath.

Luke hung back for a moment before he did the same.

Kirby followed suit, kicking off her heavy boots with a quiet, “Whatever.”

Jeremy nodded at Luke’s nail gun, then Kirby’s axe. “Mind leaving those by the door, too?” he asked, his tone apologetic.

My fingers dug into the pickaxe handle. I didn’t want to part with my weapon. I’d miss the weight of it, the security.

When none of us immediately complied, he lifted a shoulder. “You need them out there, but I’m not psyched about having three armed strangers in my house, you know?”

Kirby’s axe stayed by her side. “If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather hang on to it.”

“Look, I get it, I do,” he said, running a hand over his goatee. “I’m not trying to make things weird, but if it was the other way around, you’d probably want me to do the same, right?”

Jeremy hadn’t raised his voice or moved closer. He wasn’t trying to take anything from us. He just wanted our weapons out of reach while we were here.

“We’re leaving them near the door,” Luke said. “Right where we can access them.”

“No worries.” Jeremy stepped away as if to ease the pressure.

Luke crouched and set the nail gun down just inside the door. Kirby and I laid our weapons beside it, exchanging a look as we straightened.

I waited for someone else to step out of the shadows, for us to suddenly be outnumbered now that we were empty-handed, but nothing happened.

“Come on through,” Jeremy said, turning away. “The kitchen’s this way.”

A hallway on the right led to what I assumed were the bedrooms.

He took us through a timber-panelled lounge room on the left with burgundy accents and a chandelier hanging from a ceiling rose. The fire sat front and centre, with logs crackling behind the soot-stained glass door. Landscape paintings decorated the walls, and a bag of knitting had been tucked beside a comfy-looking plaid couch.

Jeremy’s slippers scuffed over the patterned rug, then he walked through the archway into the kitchen.

The heat from the fire warmed my legs as I passed by. I followed him into the kitchen, waiting for any odours to trigger my defences, but there were no hints that anyone had died in the house.

The kitchen smelled vaguely of fresh bread, and Kirby made a groaning sound of appreciation. “Please tell me that’s what I think it is.”

Jeremy didn’t say a word in response. It was as if she hadn’t spoken. He nodded at a jug on the bench with glasses stacked alongside. “Grab some water if you’re thirsty,” he said. “Take a seat. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Luke gave me just the slightest shake of his head.