Shattered Minds

Chapter 16

MAEVE

Sunlight stabs at my eyelids, reality dragging me back too fast, my stomach dropping. I’d rather sink back into the warmth. For the first time in decades, I’m not frozen from the inside out.

Sure, the cold is always there, a parasite lodged deep in my bones, digging, burrowing deeper. But now . . . now there’s heat. And I don’t know how to keep it from slipping away.

Groaning, I rub my aching neck, shifting slightly. Something warm and solid, presses against my side. A steady rise and fall of a chest. A slow, rhythmic heartbeat.

I blink rapidly, my vision still blurry around the edges. But it sharpens, and the man beside me comes into focus.

Caleb.

He’s here.

He didn’t leave me.

My heart skips in my chest, a rush of heat spreading over my skin.

How long have we been sleeping? I don’t remember drifting off, only the unbearable weight of what I did pressing down on my chest, threatening to split me in half.

And then there’s him. The way he held me together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Even after I accused him of cutting off Terry’s fingers and threatening to stab him with scissors.

A soft moan escapes Caleb’s parted lips, and he twitches, his arm tightening around my waist. My fingers brush against his shirt, the fabric soft and worn beneath my touch. His scent—warm, earthy, like freshly cut cedarwood—fills the air between us, and I breathe him in. It’s unmistakably Caleb, and it draws me further into his presence.

Without thinking, I trace the hard edge of his jaw. It’s reckless, I know. And completely out of character. It’s a touch I have no right to. Still, I don’t pull away.

There’s a softness to him when he sleeps, less severe, the slight frown he always wears now smoothed out. Another version of him, one without the constant tension he carries around. This one looks younger, almost boyish.

Peaceful.

A sharp pain shoots through my chest, and I glance away, fixing my gaze on the floor where papers remain scattered as if a storm passed through. I guess, in a way, one did.

Oh god. I told him. Out loud. I said the words.

I. Killed. Someone.

He could have bolted, dobbed me in to the cops. Instead . . . he stayed.

Why? And why hold me like he is now, like I’m worthy of such an intimate act? Perhaps it’s because we’re both monsters; he just hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.

Though, none of that matters, not anymore.

Nor does it matter the reasons he showed up here in the first place. If he hadn’t, if I’d been alone last night . . . A shiver races over my clammy skin.

I don’t think I’d be waking up at all.

Something shifts inside me. Small, fragile, but undeniable. For the first time in years, I don’t flinch at the idea of touch. More than that, I want it.

With Caleb.

And that terrifies me.

Because what happens when I need him? All the time. When I start depending on him the way I depend on oxygen, on chasing answers that never fix anything?

Is he going to be just another thing I need to survive? Yesterday, I thought I could do it, put on a brave face, and forget about what I’d done. But I can’t. At least not on my own. Not anymore.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sighing, I untangle myself from Caleb’s arm as gently as I can and reach for my phone.

If this is someone from the office, I’m sick. Or I’ve gone on in indefinite holiday. Here’s to wishful thinking.

I open the message. What the hell? Who is this?

Unknown Number: I have information about Thornhaven Orphanage. You’ll want to hear what I have to say. Meet me tonight at 8 p.m. The Orchid Cafe. It’s safer in a public place. Come alone.

The words blur, and I press a hand to my mouth, muffling the small gasp that escapes. My brain struggles to stitch the letters, the words, into something that makes sense.

I read it again. And again.

Thornhaven Orphanage, a name that hasn’t left my mind in months, in years, punches me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.

My fingers tighten around the phone, my knuckles white. And a static buzzing sets up in my ears, drowning out the soft sound of Caleb’s breathing.

Why expose themselves now? It would have been nice if they’d come forward months ago. I’ve been spinning in circles, chasing my own shadows, and it’s gotten me nowhere.

Heat rises up my torso until I’m burning all over.

Oh god . . . I can’t breathe.

“Maeve?” Caleb’s sleep-filled voice shatters the silence, and I stiffen.

Not again.

He’ll run this time for sure. There’s only so much of another’s trauma one can take on, and I dumped all mine on him last night. I’m surprised he hasn’t been crushed under the weight of it yet.

A warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “Hey . . . look at me.”

Swallowing hard, I glance over my shoulder. His hazel eyes dart between mine, a frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

Do I show him the text? We haven’t even spoken about what happened last night, and this could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Or in this case, Caleb’s.

There’s the rational part of my mind, the one that knows I should keep this to myself. But then there’s the part that’s still unravelling, that wanted him to hold me last night. And that part knows there’s no going back to the way it was before.

He’s entangled in this now. Whatever this is.

Without a word, I hand him the phone.

Yawning, he scans the screen. His eyebrows shoot up. “What—” All the air leaves his body, like a deflating balloon. “Fuck.” He rubs the back of his neck, handing the phone back. “You’re not seriously thinking of going? What if . . . he’s a serial killer?”

“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow. “We don’t even know if it is a ‘he.’ It could be a woman. Women can be serial killers, too, you know.”

I press my lips together, realising the error of my words. Caleb is fully aware women can, in fact, murder people.

With a roll of his eyes, he shakes his head. “Well now we’ve established that, maybe we should focus on the fact you did, in fact, kill someone.” He winces. “Deserved, of course, but aren’t you the least bit concerned you might get caught? We need to come up with a plan.”

I almost laugh. He’s giving me advice on not getting caught now? Bit rich coming from him, not that he’s admitted to any of the murders. Or to cutting Terry’s fingers off. Still, he’s not off the hook yet.

Besides, it’s not law enforcement I’m worried about. It’s whoever is orchestrating their total lack of involvement in finding out why people are being murdered left, right, and centre. It’d just be my luck they’d start digging now and find my fingerprints and DNA all over McCosky’s house.

Maybe Caleb’s right. I should deal with the fact I drove a letter opener into the side of someone’s neck. But what use would dwelling on it do? I’ve already spewed out my insides, and made Caleb drown in it.

I’m on a downward spiral. Why stop now?

“I can’t ignore this,” I say, sinking into the couch beside him. “If they have information about the orphanage, I need to find out what that is. And I am dealing with it . . .” I pick at a loose thread on my cotton shorts. “What if . . . what if someone saw me? At Dennis’s house. This is the plan.”

Caleb stares at me, his jaw tightening. “Fine,” he finally says, crossing his arms over his chest like an act of defiance. “If you’re going to meet this unknown person, I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t risk scaring them off. They want to meet in a public place for a reason. Alone. If they see me with someone—especially someone like you—they might think it’s a setup and bolt. I can’t risk it.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, tension building in his expression. “Someone like me?”

Is he serious? He changes moods with the tide. The other version, the cold, threatening version, might just be too much for this person, and I have no idea when that version might decide to show up.

I exhale sharply. “You know what I mean. You’re . . . intimidating. And you don’t exactly scream ‘harmless journalist.’”

He scoffs. “You don’t exactly scream ‘harmless journalist’ either now, killer.” He cringes, sucking air through his clenched teeth. “Too soon?”

My stomach twists.

Killer.

I don’t like the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. I don’t like the way it sounds at all.

Still, he’s right. I am a killer.

“Focus, Caleb.” I smack his forehead. “More lives could be at stake. And, if this person has information about Bethany, I can’t ruin my chances of finding out what happened to her.”

Caleb leans back against the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fine, I’ll shut up,” he mutters. “But in my defence, my coping mechanisms are absolute shit. Still, I’m not letting you go alone. You don’t know this person. It could be a trap.”

I’m not arguing my way out of this one, am I?

Once again, he’s right. I don’t know this person, or what they want. For all I know, it could be someone sent to shut me up.

Caleb’s expression softens, and he cups my cheek, his thumbs brushing gently over my skin. The urge to climb into his lap is overwhelming, and I stifle the moan wanting to escape.

How can just the touch of his hands elicit such a response from my body? He doesn’t even have to try, and I’m about to be a puddle on the floor.

He dips his head, eyes darting between mine. “I’ll keep my distance,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s no room for discussion. “You won’t even know I’m there. Cross my heart.” He performs the action, a small smile curling the corners of his lips.

How the hell do I say no to that face? I can’t.

My body gravitates towards him like he’s a homing beacon for pigeons, and we stare at each other for a long moment. He’s all I’ve got right now. An unsuspecting accomplice I never knew I needed.

He’s seen the fractured, twisted version of me. And he didn’t even flinch. Just pulled me against his chest and let my darkness taint his. Although, I get the feeling his darkness is worse than mine.

“Fine,” I finally say, giving him a playful shove in the chest. “But stay out of sight. I mean it, Caleb. If they think I’ve brought back up, this whole thing could blow up in my face.”

His smirk turns into a full-blown smile. My heart stutters in my chest.

“Stay out of sight.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “That’ll be easy. I’ll wear a ninja suit. Or maybe I’ll just tape a ‘Not Suspicious At All’ sign to my back.”

I stare at him. Blank. Unmoving. It’s hard not to want to bury myself in his infectious humour, but I remain completely unaffected, at least on the outside.

He shifts, scratching his jaw. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “No, Caleb. Just a dead guy and a pending murder charge. This is serious.”

He exhales, lips twitching. “Right. So, no ninja suit, then. Got it.”

I groan, but a small smile spasms my lips, like a long-forgotten touch. “You aren’t funny.”

Amid the chaos, Caleb is just what I need. So, why do I still get the feeling he’s nothing but trouble?

He lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but it made you smile. And I could really get used to seeing that every day.”

My breath hitches. I know exactly how he feels. But he shouldn’t say things like that to me. Shouldn’t look at me like I’m the light in his darkest hour. That part of him shouldn’t be tainted by the blood on my hands.

Caleb shifts, ducking his head so we’re eye level. The intensity of his stare makes my pulse quicken, and I dart my tongue out to wet my dry lips.

“We’re going to figure this out, Maeve,” he says, his eyebrows lifting, his tone serious once again. “Whatever’s going on, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and that fragile piece of me shifts again, that strange mix of fear and trust I’m not ready to name, igniting my insides.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Why do you want to help me? I was horrible to you. I lied to you, about the orphanage. About myself.”

“Because believe it or not, I’m not your enemy, Maeve.” He cups the side of my neck, his hazel eyes darting between mine. “And I don’t want you to run away when I finally reveal all my secrets.”

His . . . secrets? I figured he had some. Or many. His shifting demeanour, for instance. That definitely needs an explanation, but I won’t push him on that. At least not yet. I’d like to get through the next twenty-four hours unscathed, if that’s at all possible.

“Anyway . . . I’m starving. What have you got for breakfast?” Caleb stands, stretching his arms above his head, his dark T-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of taut, bronze skin.

My mouth goes dry, and my stomach flips.

Look away, Maeve. It’s too late. The image is already burned into my brain.

Great. Just great.

Teddy comes racing in, and I breathe out a sigh. Perfect timing, buddy.

“There you are.” Caleb bends and picks up the little terror, scratching between his ears. “How’s my favourite patient doing?” Teddy squirms in his arms, attempting to crawl up Caleb’s chest and lick his face. He chuckles. “I guess that means you’re back to mischief, then.”

Teddy lets out a little yip as though he knows exactly what Caleb is saying. Me, on the other hand? I’m still trying to control my hormones.

“You know,” Caleb says, lifting a shoulder, “if this whole journalist thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a great backup career as a chaos agent. Right, Teddy?” He winks at me. I roll my eyes and his grin widens. “Teddy thinks I’m hilarious, don’t you buddy?” He holds up my dog like he’s Simba from The Lion King.

Well . . . this isn’t any better. Bonding with my dog just makes things worse. Teddy will grow attached, and then what? Will he leave me, too, when Caleb finally realises I’m a lost cause?

“Come on,” Caleb says to Teddy. “Let’s go make your mumma a cup of coffee.”

With Teddy cradled to his chest, he saunters into the kitchen, leaving me a steaming pile of neglected hormones on the couch.

I scrub my hands over my face. This isn’t real. This isn’t what my life has somehow evolved into.

It all feels so . . . surreal.

My feet move before I can stop them, gliding my body into the kitchen behind Caleb.

Maybe it’s Teddy’s happy yips that compel me. Or maybe it’s the sight of Caleb rubbing his hands together like he’s about to perform open-heart surgery on a coffee machine. Whatever it is, this morning is different to any other morning before this one.

For starters, I have hope.

That’s more than I’ve ever wished for.

I lean against the doorframe, while Caleb scratches Teddy’s ears with one hand and starts the coffee machine with the other.

“What?” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re looking at me like I’m about to ruin your entire morning.”

I lift a shoulder. “Just wondering if you’re as bad at making coffee as you are at making jokes.”

A lopsided smirk forms on his lips. “I’m better with my hands when I’m under pressure, so maybe you should come a little closer.” His grin widens. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that, he focuses on the coffee machine, pressing buttons like he’s done this before.

I let out a long exhale. He definitely knows what he’s doing.

With the coffee machine.

And my heart.

* * *

The Orchid Cafe.

It’s the kind of place where strangers sip their lattes, never noticing the blood pooling beneath their feet. For a Tuesday night, it’s crowded enough to feel anonymous, but intimate enough for everyone to notice if something goes sideways.

I grip my coffee cup in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I scan the room for the person who is potentially going to change my life in the next few minutes.

My contact.

The whistleblower.

Whoever they are.

Every face is suspicious, every glance in my direction another potential enemy.

The clinking of glasses and muted chatter should feel normal, comforting. But every laugh, every footstep behind me, grates against my spine, and sends the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

My stomach twists, a nauseating combination of paranoia and nerves enveloping me in a strangled hold. It’s nothing like being in Caleb’s arms, that’s for sure.

The coffee shop hums with life, but I only hear the static of waiting, of my blood rushing through my veins.

I’m exposed here, like a rabbit caught in an open field, waiting for the hawk to swoop in and snatch me up with its talons.

What if Caleb is right? What if this is a trap?

I still don’t know for sure who the real killer is. Caleb has had every chance to take me out. Yet, I’m still here.

It’s possible someone wants me to think Caleb is the real culprit. It makes sense, and this could all be a play to get to me, to lead me in the wrong direction.

To point the finger at the man who hasn’t left my side in twenty-four hours.

Still, I can’t deny the darker, colder version of him. The one who looked at me like I was something to consume, to possess. I can’t ignore that. Nor do I want to.

Deep down, I know he’d never really hurt me.

Instinctively, I glance a few tables to my left. Caleb. He’s here. His eyes find mine, steady and unshakable. My heart rate settles, if only slightly. He’s the only reason I feel like I can breathe right now.

He gives me a slight nod, his way of letting me know he has my back. I throw him a quick, tight smile, and glance at my phone for the hundredth time, my leg bouncing under the table, rattling the cutlery in the wooden holder.

Unknown Number: Table in the back.

I’ve re-read this message over and over.

Same unknown number. Same cryptic message.

Thornhaven Orphanage has enough skeletons to fill a graveyard, and if this person has even one of those bones to give me, I can’t afford to let it slip through my fingers.

“Maeve?”

The deep voice startles me, and I snap my head up to the man standing by the edge of the table.

He’s young—early twenties, maybe—but he carries himself like someone who’s seen too much. Like the world has already chewed him up and spat him out.

His dark hoodie is zipped up to his neck, and a baseball cap is pulled low over his face, shadowing his eyes.

“You’re the one who texted me?” I say, my voice steady despite my heart performing cartwheels in my chest.

He stands there, shifting on his feet like he might bolt at any moment. He’s having second thoughts, questioning if he should be here at all.

My hand twitches, and I go to reach out to him, to reassure him, when he finally exhales slowly, and lowers himself into the seat in one stiff, controlled movement. Like he’s bracing for impact.

“You came alone?” he says, his voice low and tight, barely audible over the noise surrounding us.

Jaw clenched, he glances around again, eyes erratic, unable to focus on just one thing.

I hesitate for a second too long, and his focus snaps back to me, almost accusing.

“Yes,” I say, the lie coming out firmer than I feel.

There’s no way in hell I’m letting this guy know Caleb is only a few tables over from us. He’ll run. His terror is palpable, even from here.

But Caleb hasn’t moved from his spot, his eyes remaining on me. It’s the only thing keeping my panic from bubbling over and ruining everything.

The man in front of me doesn’t notice him yet, his shoulders relaxing slightly. His gaze doesn’t lose its edge, though.

He leans forward. “My name’s Ethan,” he says, lowering his voice even further. “My mum . . .” He swallows, eyes darting around the room. “She . . . she used to work at the old orphanage. Back when it was still running.”

I nod, urging him to go on as I take a sip of my now-cold coffee. My muscles twitch. My pulse skyrockets.

This is it. I’m going to get the information I need. Or at least, some of it.

“She was a receptionist there for five years.” He rubs his palms over his jeans, his breath quickening. “She’d talk about the kids. Said they always looked so . . . scared.” His throat bobs over a swallow. “But that wasn’t what scared her.”

I lean closer, my breath catching in my throat. “What was it?”

His knee bounces so hard it rattles the chair leg. “She said people would come at night. Men in suits. They’d show up in these black, expensive cars and just . . . take kids. No explanations, no paperwork. Nothing. They’d just load them into the cars and drive off.” He leans closer, his fingers clenching his hoodie. “They’re watching.” Something dark flickers in his eyes. “Always watching.”

I don’t miss the faint quiver in his breath, like every shadow holds a threat only he can see.

Bile rises in my throat.

Is that what happened to Bethany? They took her and never brought her back.

“Did your mum ever find out where they took them?”

Ethan shakes his head, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “No. Most of them came back, but they were never the same. And some of them . . .” He trails off, scrubbing at his face. “Fuck. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Please,” I say, grabbing his hand, squeezing as though I can forcibly shove the words out of him. “I need to know.”

Ethan exhales sharply, his fingers tapping an erratic beat against the table. “She asked once.” The words crawl out like they hurt. “The head of the orphanage—some guy named McCosky—he told her to keep her mouth shut if she wanted to keep her job. She didn’t ask again.”

McCosky. The name slams into me like a fist to the stomach. My hand tightens around the mug.

“Did she ever try to tell anyone? The police? The press?”

Ethan lets out a short, sharp laugh, but it’s more like a bark of disbelief than amusement. “You think anyone in this town would go up against Thornhaven Orphanage? Those who ran it, funded it?” His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile. More like a grimace. “My mum knew better.”

The weight of his words settles over me like a lead blanket. The disappearances. The abuse. It’s worse than I ever could have imagined. What happened to me is nothing compared to what must have happened to others.

“Why are you coming forward now?” I say, shifting in my seat. “Why me?”

Ethan’s eyes transform into something haunted, and the air around us grows thick, not just with his fear, but something worse. A slow, suffocating grief.

“Because my mum . . . she’s missing.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What?”

He exhales shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding him here. “She disappeared four months ago. Right after those murders started.” He shakes his head. “No note, no nothing.” A slight pause. “She went out to the store. Never came back.”

I press a hand to my chest, my breathing shallow.

Was she scared for her safety after realising the murders were related to the orphanage? Thought she was next?

Or . . . did something bad happen to her?

“Did you go to the police?”

He nods, but his expression turns into something bitter. “Yeah. And they didn’t do shit. They just wrote her off as a runaway, like she just decided to disappear one day.” He rubs the stubble on his jaw, letting out another shaky breath. “But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave me. The cops are either too scared to do anything or they’re in on it.” His voice cracks, the weight of those words too much to hold back.

He looks away, his shoulders shaking, a single ragged sob slipping through his clenched teeth.

My chest tightens, and I reach across the table, pausing for only a second before placing my hand over his.

He stiffens at first, his hand vibrating beneath mine. The pain he’s feeling, I know that all too well, and I guess he’s aware, it never really goes away, just fades in time, like an old piece of furniture exposed to the elements.

Ethan swipes the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose, exhaling sharply, the tension in his shoulders barely easing as a small, sad smile flickers across his lips. It’s gone just as fast, and he pulls his hand from mine, tucking it under the table.

Has he been doing this on his own this whole time? No wonder he’s a wreck.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I say, swallowing over the lump in my throat. “I can expose the orphanage, show people what really happened there. But I need you to help me first. Can we meet somewhere more private? That might?—”

“You don’t get it, Maeve,” he spits, his expression hardening. “This isn’t just about the orphanage. It’s bigger than that. I’ve been digging into the files my mum kept, into the people who ran it, the ones who funded it, owned it. There’s a name that keeps coming up. Pinnacle Corporation.”

A hollow rush fills my ears, drowning out the noise of the cafe. I grip the edge of the table, my vision blurring at the edges.

“Are you sure?” I manage to choke out.

One of the biggest medical research companies funded an orphanage who abused children. But they didn’t just fund it. They owned it. Every missing child, every horror inside those walls, it’s all because of them.

And now I have confirmation—I have proof.

That meeting with Mr. Garrett, that was just a ruse, a way to get me on their side, or at the very least, to deter me from digging too deep. So why hire me at all? Why expose themselves in that way?

They’re everywhere, aren’t they? Like monsters crawling out of dark corners, sinking their claws into every truth I’ve been desperate to uncover.

None of this makes sense, but there’s more at play here, a puzzle I don’t even know how to begin piecing together.

Ethan nods. “Whatever’s going on, they’re at the centre of it. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay the hell away.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken truths. But I can’t walk away now, not when I’m this close to getting the answers I need.

“Ethan,” I say, my voice firm. “How did you get my details?”

He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. “I’ve been following you. It wasn’t hard to get your number. You grew up there, at the orphanage?”

I nod, picking at the skin around my thumbnail.

He presses his lips together, forming a thin line. “Just . . . be careful. They don’t leave loose ends. And if they think you’re a threat . . .”

“Don’t worry,” I say, a tight smile on my face. “I’m going to find out what they’re hiding, publish it for the entire world to see.”

He slams his hands on the table, gaining the attention of several people around us. Caleb stiffens, his posture telling me he’s ready to rush in if I need him. I give a slight shake of my head.

“I’m not telling you this because I want you to expose them,” Ethan whispers. “My mum, she kept files on . . . on this girl. Real special.” He rocks back and forth, biting his tongue as though he can’t bear to speak the next words.

I open my mouth to ask him if he’s referring to Bethany, when his entire body goes rigid. His eyes snap past me, locking onto something—or someone—behind me.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing back from the table so fast the legs scrape against the floor.

The abruptness of it makes me flinch. I barely have time to react before he grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” I twist, trying to break free, but his grip is vice-like, his fingers digging into my skin.

His panic is electric, charging the air, bleeding into me like a contagious disease.

“They’re watching,” he says, his voice shaky. He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “You didn’t come alone, did you?”

I glance past him to where Caleb is now on the edge of his seat, his posture tense as he watches us. The protective fire in his eyes is unmistakable, and I know he’s ready to step in if things go south. I’ve seen him in action before.

Well, a version of him, anyway. One I haven’t seen in days.

Ethan glances over his shoulder, eyes locking onto Caleb, his body stiffening even further. “Who is he?”

“He’s . . . no-one,” I say quickly, subtly shaking my head at Caleb.

The smallest tilt, but it’s enough. He doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens, his hands fisting on the table.

Ethan yanks me closer, his eyes wide and darting over my face like something wild. “Listen to me,” he says, his tone urgent. “You need to stop. Whatever you’re digging into, whatever you think you’ll find, it’s not worth your life.”

“I can’t stop,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Not until I know what happened to my friend.”

His jaw tightens, eyes softening for the briefest moment. His hand trembles as he reaches into his hoodie.

Oh god. I’m about to get stabbed. Or shot.

I squeeze my eyes shut as he shoves something small into my hand—cold, metallic. “Take this,” he whispers. “And don’t let anyone see you with it. It’s everything my mum kept. Names. Dates. But if they find out you have it . . .”

My heart skips a beat. A USB stick. My throat tightens as the tiny, unassuming object presses against my skin. It feels heavier than it should, like I’m holding a loaded gun.

I close my fingers around it. “Ethan?—”

“Don’t contact me again,” he says, his voice full of venom. “And tell your friend not to follow me.”

He’s gone before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd.

I let out a breath, my chest heaving.

What the hell just happened? What did he see just now?

The space around me is colder, emptier, even though it’s still full of people.

I glance around, clutching the USB stick tighter. No-one stands out like they should, yet the tension in the air could be popped with a pin.

Was Ethan right? Are they here—whoever they are—waiting for me to slip?

Caleb is by my side in an instant, wrapping me in his arms, his presence grounding me. “What the hell was that?”

I swallow hard, my mind still processing Ethan’s words. “I don’t entirely know,” I say, opening my hand, the USB sitting innocently on my palm. “But he gave me this. He said it has everything. Names. Dates. Everything his mum knew.”

Caleb narrows his eyes as he stares at the small device. “Then we’d better figure out what’s on it. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say a word as he guides me toward the door, his hand firm but gentle on the small of my back. I hate how much I lean into his presence, but right now, he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s rapidly spinning out of control.

Ethan’s words echo in my mind.

They’re watching. Always watching.

And who’s the girl he mentioned?

I force myself to breathe, but I already know it’s too late to turn back now.