He stood up, moved to the narrow basement window, and looked out. The sky was darker than it had been 45 minutes ago. The clouds had that particular low. Flat looked no texture, no movement, just a ceiling pressing down. He'd grown up in these mountains.
He knew what that sky meant. It means I should probably pack up and get down the road before it starts, he said. Or or I don't go anywhere until it passes. He looked at her. How long does the forecast say?
24 hours at minimum. Possibly 36. He did the math without wanting to. The heating system was currently out of commission components on the floor. Circulation cut, no heat running to the upper levels.
If he left now, the estate would be without heat in a serious storm. If he stayed, he'd be here through the night at minimum. He pulled out his phone to call his sister, and stopped. No signal. He moved to the doorway, held the phone higher.
One bar, then none. The cell repeater on the north tower went down this morning. Octavia said she was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Not worried exactly. More like someone who had already run the calculations and wasn't going to pretend otherwise.
There's a satellite phone in the study. Landline in the kitchen, but I don't know that it's been tested recently. I need to make a call, he said. He found the landline. It worked.
He called his sister, Renata, who picked up on the second ring and immediately told him not to worry about Brin. She'd already seen the updated forecast. The school had been sending weather alerts all morning, and Brin was staying over tonight. She's fine, Renata said. She's currently eating my cereal and arguing with my son about something I've given up trying to follow.
Just stay put if you need to. Tell her I'll call when I can get a signal. Cade said she knows. Cade. She's eight, not fragile.
He hung up and stood there a moment with his hand still on the receiver. Brin was fine. That was the only part that mattered. He went back to the mechanical room. The storm hit at 417, not gradually, not the way weather usually introduced itself with a few flakes and some wind as a courtesy warning.
This came all at once, like a door thrown open, and within 30 minutes, the visibility outside the estate windows had dropped to almost nothing. snow moving sideways, wind loud enough to hear through two-foot stone walls. Cade had been racing the clock. He'd gotten the main exchanger reseated and reconnected, started the ignition sequence, and the system had fired up with that particular groan of machinery returning to life that he genuinely liked the sound of a problem being solved. Heat was moving through the lines again, not perfect yet, it would take an hour to fully pressurize the circulation, but functional.
He was washing his hands at the utility sink when the lights flickered. Then the lights went out. Then the generator kicked in. And 30 seconds later, the generator stopped. The house went completely quiet in the way that large spaces do when every mechanical system inside them dies simultaneously.
Cade stood in the dark with wet hands and listened to the wind outside. He found his headlamp in the tool bag, clicked it on, and went to find Octavia. She was in the main corridor on the ground floor already holding a flashlight already moving toward the back of the house. She did not look panicked. She looked like someone who had been inconvenienced in a way they found personally offensive.
Generator, she said. I heard it go. It shouldn't have. It was fully serviced 4 weeks ago. Full tank.
Where is it? Equipment shed. East side of the property. Cade was already putting his coat on. I'm going with you.
She said, "You don't need to. This is my property." She said it without anger. Just fact. I'm going.
The shed was 80 ft from the back door across a courtyard that had in the last hour accumulated 6 in of new snow on top of whatever was already there. They pushed through it with flashlights angled down, heads dropped against the wind. The generator was a commercialgrade unit, diesel powered the kind installed in properties that couldn't afford to lose power for more than minutes. Cade checked the fuel first. Tank was over half full.
He checked the circuit breakers, all intact. He checked the ignition relay. Then he found the fuel line. He crouched down and brought the headlamp close. Didn't say anything for a moment.
What is it? Octavia asked from behind him. The fuel line had a clean slice in it. Not a crack from age or a split from cold to cut. Straight, deliberate, made with something sharp.
This didn't fail, Cade said. He kept his voice level. It was cut silence. He turned and looked up at her. In the cone of flashlight, her face was very still.
Octavia, I heard you. Someone cut this line. Probably within the last few hours, he stood. Have you seen anyone on the property today? No.
Is there anyone who has access? A pause. Not the pause of someone thinking, the pause of someone deciding. There was a threat, she said. 3 months ago.
Then another anonymous. I didn't. She stopped. Started over. I chose not to report them.
Cade looked at her for a long moment in the dark and the cold and the howling wind. How many threats? Four. What kind? She turned and started back toward the house.
Let's get inside first. They checked every door and every ground floor window before she would talk. Cade did it methodically, room by room, while Octavia followed, and he noticed she didn't argue about it. Whatever composure she normally wore like a second skin had thinned. She was still controlled, still precise, but the edges were showing.
They settled in the main sitting room where the stone fireplace was already lit. Cade stacked three more logs on while Octavia stood with her arms crossed, watching the fire. The threat started after I declined to sell my controlling interest. She said, "A rival group, I won't give you names because that becomes complicated. made an offer I turned down.