Chapter 16
Axel
An hour outside of Nashville, I turn off the main road and onto the long gravel drive that leads to what used to be home. Sometimes I still can’t believe Ben never sold the place. I don’t know how he stands it with the weight of everything that happened here.
The farther I go, the sweatier my palms get. Eight years later, and my body still remembers it all…
“Axel! Lina! We need you!”
I make sure Lina’s behind me as we race out of her room and take the stairs two at a time. I’m not sure what to expect when I land in the living room.
The world goes quiet.
Ben’s kneeling on the floor.
My eyes track down to the rug. There’s blood. More than I’ve ever seen. It's soaking through the fabric, pooling toward the hardwood. I follow the trail to where it’s coming from.
Mom.
She’s crumpled on her side, blood leaking from multiple holes in her stomach. My brain freezes, like I’ve stumbled into a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
“Axel!” Johnny shouts, dragging my attention. “Joe ran into the woods. We have to go after him. We can’t let him hurt anyone else.”
I nod before I fully register what he said. We’re out the front door and running into the dark, chasing a monster with nothing but adrenaline and zero sense of direction.
We don't get far.
“Police! Put your weapons down!” someone shouts.
“He’s getting away!” Johnny yells back, furious.
“We’ve got it under control. Lower your weapons.”
Reluctantly, Johnny places his Glock on the ground. I do the same. The officers move in, saying something about how they’ll take it from here. That we should go back to the house.
Back to Mom.
She wasn’t going to make it. I think I knew that the second I saw the rug.
They said we’d be okay. That we’d be safe. They lied. That was the last time this place felt like anything close to home.
I failed the rest of senior year. I couldn’t focus.
Couldn’t breathe in these walls. Nik’s parents let me crash with them until I got back on track.
That’s when I learned the truth about Nik’s family—the world he hid even from me.
But I kept my mouth shut, repeated the fall semester, and managed to graduate only a few months behind.
Now, as the house comes into view, I’m hit with a wave of déjà vu. Everything looks the same. It’s perfectly preserved, like a goddamn time capsule. Ben keeps it spotless, as if maintaining the shell of our past keeps Mom close.
I park and jog up the steps, knocking twice out of habit. He shouldn’t be home right now. It’s Pickleball night.
When there’s no answer, I unlock the door with my key, disarm the alarm, and shoot off a quick text.
Me: Hey! Stopped by, but guess you aren’t home. Gonna grab a few things from my room and head out.
It takes less than a minute for him to respond.
Ben: Sounds good. Sorry I missed you, kid. See you soon, yeah?
Me: You know it. Miss you, Old Man.
Ben: Miss you too, Punk.
I smile at his old nickname for me. I was a little shit in high school. Honestly? Not much has changed.
I don’t head to my old room. Instead, I make a beeline to his office.
The air in here is heavy, like the room knows I’m not just visiting.
Everything’s exactly as it was—framed photos, paperwork stacked neatly, mahogany desk polished to a shine.
I start with the drawers. They’re unlocked, but empty of anything interesting.
I tap along the sides, listening for hollow spots. Nothing.
Too easy, maybe.
I move to the hardwood floor, testing each board with my weight. No creaks, no give.
Still nothing.
Annoyed, I head to the bookshelf, pulling books, shaking them, checking behind rows and in crevices. It takes longer than I want it to. Ben’s match won’t last forever. Pressure builds behind my ribs.
Eventually, I grab a screwdriver from my pocket and climb onto the office chair. I check the vent. Empty. Damn.
I’m running out of ideas, until one more possibility hits me. I move to the outlets. The first two come up empty, but the last one? Bingo.
Behind the faceplate, tucked carefully inside the wall, is a black burner phone.
My pulse rockets. This is it.
I power it on. To my surprise, it boots up. While it loads, I reattach the outlet and cover my tracks.
Once it’s fully powered, I open the contacts. There’s only one number saved. I check the messages and find a string of encrypted texts sent once a month like clockwork. The last one was about a week ago. Which means I’ve got a three-week window before Ben notices it’s missing. Plenty of time.
I pocket the phone, reset the alarm, and relock the door behind me.
Back in the car, I sit, staring at the plain little black phone in my hand.
I just know, deep in my gut, that the texts are to and from Lina.
Now, I just have to prove it.
∞∞∞
When I walk into the apartment, I find Nik perched at the dining table, readers sliding down his nose as he paints some intricate design on a scrap of wood. He looks up the moment he hears the door.
“Find anything?”
I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. Wordless, I pull the burner phone from my pocket and hold it up. He sets his paintbrush down and leans back in his chair, eyebrows climbing.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I really didn’t think he’d have one.”
“Yeah, well, he does.” I waggle my brows. “Which means I win our little bet. And you better believe I’m cashing in.”
Nik’s eyes go dark, lips twitching into a slow, wicked smile. He licks his bottom lip like he’s already imagining what that payment looks like.
“You won fair and square,” he says, voice low. “And you know I never break a promise.”
Oh, I know.
“But first,” he adds, standing, “were you able to see anything on it?”
“There are messages, but they’re encrypted.” I hand him the phone. “I was hoping you could work your magic.”
Nik’s upbringing gave him a variety of talents. Skills I don’t question too hard. If he can’t break through it, he knows someone who can.
“Let me take a crack at it,” he says, already moving to his desk. “If I can’t, I’ll call my guy.”
Of course he has a guy.
He plugs in a few cables and starts typing, lines of code spilling across the screen. I don’t have a clue what he’s doing, but watching him be nerdy is hot. And with the readers perched on his nose, he looks like a sexy librarian who moonlights as a hacker.
“This is basic,” he mutters, frowning. “Low-tier encryption. Someone didn’t want the NSA poking around, but didn’t go full tinfoil hat. I should be in soon.”
A few tense minutes pass. Then—
“I’m in.”
We both lean in as the messages load. He scrolls slowly through the most recent thread.
March 29
Unknown Number: Hey! Just checking in. Everything’s good here. Nothing new. Same old, same old. I miss you! How are things?
Burner Number: Glad to hear it, kid. I miss you, too! Nothing too exciting to report. I won my pickleball match on Tuesday.
Unknown Number: That’s impressive for a senior citizen.
Burner Number: Ha. Ha. She has jokes.
Unknown Number: You like my jokes *wink face emoji*
Burner Number: I do. Glad life is treating you better. I worry about you. Same time next month?
Unknown Number: You know it. Love you!
Burner Number: Love you, too.
Nik scrolls up to the previous exchange.
February 25
Burner Number: Hey, kid. Haven’t heard from you. Everything good?
Unknown Number: Yeah. Just having kind of a hard time. Nothing you need to worry about.
Burner Number: Wish I could make things better.
Unknown Number: Just hearing from you makes things better. It’s hard when people don’t know the real me, ya know?
Burner Number: I understand. That can’t be easy for you. Just remember, it’s necessary. Your safety is always the priority.
Unknown Number: I know, and I’ll never compromise that. It just makes it hard to connect. I always feel like I’m hiding. But I’ll be ok. I got this!
Burner Number: You do. And if you ever need to talk more, I’m here. I know we’re limited in how often we talk, but I’m always thinking about you. I’m always here.
Unknown Number: That means more than you know. Gotta go. Love you!
Burner Number: Love you, too, kid.
I swallow hard. The ache in my chest comes fast and sharp. Reading these, it’s not just clear who it is, it’s obvious. The warmth. The vulnerability. The signature use of "kid."
Nik turns to me, eyes shining with the same quiet hope churning in my gut.
“You know what this means?” he asks quietly.
I meet his gaze.
“Lina’s alive.”