Chapter 51
Morgan
Ithought Ruby was asleep.
The cottage was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of my laptop and the scratch of my pen as I scribbled notes in the margins of old manifests. My recorder sat close by, its little red light blinking like a heartbeat.
I was so deep in the pattern on the screen—numbers that weren’t just numbers, dates that tied to movements too clean to be a coincidence—that I didn’t hear her until she spoke.
“You’re doing something you don’t want Damian to know about.”
I jumped, nearly knocking the coffee cup off the desk. Ruby stood in the doorway, hair tangled from sleep, one of my old hoodies swallowing her small frame. Her eyes, though—clear and sharp, way too old for sixteen.
“Ruby, you scared me half to death.” I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to slow my racing heart.
She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not just writing anymore, Morgan. You’re… helping them, aren’t you? Damian told you not to do this anymore.”
I froze, words tangling on my tongue.
She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to the recorder, then to the screen. “I hear you, you know. Talking into that thing. I thought it was just… weird writer stuff. But now? Now I think you’re talking to them.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to deny it. She deserved more than lies.
“Ruby…” I stood slowly, meeting her eyes. “You’re right. I am helping. I can see things the guys can’t, connect pieces they miss. And if I don’t—” My voice cracked. “If I don’t, girls like you disappear. Forever.”
Her lips trembled, but her chin stayed high. “But it’s dangerous, isn’t it? That’s why Damian didn’t want you involved.”
I stepped closer, brushing her hair back from her face. “It is dangerous. And I’m careful. But I can’t sit here and do nothing, Ruby. Not when I know how to help.”
She searched my face for a long moment. Finally, she whispered, “Promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t make me lose you, too. Daddy and Momma were hard, but at least I had you.”
My chest squeezed, hot tears burning behind my eyes. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. “You won’t. I promise. I’ll always be here for you.
She didn’t argue, but I felt the way her fingers clung to my sweatshirt like she didn’t believe me.
And as I stood there in the dark with my little sister, the blinking red light of the recorder catching in the corner of my vision, I wondered if I believed myself either.