"Won't that look suspicious? If the police are watching us?"
"It's a large party. Dozens of guests." He pulls out his phone and types a quick message. "No one will notice if we're not there. My mother might be annoyed, but she'll survive.”
I think about Olive Crawford, Phoenix's mother. We were supposed to meet tonight for the first time. She doesn't know I'm Sydney Catalano's daughter, that my mother was her best friend before something happened to destroy their relationshipforever. Phoenix wants to let his parents meet me first. When they find out, everything will get more complicated.
But that's a problem for another day. Right now, the only thing that matters is that we're alone and the police are gone and we survived the first test.
Phoenix sets his phone down and pulls me into his arms. I bury my face against his chest, breathing in his scent. Clean cotton and warm skin and something darker, something that reminds me of the cabin and the blood and the way he looked at me after it was over, like I was the only thing in the world worth living for.
"It's going to be okay," he murmurs into my hair. His hands move up and down my back, soothing, calming. "We're going to get through this."
"How do you know?"
"Because I won't let anything happen to you." His voice drops lower, rougher. "I killed for you, Jade. I'd do it again. I'd do worse. Whatever it takes to keep you safe."
I believe him. That's the terrifying part.
"What if they find the body?" I ask the question I've been too afraid to voice since the moment the doorbell rang. "What if forensics finds something in Marcus's car? DNA or fingerprints or evidence that leads back to us?"
Phoenix is quiet for a long moment. Outside, the waves crash against the shore, steady and relentless. The sun has set completely now, and the living room is full of shadows. Neither of us moves to turn on the lights.
"They won't find the body," he says finally. "I made sure of that."
"But his car. They found his car near the cabin."
"Near the cabin. Notatit." His arms tighten around me. "There's nothing connecting us to anything. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing."
I want to believe him. I want to trust that he covered our tracks, that we're safe, that this nightmare will eventually fade into something we never speak of again.
But I can't stop thinking about the detectives' faces. The way Nowak looked at me, like he could see right through my careful lies. The way Reeves consulted his notebook, writing down every word we said.
They're going to keep digging. That's what cops do. They dig and dig until they find something, and then they dig some more.
And we're standing on very thin ice.
"Come here," Phoenix whispers, and I let him pull me closer, let him wrap me up in his arms and his warmth and his promises. We stand there in the dark for a long time, holding each other like the world might end if we let go.
Maybe it will.
Maybe it already has.
The waves keep crashing outside. The shadows keep deepening around us. And somewhere in the mountains, buried in frozen ground, Marcus Webb waits to be found.
CHAPTER 2- PHOENIX
Sleep doesn't come.
I've been lying here for hours, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling as the moon moves through the sky. The ocean beats against the shore somewhere below, a relentless rhythm that usually soothes me into unconsciousness. Tonight it sounds like a countdown. Like time is running out.
Jade is asleep beside me. Her dark hair fans across my pillow, ink spilled on white cotton. One hand rests beneath her cheek, the other curled loosely against her chest. In sleep, the tension that's been pulling at her features all day finally eases, and she looks young and peaceful and impossibly vulnerable.
I turn on my side to study her, propping myself up on one elbow. The moonlight filtering through the curtains paints silver across her cheekbones and the delicate shell of her ear. Her lips are slightly parted, her breathing slow and even. There's a small crease between her eyebrows, like even in dreams she can't quite escape whatever haunts her.
She's beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that belongs on magazine covers or red carpets, though she could hold her own in either place. Hers is a quieter beauty, the kind that sneaks up on you and then refuses to let go. The kind that makes youwant to trace every line and curve and shadow until you've memorized her completely.
I reach out, and my fingers hover just above her cheek without quite touching. I don't want to wake her. She needs the rest more than I need to feel her skin beneath my fingertips.
Besides, she'll need her strength for what's coming.
