“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You knowexactlywhat I’m talking about.” His voice is low and smooth, like silk. “I’ve seen it in your eyes, the way you struggle to keep control, to maintain that perfect façade. But I also see the cracks, the part of you underneath that longs to be free from all the rules and constraints you’ve imposed on yourself.”
A mixture of fear and something else—something I don’t wantto acknowledge—slithers over me. He’s talking about the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, places I’ve never let anyone go before. Places I’ve barely dared to explore myself. And it terrifies me.
“Nothing you’re saying is true.”
He shakes his head slowly, that infuriating smile never leaving his face. “This is about truth.Yourtruth. You hide behind that beautiful exterior, pretending to be someone you’re not, because you’re afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to truly let go, to let someone see the real Geneva. But I see her. I.See. You.”
I fist my hands until my knuckles turn white and my forearms ache with the effort it takes to remain still. His words hit too close to the truths I’ve kept secret for so long. And I hate him for it. I hate him for seeing what I’ve spent my entire life hiding from the world.
From myself.
“You’re wrong,” I manage to say, but the conviction in my voice is slipping.
“Am I? You’re so tightly wound, so disciplined, that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive. You want to experience something real, something raw.”
I want to shout at him, to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t know anything about me. But the words won’t come. Because deep down, in the part of me I’ve always kept locked away, I know he’s right. I have spent my life building walls, creating rules to keep myself contained, to protect myself from the chaos that I fear would consume me if I ever let it out. And I’ve become a prisoner of those rules, trapped in a life that feels more like a cage than anything else.
“You don’t know me,” I say. “I’m not going to indulge your sick fantasies.”
He laughs softly. “It’s not about indulging me. It’s about indulging yourself. For once in your life, stop pretending. Let yourself feel. Let yourself be free.”
His words are like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous, pulling me in even as I try to resist. And that’s what frightens me the most—the part of me that wants to listen to him, to experience that freedom he’s talking about. But I know that path leads to darkness, to a place I may never come back from.
His smile softens, turning almost tender, as if he’s genuinely concerned for me, which only makes this worse. “What’s the point of living if you’re not truly alive?”
I close my eyes, trying to block out his voice, his presence, but it’s useless. He’s already under my skin, digging into the deepest parts of me, exposing everything I’ve tried so hard to keep private.
But I can’t break. Not here, not now.
“Tell me where Anna Lee is.” I open my eyes, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Please.”
He watches me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, unrelenting. “All right. I’ll tell you. But remember this—you can walk away now, but you’ll never escape what’s inside you. One day, you’ll have to face it. And when you do, you’ll remember this moment, and you’ll know that I was right.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and ominous as he shifts in his chair, the chains rattling softly. “The girl is being held in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town near the industrial district, just off Route 17. You’ll find it past the abandoned train yard, where the tracks split off into dead ends. She’s alive. For now.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I turn on my heel and march out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with his words, his voice echoing in my ears. I got what I camefor. We have the information we need to hopefully save an innocent child.
But even as I rush down the hallway, the cold, blank walls closing in around me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost something in that room.
Something I may never get back.
CHAPTER 8
GENEVA
I push through the heavy door, and the air in the hallway rushes past me but fails to erase the tension knotting my stomach.
Ghost’s voice is still in my mind, prowling the corners of my consciousness. His insidious whispers contain doubts, fears, and unsettling truths I’m not ready to confront.
I barely make it a few steps when Detective Harris is there, waiting for me, his eyes fixed on mine and a frown tugging at his mouth. His usual calm, composed demeanor is tinged with grave concern. He watched everything that transpired in that room, and the weight of his scrutiny is almost too much to bear.
“Are you all right?” His voice is soft and carefully measured.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat, tangled up in the emotions I’m trying so hard to ignore. I force myself to take a breath, to steady the quiver in my voice. “I got what we needed. Anna Lee’s alive.”
The detective slowly nods, his gaze searching and assessing. “I’ve already called it in. If the information is real, they’ll find her.I hope she’s okay.” There’s a weight to his words, a subtle emphasis that tells me he’s not just talking about the girl. “It was rough in there.”
