Chapter Thirty — Not Yours
RONAN
Ronan had never been more proud of someone for not committing murder.
That was probably not a sentence normal people ever needed.
He stood beneath the covered entrance of Bellweather County Medical Center with a paper cup of coffee going cold in one hand and watched Elliot through the automatic doors.
Rebecca sat in a wheelchair beside him. Not because she needed one.
Because the paramedic had apparently threatened bodily harm if she tried walking into the hospital after spending twenty minutes standing in freezing water.
Rebecca had responded by telling him she had raised three children and could probably survive a hallway.
The paramedic had responded by pointing at the chair.
Rebecca sat. Elliot pushed her. Ronan almost smiled.
The entire scene looked absurdly normal from a distance.
Mother. Son. Hospital. Except Ronan could still hear Saint’s voice.
Choose. Green. Red. Rebecca or Saint. Elliot’s hand hovering over both.
Ronan had expected the worst. Not because he believed Elliot wanted his mother hurt.
Never. Because Ronan had seen what Saint represented.
Answers. Revenge. Control. The person who had spent months crawling through Elliot’s head finally within reach.
Ronan had known exactly how badly Elliot wanted that red button.
Then he had asked. Be good for me. And Elliot had chosen green.
Not reluctantly. Not accidentally. He had looked Saint directly in the face without ever seeing one and said no.
Ronan couldn’t stop thinking about it. Elliot came through the doors alone.
Rebecca had been taken for imaging because apparently the universe refused to let anyone simply say she was fine and go home. His eyes found Ronan immediately. They always did. That hadn’t changed. Ronan held up the second coffee. Elliot approached.
“For me?”
“No. I bought two because capitalism.”
Elliot took it.
“Thank you.”
Ronan stared. Elliot looked down at the cup.
“What?”
“You said thank you.”
“I say thank you.”
“Not to me.”
“Maybe you should do more things worth thanking.”
“There he is.”
Elliot smiled. Small. Tired. Real. Ronan looked at his face. No blood. No mask. No polished Bellweather smile either. Just Elliot.
“What?”
“You did good.”
The smile vanished. Ronan immediately felt something shift. Elliot looked away.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Say it like that.”
Ronan understood. Good. Good boy. Saint. The words had been poisoned. Except not entirely. They had used them together after Saint. Maybe that was the point. Ronan moved closer.
“You did good.”
Elliot looked back.
“I almost pressed red.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t be proud of me for doing the bare minimum.”
Ronan frowned.
“Saving your mom is the bare minimum?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Ronan leaned against the brick wall. Elliot stood beside him. Close enough that their shoulders touched. Neither moved.
“I don’t think you understand how terrifying that was,” Ronan said.
“For me?”
“For me.”
Elliot looked over.
“I watched you look at the red button.”
Silence.
“I knew exactly what you wanted.”
“To catch Saint.”
“To hurt Saint.”
Elliot didn’t deny it. Ronan continued.
“And I asked you not to.”
“Yes.”
“You listened.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
Elliot looked toward the parking lot.
“It shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I should be able to make that choice without you.”
Ronan stared. There. He had been thinking something similar. Maybe not exactly.
“You will.”
Elliot laughed softly.
“You sound confident.”
“I’m not.”
That got his attention. Ronan shrugged.
“I’m making it up.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m serious.”
Ronan turned toward him.
“You spent however long letting Saint reinforce every fucked-up impulse you already had.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan caught it.
“Poor wording.”
“Very.”
“Whatever impulses you already had.”
“Better.”
“Saint made violence feel like control.”
Elliot said nothing.
“Then I showed up and started telling you no.”
“You were already there.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Ronan took a drink. Terrible coffee. He made a face. Elliot looked at the cup.
“That bad?”
“Hospital coffee should be illegal.”
“You’ve covered up five murders and hospital coffee is your moral line?”
Ronan choked. Actually choked. Elliot immediately started laughing. Ronan stared.
“You cannot say shit like that in public.”
“No one heard.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Paranoid.”
“Serial killer boyfriend.”
The words escaped. Both froze. Ronan’s stomach dropped. Boyfriend. Not stepbrother. Not Elliot. Boyfriend. Elliot stared at him. Ronan looked toward the parking lot.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“No.”
“Your face.”
“My face is innocent.”
Ronan groaned. Elliot’s smile grew.
“You called me your boyfriend.”
“I noticed.”
“First time.”
“I know.”
“Technically—”
“Stop.”
“Fine.”
Silence. Then Elliot whispered:
“I like it.”
Ronan’s chest tightened.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Ronan looked at him. No golden-boy performance. No manipulation that he could detect. Just happiness. A little. That was dangerous too. Ronan nudged his shoulder.
“Boyfriend.”
Elliot smiled at the ground. There. Twenty-one years old.
College student. Embarrassed because the guy he loved called him his boyfriend.
Ronan hated how easy it was to forget the other part.
Maybe he didn’t need to forget it. Maybe holding both was the whole fucking point now.
His temporary phone rang. Detective Vance.
Of course. Romance survived approximately forty seconds. Ronan answered.
“What?”
“Charming.”
“You caught me at a bad time.”
“You exist in a permanent bad time.”
Elliot almost laughed. “What do you want?” “We finished clearing the marine sciences facility.” Ronan straightened.
Elliot noticed immediately. “And?” “Saint wasn’t inside.
” “We gathered.” “There was remote access to the flood controls.” “From where?” “Unknown.” Ronan closed his eyes.
“Fantastic.” “System routed through multiple networks.” Elliot leaned closer.
Ronan switched to speaker. Vance continued.
“We recovered audio equipment, cameras, and a small amount of physical evidence.” “What kind?” Elliot asked.
“Hair. Fibers. Partial footwear impressions.” “Anything useful?” “Testing takes time.” Elliot looked unimpressed.
Vance heard it somehow. “There’s more.” Ronan sighed.
“Of course.” “The voice used over the speaker wasn’t live.
” Silence. Ronan stared at the phone. “What?” Elliot’s expression changed.
Vance continued. “Pre-recorded segments stitched through software.” Ronan looked at Elliot.
“But Saint responded to us.” “Yes.” “In real time.” “Yes.” “So how?” “A language model.” Ronan froze.
Elliot looked equally disturbed. Vance continued.
“Someone trained a voice system to deliver prepared responses based on incoming audio.” Ronan’s stomach turned.
“So Saint wasn’t there.” “Possibly never was.”
Elliot stepped away. That hit him differently. Ronan understood why. Saint had sounded present. Watching. Reacting. Choosing words. Maybe some of it had been automation. Maybe not.
“How much?” Elliot asked.
“We don’t know.”
He laughed without humor.
“Great.”
Vance continued.
“The responses were too context-specific to be fully pre-scripted. Someone was likely monitoring remotely and selecting or generating responses.”
Ronan looked toward the hospital doors. Crowds moved. Cars passed. Saint could be anywhere.
“Location?”
“No.”
“Then what did you actually learn?”
“That Saint plans.”
Elliot laughed softly.
“We knew that.”
“And has technical resources.”
“Also obvious.”
Vance paused.
“And that Saint expected Elliot to press red.”
Silence. Ronan looked at him. Elliot stared.
“How do you know?”
“We found an automated sequence tied to the red control.”
Ronan’s stomach tightened.
“What happened if he pressed it?”
Pause.
“Rebecca’s door would still have opened.”
Elliot froze. Ronan’s chest went cold.
“What?”
“Both buttons released Rebecca.”
Silence. There had never been a choice. Not physically.
Only psychologically. Saint had never intended to drown Rebecca based on the button.
They wanted Elliot to believe he could save her by abandoning revenge.
Or choose revenge believing she might die.
A test. Pure. Elliot’s face went blank. Vance continued.
“Green also disabled the side exit. Red would have unlocked it.”
Ronan understood.
“If Elliot pressed red, Saint wanted him chasing.”
“Yes.” “Into what?” “Unknown.” “Trap.” “Almost certainly.” Elliot looked away.
Saint had expected the killer. Expected Elliot to press red.
Expected him to chase. He hadn’t. Something moved through Ronan.
Pride again. This time Elliot noticed. “Don’t.
” “What?” “Look at me like that.” “I’m allowed.
” “Why?” “Because Saint was wrong.” Elliot stared.
Vance was still on speaker. Awkward. Ronan didn’t care.
“They thought they knew exactly what you’d choose.
” Elliot swallowed. “They were wrong.” Silence.
Vance finally said: “I’ll pretend this conversation isn’t happening.
” Ronan smiled. “Thanks.” “I need both of you at the station later.” Elliot immediately said, “Why?” “Nathan.” “What about him?” “He’s talking.
” Everything sharpened. “What’s he saying?
” “He claims he knows who Saint is.” Ronan stared.
Elliot went still. “Name?” “He won’t give it unless Elliot is present.
” “No,” Ronan said. Elliot looked at him.
Vance sighed. “We can do this safely.” “No.” “Ronan.” “He manipulated Elliot for months.” “Nathan or Saint?” “Both.”
That silence told Vance enough. Ronan didn’t care. Elliot touched his arm.
“I need to hear it.”
“No.”
“I do.”
“You want to.”
“Yes.”
“Different.”