I try to get back to work, but nothing sticks. My mind keeps replaying Jace’s face, the way he put himself between me and that sleazy prisoner, the sound of his fists on flesh. Guilt eats at me. None of this would’ve happened if I’d just kept my head down, stayed invisible.
I’m lost in thought when Mrs. Jackson approaches, holding a manila file. She gives me a patient look. “Carrie, could you do me a favor? Officer Ramirez left this here earlier. He was supposed to take it to the security office, but got distracted by the commotion. Would you mind delivering it to him?”
I glance down at the folder, fingers tightening around the spine of a book. “Of course. I’ll take it right now.”
She smiles, then lowers her voice. “You did the right thing staying out of it, Carrie. Let the guards handle the troublemakers. That’s not your burden.”
I force a nod, even as shame crawls through me. There’s no point defending Jace. Trying to would only make things worse for him, or for me. It’s better to pretend we barely know each other. That’s the only way to survive here.
I head down the hallway, file hugged to my chest, passing the humming lights and scuffed linoleum. My nerves are raw. When I reach Officer Ramirez’s door, I knock. No answer.
I knock again, louder this time. Still nothing. The hallway is empty, no one in sight. I crack the door and peek inside.
“Officer Ramirez?” I call out quietly.
Silence.
I step in, planning to leave the folder on his desk and go. His office smells like cheap coffee and paper. I spot a mug withlipstick stains, photos of kids tacked to the bulletin board. The desktop is a mess—files everywhere.
I put the folder where it’s supposed to go, but as I set it down, my eyes catch on an open file in the middle of the desk. A thick case report, typed in all caps at the top: SATAN’S BUST.
My stomach drops. The page is covered in names, photos clipped to the corner. I see the familiar image of the clubhouse, the Reapers’ insignia painted across the garage door, yellow police tape in the foreground.
This is it—the case that ruined everything. The one that put JC, Nico, and Levi behind bars. The one Jinn ran from. My pulse hammers in my ears. I see rows of evidence logs, phone numbers, a list of club members, everything the police collected and probably more.
I glance at the door, nerves stretched tight. For a second, I can’t help myself. I lean in, eyes scanning the file, searching for any scrap of information that might help them.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I know I should just leave, but I can’t. If I walk out now, this chance might never come again. The folder on Ramirez’s desk could hold everything—evidence, leads, the truth about what really happened. I glance at the door one more time, then dig my phone out of my pocket, hands trembling.
I snap pictures as fast as I can. Pages of evidence logs, lists of names, contact sheets, police reports, a handwritten note about Jinn. My camera shutter is almost silent, but each click feels deafening in the empty office.
I’m not just doing this for the ATF. I was never in this for them, even after Rodriguez threatened to put me away for good if I didn’t cooperate. The only reason I agreed was because I thought I could keep myself safe. But now, seeing how deep this goes, I know I need the truth for myself, and for them.
I keep snapping until I have as much as I can, barely breathing, heart hammering in my chest. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone. As soon as I’ve got enough, I slide it away and step back from the desk.
I force myself to act normal, straighten the file a little, and leave Mrs. Jackson’s folder right on top. Then I slip out, pulling the door closed behind me, trying not to sprint back to the library.
I hurry down the hall, nerves buzzing, already rehearsing what I’ll say if anyone stops me. As I round the corner, I nearly collide with Officer Ramirez. He’s carrying a stack of paperwork, coffee in the other hand.
He stops, gives me a look that’s hard to read. “Everything alright?” he asks.
I try to keep my voice steady. “I just dropped off a file for you from Mrs. Jackson. Um…do you know what’s going to happen to Jace? I mean, Calhoun?”
Ramirez’s mouth tightens. “He’s being dealt with. Some guys have to learn the hard way.” He doesn’t give me anything else, just nods for me to move along.
My skin prickles as I walk away. What does that even mean? Will they put Jace in solitary? Cut his visits? Worse?
Back in the library, I can barely concentrate, the photos I took burning in my mind, Ramirez’s warning replaying over and over. I’m shelving books when my phone vibrates, buzzing hard against my thigh.
For a moment, I freeze. There’s no way they could have found out what I did that fast, right?
Still, my hands shake as I answer. “Hello?”
Rodriguez’s voice is low, impatient. “You’re going to meet me tonight, understand? Usual place. Don’t be late.”
He hangs up before I can answer.
My heart slams in my chest. I tuck the phone away, mouth dry. He can’t know what I did. Not yet. Still, I feel the walls closing in. I look around the library, searching for something safe, but there’s nowhere to hide from this.
