Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Finn
The Hollow Oak was louder than usual when we stepped inside.
Cade took one look at us, taking in River’s pale and taut face, Atlas scanning the street behind us, and my sling soaked through again, and his whole demeanor snapped from bartender to battlefield medic.
“Everybody listen up!” he boomed over the bar noise. “Last call. Right now. Tabs are comped. Drink, tip, and clear out.”
The room stilled, then erupted into movement. Cade didn’t use that tone unless a tornado, wildfire, or lawsuit was about to hit.
Stools scraped. Chairs clattered. The regular Tuesday crowd funneled out the front door in under three minutes. Cade paid and dismissed his staff, and then Atlas flipped the lock and killed the main lights.
When the dust settled, only our people remained.
Libby hovered at the bar, looking like she’d been waiting for a cue.
Autumn clutched a stack of folders. Nivea, normally crackling with energy, was deadly quiet behind her laptop.
Myra rose from a shadowed corner booth, Andra shoved a notebook into her tote, and Cade came out from behind the taps, his jaw clenched.
The Murder of the Month Club had assembled.
“Jesus,” Cade muttered, looking at River, Atlas, and me. “You three look like you lost a fight with a car wash.”
“Phones,” I said. “Powered down. Now. On the table.”
No hesitation. Only soft thuds followed.
Only when the last screen went dark did I let myself breathe.
“In the back, now,” I said. “All of you.”
They filed into the back room we’d used the other night, bumping shoulders, crowding around a table. Atlas took up a position near the door. I took the wall. River stood close enough to me that her arm brushed mine.
Andra crossed her arms. “Your text said ‘EMERGENCY’ in all caps. From you, that means something exploded. What changed?”
I didn’t sugarcoat it.
“Grant filed emergency injunctions this afternoon. He’s citing the state oversight complaint and asking for a freeze on all investigative activity by my department.
” I watched their faces process that. “Which means Atlas and I can’t touch this case officially until the board clears us—on a timeline Grant controls. ”
A ripple moved through the room.
“He’s trying to freeze you in place,” Autumn said.
“While he spends tonight cleaning up everything the AG hasn’t handled yet,” River finished. “Which is why we’re here and not at the station.”
“What does the AG have exactly?” Nivea asked.
“The annex records. About thirty-seven years of Benevolence Fund directives, transfer authorizations, and the target list.” I paused. “A cooperating corroborating witness. And a statement from the DA’s office.”
The room went still.
Libby said quietly, “Sean?”
“He called this afternoon with a Portland lawyer. Full cooperation.”
Nobody cheered. It wasn’t that kind of news. Libby exhaled, mumbling something slow and complicated. Autumn stopped writing for a moment, and Cade looked at the floor.
“Good,” Myra said. The word doing a lot of work.
“The problem,” I continued, “is that Grant still has someone in my department. Someone who tipped him off the moment we left for Stonybrooke the other night. We don’t know who.
Which means, we can’t use any official channels without risking everything we’ve built.
” I looked around the room. “You guys can. You’re civilians.
You’re not named in the injunctions. You’re the only team that can move freely right now. ”
Cade slammed his palm on the file cabinet. “So, what’s the plan? You didn’t call us here to explain paperwork.”
“The plan is to fight,” I said. “Cleanly, deliberately, and all at once. Three operations running parallel.”
I laid it out. Team One would be Autumn and Nivea, mapping the Watcher network.
Who’s connected to whom, physical locations, communication patterns.
Team Two would be Myra and Rand, following the money.
The MR-7 transfers, the four unidentified entities Libby’s financials had flagged.
Team Three would be Libby and Andra. Archival cross-references and media containment.
Nothing went public until we had leverage that couldn’t be buried.
Assignments fell into place like puzzle pieces. They were civilians. They shouldn’t have been anywhere near this war, but they stepped into their roles without blinking.
Before I could warn them again of the danger, Atlas’s phone buzzed against the table.
We all froze.
He glanced down, and his jaw clenched. “You didn’t tell anyone we were here, right?”
Cade looked offended. “You saw me clear out the place last minute, and you locked the front door.”
Atlas turned the screen outward.
It was a grainy trail-cam still. Rain in a dark alley. The loading dock behind the Hollow Oak. And standing dead center in a hood, a mask, and red painted eyes was a Watcher.
“When?” I asked.
“Two minutes ago.”
My pulse kicked into a sprint. “Everyone stay put.”
Atlas was already moving, his gun drawn, slipping out the hallway door. I followed seconds later with River a step behind—because she wasn’t staying anywhere without me, and we both knew it.
The corridor smelled like bleach and cold air.
Atlas stood in the plastic flaps in the threshold of the loading dock, his gun angled low.
“Hands where I can see them!” I barked.
A shape stepped into view, but it wasn’t the hooded figure. It was a kid. Thin, soaked, and shaking.
His sweatshirt was streaked red with paint, not blood, and the color clung to his fingers.
Atlas lowered his gun a fraction. “Not our guy. But not random, either.”
The kid’s voice cracked. “Are you...Sheriff Callahan?”
“That depends,” I said. “Who’s asking?”
“Evan,” he whispered. “Evan Narnachek.”
Those who had filed in behind us went still.
Evan Narnachek. Eleanor Jenkins’ former student. He’d been missing for four years and was one of the names Libby had found circled twice in Eleanor’s margin notes. He was also one of our potential cold cases.
My chest tightened. “You’re a hard person to find, Evan. Where ya been?”
He laughed, a broken, frightened sound. “It’s easy to stay ‘missing’ when you’re scared enough and have more than one reason to stay gone.”
River stepped forward, her voice gentle and steady. “Evan. Why did you come here?”
He glanced back at the alley, then at the warm spill of light behind us, then at me, like he was choosing which direction meant the worse death.
“I was warned, and I came because they know. Because I’m just tired.
I want this to be over. All of it,” he whispered.
“They know you found Marta’s and Eleanor’s notes.
And they know you’re coming for them.” His eyes shone too brightly.
“And I think I just became their next loose end. If they could find me to tell me about you, then they can find me, period.”
Behind and to the left of us, glass shattered.
“Atlas. Get him inside,” I ordered. “Check the locks. Nobody leaves, and nobody enters.”
Evan crossed the threshold into the loading dock like stepping into a sanctuary.
I made a pass of the loading doc, found nothing but an opportunistic raccoon, and headed back inside, double-checking the lock behind me.
“Start where you think we need to hear it,” I told Evan as I walked into the back room.
His eyes flicked over every exit and every body in the room.
“I didn’t volunteer,” he said, his voice breaking.
“Nobody joins the Watchers because they want to. You get cornered, and you get scared. Then you get taken.” A tremor ran through him, violent and uncontrolled.
“They don’t let you go. Not when you know what they’ve done. Not when you’ve seen things.”
Autumn froze. “The lists?”
“Yeah. The names. Notes about who deserved ‘correction.’ People they planned to ruin. Or silence.” His throat clicked. “Or bury.”
A sharp inhale from Libby. Cade muttered something vicious under his breath.
“Who runs it?” I asked, each word deliberate.
Evan laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “You already know. Or you wouldn’t be in here instead of at the station.”
“Grant,” River said.
“Yup,” he confirmed. “But he doesn’t move. He directs. He has people for every layer…enforcement, logistics, information.” He swallowed. “Someone inside your department has been feeding him in real time. Someone who knew when you left for Stonybrooke.”
“We know,” I said. “Jordyn told us it was more than just her. We just don’t have a name.”
“I do.”
It was like everyone in the room took a collective breath.
“I worked logistics for two years,” Evan said.
“I never saw faces, but I heard names. And since I’ve been gone, I’ve kept abreast of things.
Call it self-preservation. Three months ago, I heard the name of Grant’s station contact.
” He looked at me directly. “It’s Deputy Terrence Cole. He transferred in fourteen months ago.”
The name landed. Atlas’s expression didn’t change but his eyes sharpened. I filed it away, too. Cole, fourteen months, transfer origin to check later.
“Why are you here tonight?” River asked. She was using her clinical voice, the gentle one that seemed easy but was precise enough to cut right to the chase.
Evan’s gaze locked onto hers. “Because they activated a core member tonight. And the target isn’t Finn. It’s you,” he said. “They want you gone before sunrise. Before the things at the AG are in place.”
I snapped taut like a wire whipped into tension. “Over my dead body.”
Evan flinched. “That’s the thing,” he whispered. “I think they’re counting on that.”
The words sucker-punched the room.
Atlas straightened. “Who’s the core member moving tonight?”
Evan’s fingers clenched the chair until his knuckles went white.
“It’s someone I was close to,” he said. “The person who recruited me, and the one person I never thought would hurt me.” His voice cracked on the last word. Cracked and held. “He was there. I saw him. They made us—” He stopped, breathed. “They made us bury her.”
River’s hand found the back of my wrist. Not gripping, just there.