20. Theo
20
Theo
A s we step out of the house, Orion twirls his keys between his fingers, already heading for his rental. Celeste catches my eye, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she follows him.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls over her shoulder in a sing-songy voice.
Selene crosses her arms, mirroring her sister’s smirk. “Good luck surviving the drive. Or did you forget—Orion drives like he’s in a high-speed chase?”
Celeste groans dramatically before turning to Orion. “Great. If I die, I’m haunting you.”
Orion scoffs, unlocking the car. “Puh-lease. I get us to where we need to go efficiently.”
“Illegally,” Selene corrects.
“Recklessly,” Celeste adds.
“Skillfully,” Orion counters, grinning as he swings into the driver’s seat.
“Sure, if by ‘skillfully,’ you mean ‘giving the entire town whiplash,’” Selene retorts, raising a brow.
Celeste sighs. “Just—try not to get arrested for once. I’d like to make it through one trip without the words ‘Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?’”
Orion rolls his eyes, but there’s amusement behind it. “Fine. I’ll keep it under 100.”
“Dude, this is a small town. That’s not the reassurance you think it is. I’m pretty sure the top speed is like, forty-five.” Selene deadpans.
I smother a laugh as Orion backs out of the driveway—way too fast—tires kicking up loose gravel. Celeste yelps as she nearly smacks into the window, before shooting a glare at her brother.
“See?” Selene gestures at the dust cloud left in their wake. “Menace.”
Chuckling under my breath I shake my head. She laughs beside me, shaking her head as well, and for a moment, the weight in my chest eases. It doesn’t last. We’re about to drive across town to talk about cyanide poisoning, and no amount of banter can change that.
Before she can reach for the truck door, I step in front of her. “Let me help you.”
She hesitates—just for a second—but I catch a flicker in her expression, the way her breath hitches when I swing the passenger door open. Her fingers twitch when I take her hand to help her up, and even though she’s quick to mask it, I don’t miss the shiver that skates up her spine. Barely there, but I feel it.
Her eyes flick to mine, and I don’t bother hiding my grin.
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell, it’s more for show than anything. “Such a gentleman.”
“Always,” I murmur, watching as she settles into the seat. I linger longer than necessary, taking her in—the way she tucks one leg beneath her, the stretch of her legs against the worn bench seat, the way my old truck makes her look small in the best way. Like she belongs here, right in the middle of whatever this is—whatever good is finally unfolding.
This truck has held so many memories—me laughing until my stomach hurt with my uncle on long drives, windows down, and music blasting. Late-night runs for pizza from Tony’s. Sitting in the driveway after work, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. It’s a piece of my past, but right now, with Selene sitting there, looking effortlessly perfect in its worn leather seat, it doesn’t feel like just nostalgia. It feels like a beginning, a shift I didn’t expect.
I shake the thought away and shut the door as I circle my truck to the driver’s side.
By the time I slide in and start the engine, the air between us has shifted. It’s still charged—has been since the moment I got in her bed—but it’s different now. Charged. Waiting to crack open like a summer storm.
We should be focused on what’s ahead. On the meeting at Mo’s. On the people who’ve died, and the ones who might be next, even the ones we’ve missed.
But for now, in the cab of my old truck, it’s just us.
As I pull out of the driveway, the hum of the engine fills the space between us. Selene leans her head against the window, watching the town slip past in a blur of sunlit streets and quiet homes. She seems content, but the way her fingers drum absentmindedly against her knee makes it seem like she’s holding back.
“So,” she finally says, breaking the silence as she stretches her legs out in front of her. “What’s your favorite place in the world?”
The question catches me off guard. I was expecting small talk—a lighter topic to ease the weight pressing down on us. But I like that she doesn’t start there.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, considering. “I don’t know if I have just one. It’s more about a feeling than a place, you know? Like—” I pause, thinking of late summer nights spent at the cafe, the way the neon sign glows against the dark, the warmth of a freshly brewed cup of coffee in my hands. “Anywhere that feels like home.”
She hums as if she understands. “So, not a specific location, but the feeling of being grounded?”
I nod. “Yeah. What about you?”
She shifts slightly in her seat, gaze flickering to me before settling back on the road ahead. “I don’t know if I’ve found it yet.” There’s a wistful note in her tone that makes me glance at her a little longer than I should.
“No place that comes close?”
She exhales a soft laugh. “Maybe the ocean. Not a beach—too crowded. Just… standing at the edge of the world, listening to the waves crash. There’s something about it that makes everything else feel small.”
“Sounds lonely.”
She tilts her head, considering. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s nice to be small, to let everything else be big for a while.”
I don’t answer right away. The way she says it sticks with me.
The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind that settles, that lingers in a way that doesn’t need to be filled.
Glancing at her again, my heart skips a beat at the way she sits curled up in my truck like she’s always belonged there.
She must feel the shift in the air, too, because a slow smirk tugs at her lips. She turns toward me, the smirk on her lips just shy of trouble. “Alright. How do you feel about Twenty Questions?”
I glance at her, arching a brow. “You’re seriously wanting to play elementary school games right now?”
She shrugs, a playful smirk on her lips. “Unless you’d rather sit in silence, thinking about cyanide and dead bodies?”
I exhale a laugh. She’s got a point. “Fine. We’ll trade off. I ask, then you ask.”
She nods. “Deal.”
I drum my fingers against the wheel. “Okay, first question. If you had to swap lives with any fictional character, who would it be?”
She hums, pretending to think about it. “Lara Croft. I love the thought of going on an adventure and finding ancient artifacts, and I get to be hot while doing it. Yeah, sign me up.”
I snort. “You just want the excuse to carry a gun and punch bad guys.”
She grins. “Don’t forget the mansion. If you had to pick a theme song that plays every time you walk into a room, what would it be?”
I huff out a laugh. “Easy. Assimilate by Umbra.”
She groans. “That’s so cliche! I’m sure I can poll ten people and at least three would give me that same answer.”
“Hey, it’s a solid choice. What about you, what’s your theme song?”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder like she’s just waiting for me to ask. “ Woman by Kesha.”
I glance at her, smirking. “Not even remotely surprising.”
“Obviously.” She grins up at me.
“Next question. If you had to be any mythological creature, what would you be?”
“A siren.”
I let out a laugh. “You answered that way too fast.”
“Because it’s the right answer. Gorgeous, dangerous, and luring men to their doom? Kind of a dream job.”
I shoot her a look, my lips twitching. “Remind me not to take any ocean cruises with you.”
She winks. “That might be for the best.”
Shaking my head at her I bite back a smile. The breeze rolls through the open windows, stirring strands of her golden hair, sending a warm and floral scent drifting through the cab. It mixes with the smell of old leather and coffee—scents so familiar they feel like home.
After a moment she asks. “What about you?”
“A dragon.”
She nods approvingly. “Solid choice. Can’t argue with breathing fire.”
“Exactly.” I shift my grip on the wheel.
“If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
“Burgers. No hesitation.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re telling me you’d eat burgers for breakfast?”
“Absolutely.”
She shakes her head. “You heathen.”
“You say that like it’s news to you.”
She snorts, then grins mischievously. “Okay, I’ve got a good one. If you had to replace your hands with something else—anything else—what would it be?”
Without even having to think about it I reply. “Flamethrowers.”
Selene throws her head back with a laugh. “You’d be a menace.”
I glance at her, the both of us laughing at the image of me with flamethrower hands—and then she screams, “Theo!”
Whipping my head back toward the road I see the light in front of me is red and it has been red long enough there is a line of cars already crossing the intersection.
Shit.
Slamming on the breaks I instinctively throw an arm out across Selene’s chest to keep her from lurching forward. The tires screech against the pavement, the truck skidding to a stop so abruptly that her purse flies off the seat, spilling its contents all over the floorboard.
“Jesus, Theo,” she breathes, clutching the dashboard.
I drag a shaking hand down my face, my heart slamming against my ribs. “You screamed like we were about to die.”
“We almost did!”
Selene exhales shakily, shaking her head as she leans down to pick up her scattered belongings, hastily stuffing them back in her bag.
But when she sits up, she’s holding something that doesn’t belong to her.
A tumbler.
She sets it absentmindedly in the cupholder between our knees, but the second I see it, the breath in my lungs turns to stone.
I know that bottle.
I know it because I’ve seen it a thousand times before—sitting on the counter, the dining table, that exact cup holder.
It belonged to my uncle.
My grip tightens on the wheel, my pulse hammering as I stare at it. I can’t move. Can’t think. It shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t be anywhere.
A honk jolts me back to the present. Blinking, I inhale a ragged breath before hitting the gas. The truck lurches forward, but my mind is still stuck in place.
Selene watches me carefully, not understanding what just happened. “Theo,” she says softly. “What’s wrong?”
My throat feels tight. “That’s not mine,” I say. “It’s my uncle’s.”
Her brows pull together in confusion, but when I point to the bottle, I see the wheels start to turn in her head, the moment she puts it together.
When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “Do you think… if he was poisoned, whatever he was poisoned with could still be in this bottle?”
The truck keeps moving forward, but my stomach drops like I’ve hit a dead stop.
There’s only one way to find out.
The truck rolls down the quiet streets of Shadow Grove, but the weight in my chest only grows heavier. The bottle sits between us, an unspoken threat, a remnant of the past that doesn’t belong in the present. But it does. And it’s here.
Neither of us speaks as I turn onto the road leading to Mo’s house. The tires crunch over gravel, dust swirling up behind us, but it all feels distant—like I’m not really here like I’m stuck somewhere between then and now.
When Mo’s cabin comes into view, she’s already outside.
She leans against the porch railing, cradling a ceramic mug between her hands, steam curling in the crisp evening air. The golden light from the sun catches in her waist length curls, casting a halo around her face. Mo has always had an effortless beauty—striking in a way that feels almost otherworldly. She’s practically glowing and I do not want to know what the cause of that could be.
She’s watching us before we even park, her dark eyes sharp, assessing. She sees everything. Always has. And when I shift into park and step out of the truck, she takes one look at my face and knows immediately that things aren’t right.
“Mo—” I start, but the words tangle in my throat.
Shaking my head I look down at the thing that can potentially have all the answers and her gaze follows mine.
To the bottle in my hands.
The color drains from her face.
The mug slips from her fingers, ceramic shattering against the wood of the porch. Hot tea spills across the worn planks, seeping into the cracks, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
It’s like time stops.
And in the silence that follows, the truth settles between us.
This bottle isn’t just a relic of the past.
It’s a question.
And we’re about to find out the answer.