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Always plotting [Nate's Will & Legacy Part I]

The Larcombe house hadn't felt this full in years, not since the times Lacy offered to keep all the grandkids for the weekend, when laughter echoed off the kitchen tiles and the smell of cinnamon rolls pulled everyone out of bed too early. Now the halls were full again, but softer. Calmer. The voices were low and reverent, even the kids intuitively quieter than usual. Grief had its own gravity, and today, it had drawn them all home.

The fire crackled in the hearth of the great room, casting a warm glow over the living portraits Nate had built with his life. Lacy sat in her favorite chair by the window, fingers curled around a cup of chamomile tea she wasn't drinking. Her eyes were dry now, but only because she'd already cried for hours the day before, tucked beneath the quilt Nate's grandmother had made decades ago.

Elias stood near the mantel, hand on his son Drew's shoulder, watching the flames like they might offer answers. His other children - Mia and Stone - were sprawled out on the rug nearby, quietly flipping through a worn leather photo album that had sat on Nate's shelf for as long as they could remember. Each page was full of stories: Nate at graduation, Nate holding baby Elias, Nate dancing awkwardly with Lacy at some cousin's wedding.

Everly sat on the edge of the couch, Landon's arm draped loosely across her back. Her eyes were red-rimmed but steady, her hand gripping a folded letter Nate had left for her on the last family trip. It just said: I'm proud of you. Take care of your mother.

He'd known. Somehow, he'd known.