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The WHRIB’s response to Farrow’s escalated report arrived nearly two weeks later, considerably slower than any of them had anticipated, and Allen found himself, reading through the official communication Farrow forwarded, understanding immediately why the delay had proven so extensive.

"They’re taking this seriously," Myria observed, reviewing the document over his shoulder. "Full classification upgrade. This investigation now falls under a designation I’ve never previously encountered in any public WHRIB literature."

"What does that actually mean for us?" Allen asked. "Practically speaking."

"It means considerably more resources," Farrow explained, having joined them via call to walk through the implications personally. "And considerably more oversight. Command wants full briefings on everything we’ve uncovered, including your own family’s direct involvement in the raid itself."

"Are we in trouble?" Irene asked, some of her old wariness resurfacing.

"No," Farrow said firmly. "If anything, command’s grateful. Your family accomplished what an entire dedicated task force hadn’t managed in years of fragmentary investigation. But they do want protocols in place going forward. Coordinated action, rather than independent initiative, given how considerably higher the stakes have proven to be."

"What does ’protocols’ actually look like in practice?" Vivian asked, her own careful, methodical instincts already anticipating the practical shape of whatever bureaucratic structure command intended to impose.

"Regular briefings," Farrow said. "A dedicated liaison, likely, given the scope. Formal sign-off before any independent action involving the wider conspiracy. I know that chafes against how your family’s operated so far, but I’d rather you hear the shape of it from me than be blindsided by someone considerably less familiar with everything you’ve already survived."

"We appreciate that," Myria said.

Allen absorbed the news with cautious, considered relief, understanding the reasonable logic behind tighter coordination even as some part of him bristled at the thought of stepping back from an investigation that had, for months, belonged so personally to his own family’s hard-won healing.

"We’ll cooperate," he said finally. "But I want to stay involved. This isn’t just an assignment for us."

"I understand that completely," Farrow said. "I’ve already made that case to command myself. They’ve agreed to keep your family as primary consultants, given your unique connection and proven capability. You won’t be sidelined. Just properly coordinated."

"That’s fair," Myria said, and Allen nodded his own grudging agreement, recognizing the wisdom in Farrow’s careful, considered compromise even as the investigation’s mounting institutional weight settled into something considerably larger than the patient, personal search it had begun as.

"I do want one more thing on the record," Allen added. "If anything ever puts my family in genuine danger, I’m not waiting on bureaucratic sign-off to act. I’ll follow protocol wherever I reasonably can. But I won’t stand by while someone in an office decides how fast we’re allowed to protect each other."

"I’d expect nothing less," Farrow said. "And for what it’s worth, I’ve already flagged exactly that expectation to command. I don’t think they’ll fight you on it, given everything you’ve already proven."

---

Life in Hegeville continued its own steady, considerable rhythm in the weeks that followed, the investigation’s mounting institutional scope somehow coexisting alongside the town’s ordinary, hopeful business — the vocational center’s continued enrollment, the memorial garden’s steady bloom, Edward’s own quiet, patient work still earning him a little more trust with every passing week.

"It’s strange," Allen admitted to Vivian one evening, watching the town’s familiar lights from the guild’s balcony, "how normal everything still feels here, even with everything we now know waiting somewhere out there."

"Maybe that’s the point," Vivian said gently. "We can’t live suspended in constant vigilance. This town, this family — it’s what we’re actually protecting. If we let the threat consume every ordinary moment, we lose something worth defending in the first place."

Allen let the observation settle, drawing quiet comfort from her steady, considered wisdom, and together they watched the evening deepen over Hegeville’s own hard-won peace.

"Can I tell you something?" Allen said after a while.

"Always."

"I think I’m actually looking forward to some ordinary time," he admitted. "Not because I want to stop caring about the investigation. Just — I think we’ve earned a little room to breathe before whatever comes next actually arrives."

"We have," Vivian agreed. "And I think Farrow understands that too, honestly, even if she’d never phrase it quite that way. That’s probably part of why she pushed to keep us as consultants rather than full-time operatives. She knows we need this life alongside the work, not instead of it."

"Good," Allen said, drawing her close. "Because I don’t think I could do this without Hegeville waiting for me at the end of every difficult day."

They stood together a while longer, watching the last of the evening light fade behind the town’s familiar rooftops, and Allen felt the considerable, patient work of healing and building continuing steadily onward, regardless of whatever ancient, watching danger still waited somewhere beyond the edges of everything they’d already, so carefully, built.

"Whatever comes," he said finally, "we’ll be ready. But tonight, we just get to be here."

"Tonight," Vivian agreed, "we just get to be here," and the evening settled into quiet, considerable peace, one more ordinary night among the many still waiting, patiently, to be properly, gratefully lived.

They found the others gathered in the common room when they finally went back inside, Irene sprawled across the couch recounting some exaggerated story from her afternoon at the vocational center, Everlyn quietly sketching a design for the memorial garden’s next planting bed, Myria reviewing the day’s final correspondence with her usual, unhurried thoroughness now that the heavier work had settled into Farrow’s more considerable, institutional hands.

"You two look relaxed," Myria observed, glancing up as they entered.

"We had a good conversation," Allen said, settling beside her. "About balance, mostly. About making sure this doesn’t consume everything else we’ve built."

"I’ve been thinking about that too," Myria admitted. "I don’t want to lose sight of Hegeville, or of each other, chasing something that might take considerably longer to resolve than any of us would prefer."

"Then we won’t," Irene said firmly, sitting up. "We’ll do both. We’re good at doing both, honestly. We’ve had plenty of practice."

"We have," Everlyn wrote, holding up her notepad with a small, genuine smile.

Allen looked around at his gathered family, the evening’s earlier weight easing into something considerably lighter, and felt a fresh measure of gratitude settle into place — for people who could carry impossible burdens and still, somehow, make room for laughter and gardens and quiet evenings together, exactly the way they always had.

"Let’s get some rest," he said finally. "Tomorrow’s still going to be considerable, whatever it brings. But tonight was good. I want to hold onto that."

Nobody argued, and the family settled gradually toward their own rest, Hegeville’s steady, hopeful lights continuing their quiet work outside, one more day closer to whatever the future still had waiting, patiently, to unfold.

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