“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“Jail cells can be terrifying.”
“No.” I met his eyes. “I’m scared of what I might’ve done. What if I’m not who I thought I was?”
“Don’t say that.” His hand tightened on mine, as if he could absorb whatever pain I was carrying. “Don’t ever say that to anyone else. They can twist your words against you.”
I swallowed, nodding.
“Have you remembered anything else?”
I shook my head. “No, but I cried so hard earlier, I think my brain needs a chance to reset before I can remember anything.”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to tear down these walls with his bare hands, bust me out of here himself, consequences be damned.
“I hate this for you,” he said, his voice rough. “I hate that you’re here. That you went through that alone.”
“I’m not alone now,” I whispered.
Something softened in his expression, but the storm in his eyes didn’t fade. “No. You’re not.”
We sat in silence for a few beats, letting the weight of what was growing between us settle into our bones. Eventually, Ryker leaned forward.
“Faith. Think back to the guy in the woods. Did he look familiar at all?”
The darkness of those woods crashed back into my mind. The memory would haunt my dreams forever.
“It was dark.”
Ryker’s jaw tightened. “The guy’s name was Daniel Kearns.”
I didn’t think it was possible to have an avalanche of ice crash through my veins in my exhausted state. But I was wrong.
“Oh my God.”
“You know him?”
Knowwas such a small word for the tornado of memories suddenly ripping through my head. The foster home on Elm Street flashed through my mind.
“He lived next door to one of my foster families.” The words scraped against my throat. Ryker’s expression grew more troubled, but his grip on my hands never wavered. If anything, he held on tighter. “When I was sixteen.”
Daniel Kearns. The kid who used to peer through my bedroom window. Who followed me home from school with that creepy smile. Who cornered me behind the garage that one summer evening and who’d been harassing me on an off for years. I should have suspected it might be him, but as terrible as everything had gotten between us, I guess I never truly expected it to end in death.
My hands started shaking, the metal cuffs rattling against the table.
Ryker tracked the movement, and fresh apprehension crossed his features. His eyes darted between my trembling hands and my face, reading every micro-expression I couldn’t hide.
If my freedom didn’t literally depend on this information, I bet he would have ended the conversation right here. He would have pulled me back into his arms and let me fall apart. But this was like having to push through the pain of cleaning a wound to prevent infection. We couldn’t skip this part, no matter how much it hurt.
Still, he wanted to make it as bearable as possible.
Ryker moved his chair closer, the metal legs scraping against the floor until our knees were touching. Like he knew the contact steadied me because it was solid and real.
“Breathe,” he said softly. “Whatever he did to you then, he can’t hurt you now.”
“But … this changes everything, doesn’t it?”
The words hung between us like a death sentence.
