Chapter 26 #2
I’ve barely moved when there’s a commotion upfront.
Loud voices, and I jerk to a stop. An older woman steps forward, gray hair pinned neatly back, a thick fur coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“I know we’re gathered here tonight to honor this poor girl who lost her life.
” Her voice is steady. “But let’s not pretend she’s the only victim in Forsyth.
” A low murmur rolls through the crowd. “There are others,” she continues.
“Other deaths that were convenient to forget. Other tragedies were brushed aside and labeled unfortunate instead of suspicious.”
The murmurs deepen, uneasy.
“How many children has this city swallowed and claimed it was fate?” she demands.
“How many young lives were taken while everyone looked the other way? My son is a victim of the monsters in Forsyth.” She pauses, letting the silence stretch.
“And because he was a male, because of our family name, and because our local officials are corrupt, no one cares.”
The crowd is silent as she makes accusation after accusation.
“My name is Trudie Stein and my son Armand–”
Ari’s body locks at the name.
“And just like the girls we mourn, my son left home happy and safe, and was returned another victim of Forsyth.”
Arianette’s breath stutters, fingers clutching my coat like she’s losing gravity. I look over her head at Hunter. He gives a single, decisive nod.
Yeah, it’s time to go.
We move quickly but calmly, guiding her away from the fountain before she can spiral. Her breathing is shallow, her eyes unfocused, panic tightening her features.
“He hurt me,” she says.
“I know.” I lead her down the path that goes back to the parking lot.
“He tried to break the rules. ‘You never should have run, Arianette,’” she whispers, voice like a ghost. “You never should have stopped.”
My neck prickles. “What’s that, Doll Baby?”
“Evening.” A figure emerges from a side path. “You three in a rush?”
Agent Knight looks at the three of us, expression unreadable, lips curving faintly.
My arm tightens around Arianette. Every instinct in my body goes on alert. Knight has already put one innocent man in jail, and Arianette? She’s not fucking innocent. Not by a long shot.
“Agent,” Hunter says, taking a small step in front of Arianette.
“And no,” I say, “We’re not in a rush.”
He looks down at her. “You look rattled, Ms. Hexley. You sure you’re okay?”
I feel the press of my gun at my back but make no moves, and answer for her. “The Baroness wanted to show her respect and support for Kelsey and her family, but as you can imagine, it’s a little rough.”
“I’ve been meaning to check up on you.” The way he looks at me, I feel like he’s taking an assessment. “To see if you’ve recovered any memories.”
Her fingers twist into mine, and she shakes her head. “No.”
I run a hand down her back. Good girl.
“That’s unfortunate,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “Because whoever is doing this isn’t leaving us much to go on. I have a feeling whatever we’re going to find out is going to come from you.”
“I don’t know anything,” she whispers. “About anyone. Not about the dark or the footsteps. Hard hands. Sharp teeth.”
She’s spiraling, and when Arianette starts to spiral… fuck.
“Sharp teeth?” The agent’s eyebrow lifts.
“Red. So much red.” She holds up her hands and looks around, like she’s not fully here. I know she’s not back at the riverbank. She’s in the hunt. With Armand. With us.
“Agent, as you can tell, Arianette is not in a good state of mind right now, but if you’d like to make an official appointment to discuss the case with the Baroness, you can go through the Baron King’s lawyer,” Hunter says, his tone a million times calmer than mine would have been. Which is why my mouth is shut.
We leave him standing there, and I urge her along, half carrying her back to the truck. Once we’re inside, away from the noise of the vigil, Arianette stays close, burrowed into my side. I’m not sure, but I think I hear her murmur, “You know too much.”
With Ari, you never know. Not what’s real and what’s part of her imagination–her memories on a confused loop. I tighten my grip around her, because imagination or not, someone put that thought in her head–and that’s enough to change the game.
“It’s like he knows,” I say, looking down at Arianette, curled on her side like she’s folded in on herself.
She has one hand tucked under her cheek and Ares is stretched out at her feet, solid and watchful even in sleep, his flank rising and falling slow and steady.
No matter how much space Hunter tried to put between his dog and Arianette after the fire, Ares is determined to stick by her side.
“Right?” Hunter replies, giving his dog a stroke on the head.
“Did you hear what she said?” I ask quietly. “Back at the vigil?”
Hunter shrugs out of his coat and hangs it over the back of the desk chair, movements careful, like noise itself might set her off again. “The part about how she never should’ve run?”
“Yeah. And then…” I lower my voice further, glancing at her face. Peaceful now. “I’m pretty sure she said something like ‘you know too much.’”
Hunter drags a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to know with her. Half the time it’s memory, half the time it’s… whatever else is in there.”
“I know.” I look down at her, really look. Whatever storm had her shaking at the vigil has eased for now. We got her into the car before it swallowed her whole, got her home before she fractured any further–this time. Still, my chest tightens thinking about how close it was.
“Do you think he said it?” I ask.
Hunter doesn’t pretend not to know who I mean. “Armand?”
“Yeah. Like right before she—”
Footsteps echo off the stone floors and the King steps in the room. He’s masked, unlike at the vigil, where he was acting as Timothy Maddox, and I notice the tight roll of papers tucked under one arm. The statement on my tongue is swallowed and I pray he didn’t hear us.
He seems focused on other things though, his gaze going straight to where Arianette is sleeping.
His mouth turns down slightly. “How is she? I noticed she seemed panicked.” His tone sounds even, but there’s a hint of concern.
“It’s understandable, given the circumstances. But Knight–what did he say to her?”
“Nothing in particular,” Hunter answers carefully. “Just… fishing.”
The King hums, unconvinced.
Hunter hesitates, jaw clenched, then says, “Maybe it would help if we had something for when she gets like that. When she’s spiraling.”
I understand what he’s suggesting before he says it outright.
The King’s head snaps up. “Like what?”
“Maybe medication?” The word barely leaves Hunter’s mouth before it’s obvious it was the wrong thing to say.
“She doesn’t need medication,” the King says flatly. “She needs to accept what she is and what comes with it.”
“She’s been through a lot in the past few months,” Hunter says, pushing just a little. “Seeing Kelsey’s body–”
The King cuts him off with a shake of his head.
“Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve seen in my lifetime as a Baron?
” His voice hardens. “Too many to fucking count. Men, women, children. Shot, tortured, decapitated, burned alive. None are pleasant, but it’s my job, and this is part of her role.
And it’s your job to keep her steady.” His eyes flick between us.
Cold. Assessing. “Are you implying you’re not up to it? ”
“No, sir,” Hunter says immediately.
I nod once. “We are.”
“Good.”
He exhales, then shifts gears like the conversation never happened.
The roll of papers moves from under his arm to Hunter’s hands.
“These are blueprints,” he says. “Of the city’s infrastructure.
I’ve spent the last month comparing them to my own records.
” He steps closer, unfurling the pages across the desk.
Lines and layers sprawl out like a maze beneath the city.
“I’ve never been able to connect the tunnels running from Barons’ territory into the university,” he continues. “They exist. But they were sealed over forty years ago.”
“Who sealed them?” I ask.
“The Hexleys.”
His finger taps a precise point on the map. “The only access point is beneath Strong Manor. They walled it up completely.”
My stomach tightens.
“I need you to go in from our side and open a new entry point. Hexley signed the rights over as part of the wedding arrangement.”
Of course that perverted bastard did.
“Someone moved a body onto campus,” the King continues. “Someone took Arianette from campus. This is the only way it makes sense.”
Hunter looks up. “When do you want us to do it?”
“You’ll start preparing now,” the King says. “Build a small team. Shadows you trust.” He pauses, eyes flicking once more to her sleeping form. “I want that access point open by the holidays. When the campus is empty.”
The King turns and leaves as quietly as he entered, and my eyes drift back to her sleeping face.
Someone is using those tunnels. Carrying the dead where they don’t belong, dragging secrets under the city like rot beneath skin.
That’s our territory. Our responsibility.
The Barons usher the dead. We don’t smuggle them.
And whoever decided to use our tunnels like a fucking highway didn’t just cross a line–they walked straight into it.
I reach down and brush my knuckles lightly over Arianette’s hair.
No one touches what’s ours.
Not the dead.
And not her.