“I’ve spent time here.”
“Noah mentioned you’re new at KOAN.”
“That I am.”
“Why’d you leave the military?”
“It was time,” he says, glancing over with a grin. “Is that answer a cop-out?”
I smile. Because we’re not close, his answer doesn’t feel like a deflection—just privacy.
But he must feel like he should expand. “Going private gives you more flexibility.”
We approach the school as traffic thickens. I point to the church lot. “Park there. Easier walk.”
We pull in. As we exit, I ask, “Family brings you back to DC?”
“Someone I care about. Not romantic.” He falls into step beside me. “Actually, it’s a case involving some key DC players. You might have a unique perspective.”
“Oh?” A parent waves from across the lot, and I wave back. In my role, I’m familiar with many of the players in the area. I’m happy to answer questions, but not where we might be overheard. “Talk to me back at the house.”
He nods.
We merge into the stream of parents entering the school. Ahead, about ten rows from the stage, I spot Richard. He sees me and lifts his hand.
There are several empty seats between the aisle and where Jessica sits.
I start toward him, but Gabriel’s hand taps my shoulder.
“Can you step back out for a moment?”
I gesture to Richard that I’ll be there shortly. He frowns and turns away.
I follow Gabriel out into the wide school hallway—and stop breathing. Noah stands there. Tall. Exhausted. Unbearably present. My heart lifts so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You made it,” I breathe, and I’m moving before I mean to.
“Told you I would.” He catches me, and for just a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of his hands at my waist, the solid reality of him here.
“Thanks, man,” he says to Gabriel. “I was aiming to meet her at the house. Delayed flight.”
Gabriel grins. “Hand-off complete. I’ll see you both in the morning.”
It’s Thursday evening—the first of three performances.
“I can’t believe you surprised me,” I say, my hand tucked in his. “Stella’s going to be thrilled.”
Richard glances over his shoulder when we enter. The moment he sees Noah, his jaw tightens, and he turns back to face forward so rigidly I can feel his anger from three rows back. Seats have been taken now, and the one seat he saved is clearly for me alone. But two seats sit open directly behind them, and Noah steers me toward those.
Jessica turns, smiling sweetly. Something in her eyes contradicts the smile entirely. Richard stares forward, refusing to look at us. Fortunately, the hum of activity around us cuts what might be particularly awkward thanks to Richard.
The lights dim. The curtain rises.
As the play unfolds, I’m struck by how easily truth twists in the wrong hands. The Crucible isn’t about witchcraft—it’s about jealousy, ignorance, a community hungry for moral superiority. A willingness to condemn without evidence.
A willingness to destroy.
Stella plays her role perfectly. She told me she was the villain—but she’s not. More of an accomplice. And I like that she knows that. I like that she already understands the danger of following others blindly.