Chapter 1
one
-Brynn-
My hands dig through the mud, fast, unyielding, refusing to give up before I learn the truth.
Though it’s not the truth I want right now.
I want a sweet lie. One that would tear me away from all of this.
A lie that would stop my soul from feeling like it’s been ripped to pieces and my heart torn from my chest.
But I wasn’t raised that way. No one’s coming to my rescue.
No one can ease the pain I’m about to face.
The moment my hands scrape the dirt from his porcelain face, that same pain comes crashing in, like choking waves over and over again, grabbing me in its noose, claiming the last drops of happiness I ever knew.
I dig faster, my fingertips beginning to bleed, but I already know it’s too late. I’m hours or maybe days late, and as I wipe the last traces of dirt from his face, I see his beautiful blue orbs staring back at me.
Whoever did this didn’t even have the decency to close his eyes.
My tears mix with the dirt. It’s the first time I’ve cried since… I can’t even remember when. I wasn’t taught to cry. I was taught to survive. But now, I just can’t stop. The tears keep rolling down my face, and I can’t stop staring at the lifeless body of the only person I ever loved.
-Earlier that night-
I pace the length of the room. Elias should’ve been home two nights ago.
My thoughts are a mess, I can’t even think straight. He’s never been gone this long. I know he’s been working on a story that seemed way shadier than his usual articles. He’s trying to step up in the game, make a name for himself. I just pray he hasn’t gotten in too deep.
It’s not unusual for him to stay out for the night, but never two nights in a row—at least, not without telling me.
Maybe I’d blame it on Halloween, but his phone’s out of service.
The last pinged location was a bar on the outskirts of town, three days ago.
I was there last night, searching for him, but I didn’t ask any questions.
I don’t want to stir the water. Not yet. He might be working on a case, and I don’t want to risk jeopardizing him in any way by snooping around.
I still hope he turns up. But with his phone off the grid, I’ve got a bad feeling.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for a sign. A few weeks ago, I stuck an AirTag on my house keys because I never know where they are, and the morning Elias left, he accidentally grabbed mine.
It’s not the first time that’s happened since he bought us matching keychains. I just wish the damn thing worked. The AirTag hadn’t updated since the bar, so I’m wondering if it’s dead, just like his phone.
God, I need a drink, but the only thing around here is tap water. Or toilet water. All alcohol’s long gone by now, and as much as I’d like to go back to that bar and ask for anything to untie this knot in my throat, I stay in the apartment, hoping Elias will walk through the door.
Work’s calling, even though it’s 6 a.m. It’s the fourth time since last night. My position doesn’t allow me to call in sick or skip a shift, especially since last night was Halloween and the club was packed.
I work there as a hostess, but my real job is keeping an eye on the staff, making sure they don’t steal from the bar, inflate tabs, or hustle clients. That’s my agreement with the owners, and I’ve got a feeling I’ll be unemployed if I don’t show up soon.
I’m making myself what is probably coffee number five of the day.
Come to think of it, it’s already a new day, and I’m trying to convince myself that I should wait at least a few more hours before I burst into Elias’s room and start digging for clues about where he might have gone.
I don’t want to interfere with his work.
The same way, he doesn’t interfere with mine.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I'm usually very calculated. Now, I’m just a mess. I stir the coffee in the mug, not even sure if I put sugar in it, when my phone lights up on the counter with a notification.
I know that sound, and as I rush to grab it, my pulse buzzing in my ears. The fucking AirTag just sent me its latest location.
I look at the map and the blood in my vein’s freezes. It’s coming from Twin Falls State Park.
What the fuck would Elias be doing in the woods at this hour?
I’m afraid to process the thought even further. I just grab my car keys and head straight where the AirTag leads me. It’s an hour's drive from here, and I can barely focus on keeping my car on the road as I speed toward it.
The billboards lining the road ahead blur together. Everything makes little to no sense.
It feels like I’m in a video game now, and it wouldn’t even matter if I crashed. Except it’s not a game. It’s my life. And at this point, I don’t give a damn about it, because the fear crawling through my veins is much stronger than any survival instinct.
I’m not afraid for myself. I’m afraid of what I might find when I get there.
I stop the car as close as the road allows, and head out on foot to the part of the woods where the AirTag leads me. I’m less than a hundred yards, so I follow the red line on my screen, then the arrows.
Twigs and branches snap beneath my feet, and a musky, almost rotten smell fills my nostrils.
It’s freezing cold outside, and since Elias’s phone is still off the grid, I suspect the AirTag was triggered by a dog walker or a hunter carrying an iPhone.
I don’t see either of those along my way, but my senses stay sharp, alert to every movement.
As I close in on the location, dread blooms inside my chest because I still don’t see him. But my phone says I’m getting closer.
I step closer to a pile of leaves gathered loosely on the ground.
Instinctively, I push a few aside with my foot. There’s dirt beneath. Freshly dug up dirt.
I’m ready to scream, but the sound doesn’t escape my lips, just gets stuck there, somewhere in my throat, like any other curse or prayer I’m preparing to say.
I shove the pile of leaves aside. A rectangular patch of freshly turned soil comes into view, and I feel bile rising up in my throat.
I knew nothing good would ever come of my life. It was ruined a long time ago. But Elias… he was supposed to make it. To be someone great, find his way out of all of this. He’s special. That’s why it can’t be him in this grave.
I refuse to believe it.
I kneel, pushing the dirt aside, turning my hands into shovels. My nails are cracking, fingertips bleed as I claw through different thorns and twigs caught within the dirt.
I don’t care about the blood or the pain. I just keep digging.
Until I find him.
My sweet Elias lies there. Eyes wide open, horror still etched across his face.
My whole world screeches to a halt. Like everything just stopped, and I feel like I’ll cease to exist too.
I can’t stop my tears, or the hammering of my heart inside my chest. My mind screams, but nothing comes out. No sobs. No pleas. Only the sound of my lips touching his forehead as my hand brushes over his eyes to close them forever.
Then a shattering sound replaces the screams inside my head. It’s my fucking heart breaking. The only person who had ever given me a reason to live is now dead. And my soul screams for revenge.
I swear I’ll make them pay for what they did. Even if it’s the last thing I do.
Whoever is responsible for this didn’t even give a fuck to cover their tracks. They left him in a shallow grave, like they weren’t worried anyone would ever find him. Even so, it’s impossible to dig him out with my bare hands.
I look around, and I fucking hate the place.
It’s so dark and murky, and the treeline too thick for the sun to ever shine here.
Elias would’ve hated it here, too, but I’m not going to call the cops and report it.
Talking to the police would mean turning myself in; while alerting them anonymously would mean they’d dump him somewhere in an unmarked grave where I’d never have access to him again.
He doesn’t have any family. I’m his only family. And I can’t go in to identify him at the coroners after the autopsy.
Besides, the cops won’t do shit anyway. He’s a nobody to them. Just another one of those unidentified murder cases no one cares about. A file gathering dust on their desk.
But he’s not a file to me. He’s everything. Was everything. And I’ll help him find his peace.
I drag some dirt back over him, then scatter the leaves.
I force myself to hold it together as I wipe the mud from my pants and wash my hands in a nearby stream.
I need to get to the nearest town and buy a shovel.
I can’t risk raising suspicions looking like this, and my swollen eyes are already enough to raise questions.
I hate leaving him even for a second, but I have to take him somewhere where he can have a clear view of the sky. That was his biggest wish—to always be able to see the sky.
Reality becomes a blur by the time I reach the town, and I barely manage to stop at a local store and leave with a shovel and a lilac.
It looks less suspicious if I buy the shrub too. Besides, I want to mark the spot somehow. Since I won’t be able to come as often as I’d like to bring flowers to his grave, I’ll plant something that will grow there.
That’s the compromise I have to make, so I won’t risk anyone tying me to the burial spot in case his body ever gets discovered. Which I pray to God never happens. He needs peace after everything he’s been through.
I wait until it gets dark, then check to make sure no one is around. It’s not a very populated area, but there are occasional dog walkers and hikers, so I don’t want to attract attention.
When I’m sure it’s safe, I head to a meadow nearby where Elias is buried. There are no trees here. It’s on top of a small hill, where the sun shines directly above it during the warmer months. So, I start digging. This will be his resting place.
I don’t dig a shallow grave. I dig for hours, deep enough that no one will ever find him and disturb his peace.
My muscles are tense, my limbs shaking when I’m done.
But I don’t care. The only thought in my head right now is revenge.
It’s the only thing still keeping me functioning like a human being.
Not that I’m sure I even am one anymore.
When the grave is ready, I return to the pile of leaves covering where Elias lies.
I shovel down to the depth where I remember him buried, then use my hands to dig out his body without hurting him.
I know I can’t really hurt him anymore, but I refuse to accept that he’s truly dead either. I won’t be responsible for a single scratch to his body unless there’s no way around it.
I brush the dirt off his beautiful face again, his pale skin glowing under the bright moonlight, like the damn thing rose just to watch over him.
God, he’s so perfect.
Then I move lower, wiping dirt away from his chest when I think I see something.
It’s dark outside, so I need to take out my phone and switch on the flashlight, but I instantly wish I hadn’t.
The sight makes my breath hitch. A long burgundy line splits his chest. Clothes ripped, his flesh cut open, and I almost throw up when I see a gaping hole in his abdomen.
I fall back in the dirt, reeling from the shock. I’ve always had the stomach for things like this. But now… now it’s just too much.
I was searching for the cause of his death, but I never expected this.
I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like someone dropped a weight on my chest, and it’s about to smother me to death.
I force myself to inhale and exhale, like I’m trying to make sense of everything, maybe even life itself.
My phone fell into the leaves. I fumble for it, slapping my hands aimlessly through the dirt until my fingers finally close around it.
I need to find the flashlight again and see exactly what caused his wound.
Rising to my feet, I shine the light back at him. That’s no knife that did this. The cut’s too long, too clean. It slices his chest from his left shoulder down to his right side, deeper than any blade you’d carry on the street. The flesh around isn’t jagged, no hesitation mark, just one strike.
As weird as it might sound, that’s a sword wound.
There’s no way this was an accident.
This is fucking murder.
I search his pockets and clothes for any kind of clue.
No personal items on him except his keys and a hunting knife.
That’s so strange because he was never the type to carry any weapons around.
I mean, we took self-defense classes a year ago, and he was getting better at defending himself. He could hold his own in a fight.
I even pushed him to get a gun, just for safety, but he refused. Said he hated weapons. That’s why the knife makes no sense, especially since it’s a hunting knife.
Then I notice something else. These aren’t his clothes. It’s some kind of black uniform. Cargo pants and a black T-shirt with a white number stamped across it: EIGHT .
I have no idea what the fuck it means. Maybe it’s just a Halloween costume.
I take a picture anyway. As much as it kills me to have the last photo of him like this, I need to keep it. It might matter later.
As soon as I finish checking for clues, I drag his body to the grave I dug for him in the meadow, and gently lay him there, pressing one last kiss to his cold forehead.
“I love you, so fucking much.”
My tears return like a silent cascade of grief and unspoken words, and I start throwing dirt in before I lose the nerve to do it.
Halfway through, the rain starts. A stupid cliché of nature to wipe away my tears and blend them with the heavy drops falling from the sky.
Even nature is crying for the loss. And I swear I’ll have the bastard responsible screaming.
I plant the lilac when I’m done, step on the soil to hide the fresh dig, then scatter leaves over it, so no one will know what happened here.
The rain soaks the ground anyway, and it helps with covering my tracks.
I wish it could also wash away the pain. But I know nothing will ever erase that.
I don’t leave until morning, and only then because I don’t want to run into anyone.
The rain never stops. But I only feel how soaked my clothes are when I get into the car and realize I can barely put the key into the ignition because of how heavily my hands are shaking.
I just turn on the heat and sit there, eyes staring out the windshield, my mind miles away. Nothing matters anymore—my dreams, my hopes, my plans, my job. Nothing matters except running the tip of my blade through the flesh of the one who did this.