He shrugs, feigning concern. “I was worried about you. After what happened the other day with the lockdown, the alarm…just thought I’d check in.”
I almost laugh. The look he gives me is all fake softness, the kind he uses on suspects right before he turns the screws. I know it’s bullshit—he doesn’t do anything out of worry. He does it for leverage, for information, for control.
I keep my voice flat. “You’ve never checked in on me before. What do you really want?”
He drops the act, eyes hardening a little. “I need results, Carrie. My bosses are breathing down my neck. You’ve been in there long enough to give me something useful. But so far, you’ve got nothing.”
I try not to flinch. I feel the edge of the envelope against my thigh, still tucked under the magazine, a secret burning in the dark. If he finds it, I’m screwed.
I force myself to look bored. “I told you, these things take time. You can’t just manufacture confessions from thin air.”
He steps closer, invading my space, his voice lowering. “No, but you can find ways to speed it up. Don’t make me regret putting you in there, Carrie. Don’t make me look for someone who will actually get the job done.”
I swallow, pulse racing. “I’m doing what I can.”
Rodriguez watches me for a long moment, then lets out a small, humorless laugh. “You better hope so. I’ll be back soon. Don’t disappoint me.”
He’s almost at the door when he pauses, turning back just enough to pin me with his gaze. The friendliness is gone, and what’s left is pure threat.
“One more thing, Carrie.” His voice drops, quiet and cold. “Don’t forget who’s watching out for you. I made this easy for you—don’t make me regret it. You step out of line, you lose everything. I’ll make sure of it.”
He holds my stare a moment longer, making sure I understand. Then he slips out, the door shutting harder than it needs to.
I stand frozen in the middle of the room, knowing he means every word. Rodriguez’s warning echoes in my head, but I’m done waiting for him—or anyone else—to fix this.
I dig out my phone and scroll to Marcy’s old group chat, the messages stale and untouched since the night she vanished. My thumbs hover, unsure what to even say. Last time I checked in with her friends, they were as lost as I was, promising to call if they heard anything. That was weeks ago. Since then, nothing.
I send a round of messages anyway, quick and to the point:Hey, it’s Carrie. Any word from Marcy? I need to talk to her. Please, if you know anything, let me know.
The replies trickle in over the next hour—mostly the same.No, sorry. Haven’t seen her. If she shows up, I’ll tell her to call.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. When it does, it drags me under like cold water.
In the dream, I’m trapped behind bars—real ones this time, cold steel pressing into my spine. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering, making shadows jump across the walls. I hear Marcy’s voice calling my name, but every time I turn, she’s gone, replaced by Rodriguez’s hand gripping my shoulder, squeezing tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe.
I see Jace, Nico, and Levi, standing on the other side of the bars. They’re reaching for me, but their hands never touch. Every time I get close, the ground falls away and I’m alone, the doctor’s report burning in my palm, red letters spelling outLIARacross the page. The guards laugh, their faces morphing into Jinn’s and Marcy’s, eyes flat and empty.
I wake up choking on a scream, tangled in sweaty sheets, my heart racing. I press a hand to my chest, trying to slow down, but the fear doesn’t fade. It just hangs there, a heavy weight, making everything in the room look foreign.
I drag myself through the morning, grab coffee I can’t taste, then head to the library, telling myself over and over I can keep it together. The fluorescent lights seem too bright here too. Every time a book drops or a cart squeaks, I flinch.
It’s been days since I saw any of them. Since the storm, Jace, Nico, and Levi have been ghosts—avoiding the library, probably trying not to draw attention, keep the guards from asking questions. I try to tell myself that’s smart, but it feels like punishment.
I’m shelving in the back, lost in my own head, when I hear a quiet cough behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin, heart hammering as I turn.
Jace stands there, a book in his hand. He looks tired, rough around the edges, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it all morning. For a second, neither of us speaks.
He holds out the book. “Just here to return this,” he says, voice flat. No softness, no smile.
I take it, careful not to let our fingers brush. My mouth is dry. “Thanks. Is there—um—anything else?”
He hesitates, eyes flickering past me to the empty stacks. “No.”
I nod, pulse skittering in my throat. I want to ask him a million things—how he’s doing, if he hates me, if he’s thought about that night even half as much as I have. But the words die in my mouth.
He lingers a second longer, like he might say something, but then seems to decide against it.
I can’t let him just walk away, not with all of this choking me from the inside. My fingers clutch the book, knuckles white. My voice barely works. “Jace—wait.”
