The house is too quiet. Ethan took the noise with him. He took the light, too.
My phone vibrates in the dark.
I flinch so hard the tea sloshes over my hand. The burn barely registers. My heart rockets up into my throat.
It’s Banks.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Lu.”
My knees nearly give from relief.
“Hey,” I say, voice too high, too thin. “I’m… getting by.”
He hears it. He always does. His tone softens into that calm, steady rhythm he uses when things are bad-bad, not just usual Lucky crap.
“You need to leave Cedar Lake.”
Everything in me goes still.
“What? Why? Banks—”
“Your location’s been compromised.”
The world tilts. The kitchen seems to pull away from me, like it’s stretching down a tunnel.
“What do you mean—compromised?” My voice cracks.
“A video’s circulating,” he says gently. “A teen posted herself singing a Rebel June cover. Said she’s been taking lessons from‘one of the best guitarists alive.’”
My stomach drops.
Lily.
Oh God, Lily. No, no, no.
“She didn’t use your name,” Banks says quickly, already soothing the panic spike he can hear through the line, “but the photo she posted—it shows your guitar case.”
“That case could belong to anyone,” I whisper, but I already know it’s a lie.
“It’s iconic, Lu. Those stickers? Fans recognize them. The location in the photo appears to be Cedar Lake. And once I figured out the girl was the Lumberjack’s kid? He will too.”
He.
Seven years, and the bastard still found ways to haunt me. Prison walls didn’t stop him. Steel bars didn’t, either.
I swallow, but my throat’s a desert. The hallucination of him in my bed ripples across my vision.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. What do I do?”
“I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll be in New York late tonight. Since you fired your security in L.A., you don’t have anyone on the ground, so I called the agency. They’ll arrange someone for you.”
“No—Banks—”
“It’s not optional,” he says in that clipped manager tone that used to drive me insane on tour. “You’ll meet me at the Bell Pier Hotel in Manhattan. I’ve booked you a suite. Two, actually. One for you, one for whoever they send. You’re not alone in this.”
The words crack something in my chest. A slow, painful splintering.
