12. Selene
12
Selene
T he familiar sound of The Goonies fills the living room, a warm, nostalgic hum that makes everything feel a little safer. The glow from the screen flickers against the walls, casting long shadows as Mikey and the gang navigate underground tunnels, their adventure unfolding in front of us like it always has—comforting, predictable.
I’m curled up in a blanket, a bag of gummy worms resting on my stomach, my fingers sticky with sugar. Orion is sprawled next to me, completely focused on his mission: demolishing an entire bag of chips in record time.
“Y’know, if we ever go on some big treasure hunt, I would probably end up having to leave you behind,” he says between crunches.
I scoff. “Excuse you ?”
“You know you’d slow us down. You’re the one who’d insist on bringing snacks. You’re Chunk.”
“I’d be prepared , which is more than I can say for you,” I fire back, tossing a gummy worm at him. “You’d be the guy who steps on a trap and gets us all killed.”
Orion catches the candy midair, popping it into his mouth like it’s some boss battle victory move. “Nah. I’d be the guy with the map.”
I roll my eyes. “You wish you were Mikey.”
Before he can argue, a noise cuts through the scene—a noise that does not belong in the movie.
We hear a subtle noise outside the door.
I pause the movie as we listen from the safety of the living room.
Silence.
Not knocking. Not a key.
Just the soft, deliberate click of someone picking the lock.
I freeze.
Orion sits up, his entire body going tense.
Next, we hear the sound of my front door unlocking.
My stomach drops.
A cold wave of dread washes over me, tightening around my chest like a vice. My brain scrambles for explanations—none of them good. A break-in? A mistake? Am I dreaming?
I barely have time to process before the door swings open, a shadow stepping inside.
I scream.
Valkyrie, who was curled up on the rug, suddenly lets out a sharp, panicked bark—then bolts, her claws skittering against the floor as she disappears down the hall.
And Orion— where the hell did he pull that from —suddenly has a gun in his hand.
Everything happens too fast.
The shadow moves forward. The light from the TV catches the intruder’s blonde hair.
“Oh my God, relax,” a familiar voice whines. “It’s just me.”
Celeste.
I’m going to kill her.
My younger sister flicks her hair back like she meant to give me a heart attack, stepping inside as if she owns the place. She’s wearing ripped jeans, a tiny pink leather jacket that probably costs more than my rent, and a smug little smirk that makes me want to hurl a pillow at her.
Celeste looks like she was factory-made in a top-secret Mattel lab, a limited edition Barbie with long, golden waves, ridiculously blue eyes, and that annoyingly effortless, slender but still curvy body type that people pay surgeons for.
It’s unfair.
“Jesus Christ, Celeste!” I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest, my heart still racing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she bats her thick lashes like she couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong. Then she notices Orion—who is still pointing a gun at her.
“Uh, why are you pointing a gun at me?” She says like she’s genuinely confused.
Orion exhales sharply, lowering the weapon. “You’re lucky I have self-restraint.”
I round on him, voice still high with panic. “Where the hell were you hiding that?”
He shrugs, slipping it back into some mystical void on his person. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes! Yes, I would!”
Celeste laughs, completely unbothered as she tosses her designer bag on the floor like it’s a gym duffel. “Damn, I’m gone for five minutes and you guys turn into full-blown paranoiacs.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “What are you even talking about? I haven’t seen you since I left Georgia almost a year ago. What would you have done if it wasn’t my house that you broke into?”
“Oh, please.” Celeste draws out the word into two syllables as she waves me off like I’m being so dramatic. “I heard The Goonies playing from outside.” She says this like it’s the most logical reason to just waltz into someone’s home.
I blink at her. “That’s not—That doesn’t—” I shake my head, exasperated. “What if you were an actual intruder? You know Orion’s always prepared.”
Orion glares. “I was five seconds away from shooting you.”
“And I appreciate your discretion,” she replies sweetly, strolling into the living room like she hasn’t just shaved years off my life. She grabs a handful of popcorn, shoving it into her mouth like she earned it.
I scowl. “Why are you even here?”
Celeste chews thoughtfully, tilting her head. “FOMO.”
“FOMO?”
“Fear of missing out,” she clarifies, flipping her hair like I’m the idiot. “I saw you guys were hanging out, and my schedule is super chill right now, so I figured—why not?” She leans against the counter, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it.
I narrow my eyes. “Wait. You broke into my house because you missed us?”
Celeste gasps, clutching her chest like I just mortally wounded her. “I am deeply offended that you would suggest such a thing.”
Orion snorts. “She’s definitely bored.”
I groan. “So you broke in because you missed us and you’re bored? How did you even find out we were together?”
Celeste winks. “Find My Friends. What can I say? I’m sentimental.”
Oh my God. I don’t have the energy for this. I sigh and flop back onto the couch, gesturing to the empty space next to me. “Fine. But next time, knock like a normal person.”
She grins, plopping down beside me and immediately stealing a gummy worm. “No promises.”
Orion shakes his head, sitting back down. “Unbelievable.”
I side-eye him. “We are still going to talk about the gun thing.”
Smirking, he grabs the remote from the coffee table. “Sure. But first—the movie isn’t over.”
The scene on the screen plays on—Mikey and his friends running toward adventure.
Celeste hums along to The Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough, completely at home, like she belongs here.
And despite everything… I guess she does.
“So,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “where’s that big, fearsome Doberman guard dog of yours?”
Looking away from the screen I glare at him.
Valkyrie. My supposed protector. My four-legged menace who’s terrified of delivery drivers and aggressively barks at plastic bags caught in the wind. Who prances around like she owns the house, all muscle and confidence. She who—just moments ago—bolted like a coward, butt tucked so tight against her stomach she practically turned into a roly-poly and disappeared down the hall.
I exhale sharply and push myself off the couch. “She was just… startled.”
Orion snorts. “Yeah. She looked really terrifying running for her life.”
Celeste giggles, swiping another gummy worm from my stash. “Poor baby. I guess that could have been a very stressful intrusion.”
Rolling my eyes I head down the hall anyway, following the faint, pitiful sound of snuffling. Valkyrie is curled up in the corner of my bedroom, wedged between my dresser and the wall, chewing furiously on her favorite pacifier toy, the one with the obnoxiously loud squeaker. The moment she sees me, her ears droop, but she doesn’t stop gnawing, her jaws working overtime like she’s stress-eating her feelings.
Crouching down I rub her head between her ears. “C’mon, girl. It’s okay. You didn’t fail as a guard dog. You were, uh… assessing the situation from a strategic position.”
She keeps chewing.
Squeak. Squeak.
I sigh, grabbing the end of the toy as I give it a little tug. “Come back to the living room, baby. I need you to pretend you’re scary so Orion will shut up.”
Another dramatic squeak.
Valkyrie lets me take the toy but follows, pressing against my leg like she’s still debating whether or not the intruder is a threat. When we step back into the living room, Celeste immediately gasps, pressing both hands over her heart.
“Oh. Em. Gee! Look at her! She’s still so stressed,” she coos, reaching out like she’s going to smother Valkyrie with love. Valkyrie yanks the pacifier out of my hand and ducks behind my legs, chomping on her toy.
Orion shakes his head. “Some guard dog.”
Valkyrie, as if to prove my point, lets out a long, exaggerated sigh around the pacifier, then drops her pacifier as she tips her head back letting out a pitiful howl.
Not barking. Not growling.
Howling.
It’s a full-on, mournful, operatic performance. The kind that sounds like she’s auditioning for a wolf pack. She adds a little vibrato at the end to show us she’s really putting emotion into it.
Celeste gasps again, clasping her hands. “She’s serenading us! Oh, sweet girl.”
Orion groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He stands from where he had laid back down on the couch and leaves with a “Fuck this.”
“She’s expressing herself,” Celeste screeches, utterly delighted.
Valkyrie does it again, this time really leaning into the drama.
Valkyrie lets out another soulful howl.
Celeste claps. “Encore!”
I am never getting my peaceful night back.
The worst part about it? Celeste joins in. Howling in tune with Valkyrie, like they’re their own pack.
* * *
Morgan
The sharp knock at the door startles me, interrupting the quiet of the evening. My heart jumps as I glance toward the window, where the dim glow of my porch light reveals a hulking figure standing outside.
That’s not Bennett’s knock.
Theo has a key so he wouldn’t need to knock.
I grab the Glock from the end table drawer and tuck it into the back of my jeans. I’m no stranger to trouble, and after everything that’s been happening, I’m not taking any chances.
With one hand on the doorknob and the other hovering near the gun, I take a steadying breath and crack the door open. The moment I see him, my gut twists.
The man on my porch looks like he just stepped out of an action movie—broad shoulders straining against a black henley so tight it looks like it’s painted on, hazel eyes sharp and assessing, and a jawline that could probably cut glass. His presence is magnetic in a way that instantly puts me on edge. I know men like him. The ones who take up space effortlessly, who know they don’t need to raise their voices to command a room. The ones who smile like they’ve already won.
“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my tone cool and my stance firm.
He holds up both hands in a gesture of calm, a smile tugging at his lips like he finds my wariness amusing. Already, I don’t like him.
“Morgan, right?”
I don’t answer.
“I’m a friend of a friend, I wanted to ask you a few questions.” He says, pulling out a badge and holding it up for me to see.
I glance at it quickly, not lowering my guard, if anything the badge makes my hackles rise. “FBI? What’s the Bureau doing at my door?”
He leans forward casually resting his hand next to the door frame as he leans in closer, his size making the action look almost predatory. The ease in his posture is deliberate. Everything about him is deliberate. “Like I said I’m a friend first, FBI agent second. I’m here to ask you a few questions. Do you mind if I come in?”
“I do, actually,” I say, crossing my arms. “If you’ve got questions, you can ask them from right there.”
His smirk deepens like he enjoys the challenge. Like he was hoping I’d say that.
“Alright. Let’s start with this—what can you tell me about Aubrey?”
The question catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. I keep my expression blank, ignoring the way my pulse picks up. “Why?”
“Humor me,” he says, his voice low and commanding.
The way he says it makes my skin prickle. Not a demand, not quite a request. Just an expectation.
My fingers twitch wanting to be near my gun, but the intensity in his gaze—steady, unyielding—keeps me from outright shutting the door on him. “I’m not the one you should be interrogating. If you’re looking into Aubrey, maybe you should take a closer look at Cassie instead. She’s been pointing fingers at Aubrey from the beginning, and if you ask me, it’s a little too convenient.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Cassie? As in Cassandra Moros?”
“The same,” I say. “She’s the one who started spreading the idea that Aubrey had caused the accident that killed her brother in law and his wife, she was saying Aubrey also had something to do with the death of—”
“George, her first husband.” He finishes for me, his voice darkening.
The way he says it makes unease coil in my stomach. Not like it’s news to him. Like it’s confirmation.
That gives me pause. “You’re looking into their deaths?”
“That’s my job,” he says, leaning in just a little closer—almost into my space now, almost into my house. “And I’m here to make sure this doesn’t turn into a bigger mess than it already is. So why don’t you stop dancing around my questions and tell me everything you know?”
I hate that he’s good at this. That he’s reading me even as I try to do the same to him.
Before I can respond, the sound of tires crunching on gravel draws both our attention. A car door slams, and a moment later, Bennett appears in the driveway, his expression cautious as he spots the hulking figure on the porch.
“Who’s this?” Bennett asks, jogging up the steps gesturing to the giant in front of me.
“I’m just a friend, and I’m assuming you’re Bennett?” He turns slightly, no one at his back, a move that’s second nature to men who don’t like surprises.
Bennett narrows his eyes. “How do you know who I am?”
The man’s smile sharpens, just a fraction. It seems like an expression meant to make people feel like they’re already three steps behind. He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking over Bennett in open assessment.
“Lucky guess,” he says, voice smooth, almost playful. A hypnotic voice that could lull you into a false sense of security if you weren’t paying attention. He then pulls out his badge again, flashing it like an ace up his sleeve. “I’m also the FBI agent who’s been tracking all your digital breadcrumbs. And let me tell you, you’ve left quite a trail.”
Bennett stiffens. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s already doing the mental math, running through everything we’ve done, every conversation, every search that might have put us on the FBI’s radar.
“You’re the one at the FBI who was looking into the poisonings?” Bennett asks, voice tight.
“Among other things,” he says, his tone casual but his gaze sharp as a blade.
I glance between them, the tension crackling in the air. I don’t like this. The way the agent stands there like he’s already figured us out, like we’re just a puzzle he’s piecing together at his own damn pace. I don’t like that he knows more than he’s letting on.
“So you’ve been digging into all of this, and now you’re here to what—interrogate us about what we know?” I ask, crossing my arms. My pulse is steady, my expression unreadable, but I hate the feeling that I’m on the defensive. “Why have you been looking into them? How did you find them?”
His hazel eyes lock on mine, and the intensity there hits me like a strike of flint against stone. Sharp. Unrelenting
“I’m here because someone, without the proper training, is connecting dots they shouldn’t be, and it’s putting people in danger. That includes you.”
The warning in his tone is clear. But it’s not the words that unnerve me—it’s the way he says it like he’s not just stating a fact but giving me a chance to back off before it’s too late.
For a moment, the weight of his gaze keeps me rooted in place, and I hate that I feel the flicker of heat rising in my chest. I hate the way my body reacts to him, to the confidence, to the challenge, to the way he looks at me like he already knows exactly how I’m going to respond. He’s frustrating, condescending, and entirely too attractive for his own good—or mine.
Bennett interrupts the moment, stepping between us. Not that I was about to let it turn into anything.
“If you think Aubrey had anything to do with this, you’re wrong. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
The agent shifts his focus to Bennett. It’s like watching a predator shift its attention, assessing a new variable in the equation.
“I don’t think anything yet. I’m here to find the truth, not jump to conclusions,” he says. “But the more people keep secrets, the harder that gets.”
“She’s not the only one with secrets,” I snap, my patience thinning. This man isn’t the only one that can push. “Cassie’s behavior has been shady as hell. Have you looked into Josie Lyon or anyone else in town? Maybe you should start there instead of barging in here and accusing us of—what, withholding information?”
The agent’s lips quirk into a half-smile. It’s a smile that says he’s enjoying this. That he likes a little fight.
“Noted,” he says. His tone is unreadable, making me wonder just how much of what I’ve said he buys. “But for the record, I’m not accusing you. Yet.”
Yet. The word lingers like a quiet promise.
“I’ll let you get back to your night, but don’t go far,” he adds. “I’m going to need more than what you’ve given me if I’m going to be able to keep my family safe.”
His family. The words catch me off guard for half a second. He’s not just some detached fed, cold, and calculating. This feels personal somehow. I just don’t know what it is.
As he turns to leave, the tension in the air doesn’t dissipate—it lingers, electric and unsettling. Like the static before a storm.
Bennett and I exchange a look, but neither of us says a word until his car disappears down the road.
“You think he’s trustworthy?” Bennett finally asks.
I shrug, still feeling the weight of the agent’s gaze on me. Still hearing his voice in the back of my mind, the way he looked into my soul and stared at my lips. “Trustworthy or not, he’s not going away anytime soon.”