Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VALEN
The drive to the Roots of Salvation compound takes forty-three minutes through increasingly remote back roads. Forty-three minutes of Clover’s silence, of Chief’s occasional throat clearing, and of Wrecks’s anxious panting from the back.
What if Miriam’s dead too?
Clover’s haunted question sits at the forefront of my mind.
Miriam cannot be dead. She’s our only hope of finding answers.
And if she is dead, that leaves us with no leads on who’s terrorizing Clover.
No leads on why Aunt Vivi found me beaten and near death.
Miriam has to give us answers.
Terra Stone is dead. She’s been dead for over a decade. I saw the fucking certificate myself.
So why does my gut feel as though I’ve swallowed a hundred pounds of broken glass?
“Turn left up here,” Clover says quietly, breaking the silence. It’s the first thing she’s said since we left Peachvale. “The compound is about two miles down this road.” Her right leg bounces with nervous energy as she looks between the RVs satellite phone and the vast emptiness ahead.
I take the turn, my grip on the wheel making my fingers ache. The road narrows, becoming more grass than dirt with weeds growing up from the deep ruts of years-old tire tracks.
Trees close in on both sides, their autumn leaves creating a tunnel of gold and red that should be beautiful but feels suffocating instead.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask.
She’s got both hands wrapped around herself, hanging onto her elbows with white knuckles. “No, but I’m here because I can’t live in fear anymore. The danger, the—”
“Clover.” My voice is harder than I intended. “You need to understand that this is not a negotiation. If I see any sign of danger, I’m taking you out of here. No arguments.”
Her body tightens into a fiery ball of anger.
“You don’t get to decide that for me. This is my trauma.
My past too. I’ve spent the last forty minutes wondering why me and what next?
Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to live in that victim mindset your entire life?
I can’t do it anymore, Valen. Don’t you see?
With you, I can do this. I can face it all.
Don’t try to take this from me because I promise you won’t win. ”
The words hit me like a slap. She feels stronger with me at her side. And if I’m being honest with myself, don’t I feel the same way with her?
Two broken pieces finally sealed together to create something whole, something strong, something resilient.
“You’re right. But promise me you’ll stay close, and if I say to run, you fucking run. Deal?”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods.
In the back, Wrecks whines.
“I know, buddy,” Chief murmurs. “I don’t like it either.”
The trees thin as the RV bounces around a corner, and then, there it is—Roots of Salvation.
Or what’s left of it.
The compound sits in a clearing that must have been impressive once. Now it’s just…abandoned. Forgotten.
A main building dominates the center—three stories of crumbling stonework reach for the sky with dark windows, but most are broken. It stands tall, as though it’s the center of this universe, with an air of holier than thou.
Smaller cabins dot the perimeter as far as the eye can see, all in various states of decay, all a vast contradiction to the monstrosity at the center.
There’s a garden plot to the right that’s completely overrun with weeds.
To the left is a basketball court with no nets and cracks spiderwebbing across the concrete, and beyond it, a fire pit covered with old leaves.
But it’s the fence that gives this place an ominous sensation—ten feet of chain-link topped with barbed wire. The gates are open now, hanging crooked on broken hinges, but you can still see this place for what it was.
A prison.
What started as a safe haven took on a new meaning during my birth mother’s reign, or so I’ve been told.
“Jesus,” Chief chokes out. “This is where you lived?”
Clover doesn’t answer. She’s staring at the main building as though she’s seeing ghosts.
Pulling out my phone, I text Roman.
Me: We’re here.
Roman: Rip and I will head over now.
Roman: Place is clear.
Roman: Security footage has been quiet.
Me: Thanks. Hang back. Give Clover some space to acclimate.
Roman: Will do.
I drive the RV through the broken gates, thankful that even though we own the property, Roman gave the local authorities a heads-up that we’d be out here.
I park near what looks like an old visitor lot, where the weeds grow through the asphalt like nature’s trying to reclaim what humanity abandoned.
Though I’m not sure how much humanity ever existed on this property.
We sit in silence for five long minutes.
“Clover?”
“I’m going. I’m just—” She sucks in a breath like she’s drowning. Then three more. “I’m reminding myself that I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m stronger, you know?”
I wish I did. My pain points all came from the hospital. Not what put me there.
Reaching over, I hold her hand. It’s quickly become my favorite new habit. “I’m here. Nothing here can hurt you anymore. We just need to…look around. Maybe it will trigger something for me.”
She squeezes my hand so hard it almost hurts. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Exiting the RV, we walk toward the main building, silent in our ascent.
The first thing I notice is that the air smells…wrong. It’s not just the decay, though there’s plenty of that—the scent of rotting wood and mildew. It’s something else. Something that makes every instinct I’ve honed over the years stand up and take notice.
Wrecks refuses to leave Clover’s side, and for once, I’m thankful for the menace. Her hand runs through his fur as though she needs the tactile reminder that she’s safe.
“Come on, boy,” Chief coaxes, tugging gently on his leash. “Give her some space.”
Wrecks plants himself in front of Clover and growls, low and threatening—something I’ve never heard him do.
“Okay then.” Chief releases the leash. “Guess you’re on guard duty. Bark if anyone shows up.”
Clover continues toward the main building, and I fall into step beside her, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other at the ready at my side. Chief follows a few paces behind, his hand resting on the gun I know he’s carrying despite being retired.
“This was Terra’s,” Clover says, pointing to the main building. Her voice is flat, distant. “She sat on her throne, watching everyone. Making sure we were…grateful. Forcing us to smile.”
“How many people lived here?” I ask.
“At its peak? Maybe a hundred. Adults and as many children as she could collect.”
The way she says the word collect makes me shiver.
She points to the smaller cabins. “Families lived in those. Unless you were being punished.” She shrugs. “Or you were me. Then you lived in the main building. Or in the basement.”
My jaw clamps together. “You lived in the basement?”
“Sometimes.” She won’t look at me. “When I asked too many questions. When I wasn’t…obedient enough. Mostly when I refused to call her Mother or when she couldn’t keep you in line.”
I want to burn this place to the ground. And I will.
“The main building first?” Chief asks, scanning the area with a practiced eye. I may give the old man shit, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s here to protect Clover, and that makes him important to me too.
Clover’s gaze drifts to the tree line off the far side of the compound. “No.” She grabs hold of her elbows, squeezing herself so tightly she practically vibrates. “Let’s go to the tree. That’s where Valen and I hid things. If there’s anything left—if the journal is still there—”
“Lead the way,” I finish so she knows she’s in charge here.
The path to the tree is overgrown but still visible. Clover walks it as if muscle memory alone is leading the way. She never looks down, just moves forward through waist-high grass and weeds.
“We weren’t supposed to go this far from the main buildings,” she says, pushing aside a low-hanging branch.
“But there was a gap in the fence. Right over there.” She points to a section where the chain-link has been cut and peeled back.
“Valen found it. Or maybe he made it. I don’t remember.
But we’d sneak through and run into the woods where no one could see us. ”
“How often?” I ask.
“Every day if we could. Sometimes just for an hour. Sometimes longer, if Terra was busy with other things.” She ducks under another branch.
“It was the only place we could be ourselves. The only place we could breathe. You were the only one I was allowed to spend time with, but only when she said, and we could only do what she wanted.”
The woods thicken around us, then open to a small clearing.
And there it is.
The tree.
It’s massive, and easily a hundred years old, with a trunk so wide it would take three people holding hands to circle it. The bark is scarred and weathered, and about ten feet up, the trunk splits into a perfect Y shape.
“Wow,” Chief breathes. “That’s some tree.”
“I told you.” Clover reaches out, her hands tracing over something carved into the bark.
C.S. + V. S.
Clover Styx and Valen Stone.
My vision blurs as my heart rate accelerates. “I remember this.” Past and present are colliding, but neither is perfectly clear. “Not all of it. I remember—” A flash of a memory, sharp and so sudden it’s blinding.
Clover giggling as I carved our initials with a butter knife I’d smuggled from a caterer after one of Terra’s parties.
“You said we’d be together forever.” Something hot scalds my cheek, and when I wipe it away, I realize it’s a tear. “And I promised I’d always protect you.”
But I didn’t protect her.
“You carved it the summer—” Clover’s voice breaks. “Everything happened.”
I step closer, running my own fingers over the carving. The wood has grown around it over the years, but it’s still there. Still visible. As if life grew lovingly around the scar, holding the pain and giving new, better life because of it.