“Sloane, hey! Let’s go talk in the conference room.” He grabsthefile and walks away from his desk. I follow him through the busy office and down the hall, turning into a room near the end. I walk over to one of the black swivel chairs and take a seat, placing my backpack down on one of the chairs next to me. Hetakes one of the chairs opposite mine, dropping the file on the table. My eyes stare at it like I can see right through the manila folder.
“Everything okay this morning?” he questions, opening the file and thumbing through until he finds the paper he wants. He pulls it out and places it on top of the stack.
“Yep. I just overslept. Long night,” I say, keeping it short and sweet. My attention is focused on the file and what it means.
“It’s not like you,” he says, studying me. “I mean, you’ve never been late a day in your life. You had me worried there for a second. If you need to talk, you know that I—”
“I don’t. I’m fine. Everything is pretty great, actually. I stayed up a little later than usual and took melatonin to help me sleep. That’s probably why I didn’t hear my alarm go off this morning,” I lie, reaching for the file. He pulls it back.
“Okay, but if you change your mind, I’m here,” he says, holding his hand over the open file. I reach over and try to read the page he’s keeping away from me.
“Look, Sloane, you know I can’t have you leading on this story, right? I mean, there’s a serious conflict of interest and—”
“I know that, Alex,” I snap. “I want to know why it’s being reopened. Has there been new evidence? Has someone come forward?”
“Well, yes, kind of. One of the lead detectives has been following a clue for a while now after finding something at the crime scene. They kept it under a tight lid so that the public didn’t overreact. They didn’t want to potentially scare off the killer.” He pauses, dropping his voice to a whisper. “And also, this is super confidential, so I don’t want you speaking to a single soul in or out of the office about this. I’m not even supposed to have it. The lead detective happens to owe me a favor.”
“Okay. Got it. I won’t say a word. What is it, thisthingthey found at the scene?” I ask, needing him to get to the point. Helooks me over for a moment, contemplating whether he can trust me to remain quiet.
He sighs. “Looks like some sort of earpiece. There’s a creepy-looking symbol etched into one side, and a number on the inside. A serial or tracking number, maybe. Do you recognize it?” He passes me the sheet of paper he’s been gatekeeping, and I look it over. The image displayed on it is almost impossible to see. I squint my eyes and turn it toward the light.
“It was nearly missed. My detective was only able to see it in the light. Says that the black on black would otherwise make it pretty much invisible. Neat, huh?”
I don’t know aboutneat, but it is interesting. That makes my sigil theory more likely. I’ve investigated a few cults, and this has power and control writtenallover it. I nod, studying the image. In the center lies the shape of an eye with a …holy shit.
“Is this a sound wave?” I ask, darting my eyes up to him.
He narrows his eyes at me, smirking. “That’s what he thinks, too. I didn’t pick that up right away. Good catch, Sloanie.” My mind is going in a million directions that all point me to one thought. But. No. It couldn’t be, right?
“What do you think of the rest of it?” Alex asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I bring my eyes back to the image. The eye with the sound wave in the middle of it is encircled by a spiral. Like ahypnosisspiral?
“Hypnosis?” I question, smiling at him like I’m on a game ofJeopardy. Can I get Hypnosis for $500, Alex?
He looks pleased with my answer. “Yes! Wow. You deserve a raise. Why have I not given you a raise yet?” he jokes excitedly.
An earpiece.
A sound wave.
Hypnosis.
OhmyGod.
Sabel. Sabel killed my father.
The realization hits me like a tidal wave, and I temporarily feel the air leave the room. My ears ring, and my vision darkens as my senses start to slowly disappear. Alex’s voice breaks me out of the impending panic.
“Sloane, I know this is a lot. If you don’t feel up to this, we can table it until later,” he says, reaching a hand across the table. I pull mine back before he makes contact. He averts my gaze.
“I’m fine. Let’s keep going,” I assure him, remembering something else he said about the earpiece.
“You said something about a number? Where is it?” I ask.
“It’s etched on the inside. Same color.” He pushes another page toward me. It reads “8.” That’s it? A single digit? Okay, not much to work with.
“Any leads on it from your guy?” I look up at him in question.
“He isn’t saying. He wants us to take more of an underground approach with the story. Keep the readers on edge until the truth is revealed.” Ahh, of course he does.
