Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MALIK
The phone is heavy in my hand as my fingers tighten around it, my pulse hammering beneath my skin as Indigo’s name flashes across the screen. The moment drags by as I listen to it ring. I could hang up… I should hang up. Pretend I never made this call, but that would be a lie. And I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.
For a long time, there’s nothing. Just the hollow sound of breathing, the static of distance. Then, finally?—
“Malik.”
Her voice is quieter than usual, careful but raw. It grinds against my ear, carving deep into my soul. There’s no fake sweetness, no false bravado. Just her.
My throat tightens, words tangling on my tongue before they can escape. Because what do you say to someone who has rewritten everything you thought you knew? How do you even begin?
“I need to know,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “I need to hear it from you.”
A pause. A shift in her breathing. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth, Indigo.”
There’s a soft, bitter laugh. “The truth is messy, Malik.”
I close my eyes. I can picture her perfectly, the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking, the way her lips press together like she’s holding back a storm. I don’t know if I can handle her words, but I need them anyway.
“The bod?—”
“I did what I had to do.”
The silence that follows is thick, stretching between us like a canyon neither of us knows how to cross. My jaw clenches, frustration curling tight in my chest. I should have expected this. Indigo has been a hard door to open up, but I’m going to keep trying to pry it open.
She has to let me in this time.
“Indigo.” I exhale slowly. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not,” she counters. “I just—” She cuts herself off, and I hear the faintest shift, like she’s pacing. “I won’t have this conversation over the phone.”
The words slice clean through the conversation, her tone suddenly sharp, controlled. “If you really want to know, if you actually want answers, then meet me.”
I run a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck, trying to steady the storm rolling through me. I could push. I could demand answers right now. But if there’s one thing I know about Indigo, it’s that she doesn’t respond to force. She only moves when she chooses to.
And she is choosing now.
“Fine,” I say, voice rough. “Where?”
“Somewhere neutral,” she says. “No games. Just the truth.”
My pulse kicks up. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. But I need to see her, to hear the words leave her lips, to look her in the eyes and decide if I can still find her beneath all of this.
Another pause. The hesitation is there, but it’s fleeting.
“The old train station,” she finally says. “Tomorrow night.”
My pulse spikes. That place—where the tracks are rusted, and the world feels like it’s been left behind. It suits her. It suits this.
“Alright,” I murmur. “I’ll be there.”
She breathes out, a sound so soft I almost miss it. “Malik…”
Something in the way she says my name makes my chest tighten. There’s something fragile in it, something unfinished.
But then the line clicks dead.
And I’m left gripping my phone, staring into the silence.
Tomorrow.
One way or another, I’ll finally get my answers.
The old train station is exactly how I remember it—forgotten. The tracks stretch out into nothing, rusted and worn, the weeds curling through the cracks like nature is slowly reclaiming what’s been left behind. The platform is empty, the once grand arches now chipped and faded.
I lean against a crumbling pillar, the cold biting through my jacket, my breath visible in the night air. The silence here is different—not peaceful, but hollow, like it’s waiting for something to fill it. And then, like clockwork, I hear footsteps against gravel.
Indigo steps into view, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
She wears a fitted black blouse, the top few buttons undone, teasing at something softer beneath all that edge. A sleek black belt cinches her waist, drawing my focus lower, to the full-length red trousers that hug her legs like they were made for her. That color—bold, impossible to ignore—demands attention, and I’m more than willing to give it.
Her shoes are practical, simple black flats, but even in them, she moves like a woman who doesn’t need height to command a room. And then there’s the red headscarf, knotted into those dark, cascading curls, a final touch that makes her look like she walked straight out of a different time—like she doesn’t belong here, but somehow, she fits.
I swallow hard, shifting my weight, but it doesn’t help. She’s already gotten under my skin. And the worst part? She knows it.
Her gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is thick, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.
Then, finally, she exhales. “You came.”
“I said I would,” I answer, my voice rougher than I intend.
She studies me, searching for something in my face. “I wasn’t sure if you actually would.”
I frown. “Why?”
Indigo shrugs, but it’s not careless. “Because people say a lot of things they don’t mean.”
There’s something bitter in the way she says it, something that makes my chest tighten. I could argue, tell her I’m not like that. But I don’t. Because maybe, in some ways, she’s right.
I glance around. “Why here?”
She looks past me to the tracks that lead nowhere. “Because it’s quiet. No one comes here. And because it feels right.”
Right.
For a conversation like this. For an ending.
Or maybe for something else entirely.
“Then talk.”
Indigo hesitates, like she’s picking apart the words before she lets them go. And when she does, they come slow, careful.
Indigo sighs. “It’s not about the thrill, Malik. It was never about that.”
“Then what was it about?”
She hesitates, and I can hear the moment she lets the walls crack, just a little. “Survival.”
The word is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through me like a blade.
Her breath is steady, but her fingers curl tighter into her pants pockets. “There are things I can’t undo, Malik. Things I can’t fix. I don’t expect you to understand, but I need you to hear me.”
My throat is dry. “I’m listening.”
Her jaw tenses, her gaze flickering away before she forces it back to mine. “I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be this person. But when you’re backed into a corner, when the only way out is through… you do what you have to do.” Her voice wavers, just slightly. “You survive.”
“And the people who didn’t?” I ask quietly. “The ones who didn’t survive?”
Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t look away. “I won’t make excuses for that.”
The words settle into my chest like lead.
I swallow hard. “How many?”
Her lips press together, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Too many.”
The answer knocks the breath from my lungs. I wince, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“Why them?” My voice is barely more than a rasp. “Why her?”
Indigo doesn’t blink. “None of them were good people.” She tilts her head, watching me like she’s waiting for me to understand. “She was toeing the line. She hurt you.” A pause. A shift. And then, softer, deadlier, “That’s unacceptable.”
I exhale, shakily, like I’ve been holding my breath for too long. My pulse hammers against my ribs, the weight of her words pressing down on me.
“Will you stop?” The question leaves my lips before I can swallow it back.
Indigo doesn’t look away. “No.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, just long enough to feel the full weight of that answer. The words settle into my chest like lead.
Indigo takes a small step closer, just enough that I can see the way her breath trembles in the cold. “You wanted the truth, Malik. This is it. A part of me wishes I wasn't like this. I have done things that I can’t take back.” Her voice drops barely above a whisper. “And I need to know… does that change everything?”
She’s asking for something dangerous. She’s asking for acceptance, for absolution. And I don’t know if I can give it. I don’t know if I should.
The question hangs between us, heavy and unspoken.
Does it?
I don’t know.
I don’t know if I can accept everything she’s done, if I can still see her the same way after this. But I also can’t ignore the ache in my chest at the thought of walking away.
Indigo watches me, waiting, her expression unreadable.
This is the moment. The choice.
And I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.
Fuck.
I’m head over heels for a fucking serial killer.
And worse than that?
I don’t know if I can walk away.