I’ll never get the chance to ask those men why they did it.That’s what I’ve told myself for years. It’s what I’ve clung to, what I’ve built my entire sense of closure around. And now Ghost, with his twisted games, is trying to unravel it all with a few well-placed words. It’s gnawing at my insides, threatening to tear me apart.
What if he’s not lying?
I grip the counter, my knuckles whitening as I push back against the flood of doubt that’s crashing over me. I want to dismissthe text. I want to believe that Ghost is just messing with me to see if he can make me break. But deep down, something about it feels…true.
Ghost knows things he shouldn’t. He’s proven that already, time and time again. How the hell would he know about April 18th, about the specifics of that night, unless he’s found something I haven’t?
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t calm the storm raging inside me. Ghost has been pulling at the strings of my mind for weeks now, unraveling me bit by bit. But this is different. This isn’t just about me. This is about my parents. About their deaths. About everything I’ve spent years trying to understand. And now, he’s telling me that I might have a chance to get real answers.
I walk to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water onto my face, trying to clear my head. But it’s no use. The words keep circling, digging deeper into my mind, forcing me to confront the possibility that my past isn’t as settled as I thought.
“Would you believe that I know the identities and locations of the men from April 18th?”
I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the sink, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. If what Ghost says is true, then it changes everything. The way I’ve lived my life, the choices I’ve made—all of it has been shaped by the belief that I’d never be able to confront my parents’ killers.
But what if I could?
I push away from the sink, pacing again, my mind spinning. I want to see Ghost, demand answers, and make him tell me what he knows. But deep down, I know that’s exactly what he wants. He’s been playing with my mind for weeks while watching mescramble to make sense of it all. And now, he’s thrown this at me, knowing it’s the one thing I can’t ignore.
The one thing that will make me come back.
I stop pacing, my breath heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t just let this go. I need to know. Ihaveto know why those men destroyed my entire life.
I grab my keys, my mind already made up. I’m going back to him. To the prison. To Ghost. And this time, I’m not leaving until I get the answers I want.
Right now, I don’t just hate Ghost.
I hate that Ineedhim.
CHAPTER 16
GHOST
I sit in the interview room humming a dirty shanty I learned years ago. Something about sailors, a whore, and a mast representing a gigantic penis. One of my favorites.
The guards just outside think I’m simply waiting. Subdued and harmless. They believe these chains mean something. But like this prison, they’re an illusion of control.
The vent above me rattles, a tiny vibration in the ceiling every time the air kicks on. It’s small—just big enough for me to fit through—and the grill is rusted, held on by screws that also contain rust around the edges. I can hear the faint whistle of the air, and I mark it in my mind, cataloging it like I do everything else.
I sweep my gaze over the room. The table in front of me is bolted to the floor, but one of the legs isn’t secure. I figured that out weeks ago, during my first visit with Geneva. Just a small wobble, but it’s there. A weak point. All things can break if you apply the right pressure. Even metal tables.
Especially people.
The chair is the same as it always is, worn at the edges, but it’ssolid enough. No use there. But the cameras? They’re my biggest point of contention. That’s where Dr. Andrews comes into play.
I lean back, the chains rattling just enough to remind myself of their presence. They’re heavy, cold against my wrists, but they don’t bother me. They’re temporary. Just like my situation.
But not her.
No, Geneva isn’t temporary.
She’s my eternity.
I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the thought of seeing her again. The tension in her posture, the fire in her eyes when she tries so hard to maintain control of herself. It’s intoxicating, watching her balance on that razor’s edge between order and chaos. She doesn’t realize how close she is to crossing over. Not yet, anyway.
But she will. I’ve made sure of that.
I smile as anticipation builds in my chest. She’ll come. I’ve baited the trap perfectly. And she’s never been able to resist chasing the truth, no matter how dangerous it might be.
