That thought sends a nasty chill down my spine, knowing that something doesn't feel right. And when I put all of the missing pieces together, I realize that more and more, Alli seems guilty of something. More than I even had evidence of on Broden. But what?
Trace remains silent, and I can’t tell if he’s even thinking anything at all, but I don’t want to lose him again. I don’t want to lose this momentum we’ve gained, so I keep talking, hoping he’ll give me more than what he already has.
“I think she might have been the one to send me the invitation I received. I thought it was a joke or-”
“I sent the invite," he says and it causes the hairs on my body to stand; an icy shiver invading me.
“What?” My head snaps up to him as he crumples up the notes in his palm before littering them on the ground.
I don’t even care, because what he just told me creates a demolition of shock and apprehension to ensue inside of me.
“I sent you the invitation,” he repeats and I want to slap him again, but I refrain, instead manifesting my anger through words.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, feeling a slight bout of betrayal sink into my veins. I recall reading the invite, the twisted feeling I got in my gut just by thinking that someone was out to mess with me, to target me. All for it to be him.
“I wanted to see if it would trigger anything,” he admits and I don’t know how to take that information in. I don’t know how to react to his response. “And I didn’t want you to try and run again.”
“But you didn’t come up here for just me, did you?” I ask, my chest tightening when I collect everything I’ve learned within the last forty-eight hours alone and try to put it all together.
The notes, the memories, Declan and Seren, Broden and…
“Tyre and Jett,” I whisper and I feel Trace shift next to me.
“What?”
“Those are the names Broden said you had asked for. He told me to tell youTyre and Jett.” I look up at Trace, the glow of my flashlight shines across his face and I can see fury caressing his molten honey eyes.
Curiosity blooms in my chest, eager to understand why he wanted those names. So badly that he nearly had to beat the guy to the end of his life to get them.
“Tell me what you needed them for, Trace. Tell me what else you came up here for.”
I wait. Hoping that maybe he’ll tell me he’s been tracking down the murderer of the so-called Final Four. That would make a little bit of sense I guess. That would put me at ease slightly. What if he’s already figured out something? What if he knows more than he’s letting on?
But he doesn’t answer me, and as I let the light from my phone illuminate his face, I can see that his eyes are starting to get watery.
“Trace,” I breathe, reaching out to him and lifting my hand to his face but he removes my hand, not rough or demanding, but gently. And then I watch as he reaches into his back pocket before handing me something.
“What’s this?” I ask as I take it, my eyes still on his.
“Look at it. The last page.”
I look down in my hand and realize that I’m holding a journal . . . a journal that I’ve seen before.
“It’s Seren’s,” I say as I look down at the little black journal and then back up at him. I see pain coat his eyes, more pain that I can't fucking stand to see him in.
I needed him to be there for me through those deaths. But I also wanted to be there for him. He stole that from us when he left. Whenheran. But I have to push down that heartbreak.
Grief strikes at me, an eerie feeling accompanying it when I realize that I have something of my dead best friend's in my possession.
“What are you doing with this?” I ask, looking up at him with something akin to foreboding licking my gut. He watches me, stoic and calm.
“I said read the last page, Olivia.”
The vexed tone of his voice is what has me flipping to the last page without another question. Dread fills me, not sure of what to expect but I know it can’t be good. And when I read it, when I take in every word written down on the worn out page, my heart sinks.
My heart sinks and my whole world shatters, tears start streaming down my face.
“No,” I gasp as my heartbeat thunders in my chest. “No, no, no. This isn’t right…"
