Harold's POV
I watched Phoebe nod. "Yes."
My frown deepened. "Is this person you're afraid of in Clearwater?"
"Harold, please stop asking," she said, her tone mixing amusement with frustration.
I could see right through her attempt to deflect, but I sighed anyway. "Fine, I won't ask again. But promise me—if you're ever in danger you can't handle, you'll tell me." When she stayed quiet, I didn't push further. If I couldn't get answers from her directly, I'd just have to investigate on my own. Her records in Heather had been wiped clean, but with enough determination, I'd uncover something.
"I promise that if I'm ever in danger, I'll come to you for help immediately," Phoebe said with apparent sincerity.
I studied her face for a long moment before extending my hand. "Let's go. Alan and the others are still waiting for us."
She took my hand. "Okay."
