“CJ.”
We find him downstairs. Not in the bedroom. In the basement. The air changes the second I step inside. This is a place where someone hides things.
Everything in this room feels like a bruise to my skin as I take it all in: the marks on the floor, the scuffs, the signs of recent movement. They’re fresh enough that my stomach turns.
Eli was kept here. Finn was restrained here. One of our boys bled here.
Deck moves carefully around the room, taking everything in, until he stops beside the wall. Something small catches his eye. A piece of paper wedged in the couch. He pulls it free and looks at it before handing it to me. A LunchShack receipt with a name scrawled on it.
Eli.
My chest tightens. Proof that he was here. Eli washere. I look around the basement, imagining what happened in this room. Adrian bringing him here. Keeping him here. Thinking he could control every part of what happened next.
Mack walks in holding his tablet, looking far too pleased with himself for the situation.
“I got into the security system,” he announces. “Honestly, it was embarrassing. People really should pay for proper security cameras. This was way too easy.”
Deck doesn’t even look up. He reaches out, snatches the tablet from Mack’s hand, and starts scrolling.
“Not now,” he growls.
Mack opens his mouth to argue, but one look at Deck’s face makes him think better of it. For once, he stays quiet.
“Wait.”
I watch over Deck’s shoulder as the screen flickers. A timestamp appears in the corner. A vehicle leaving, the SUV. But it’s not the vehicle that catches my attention. It’s the direction.
“He’s not heading north.”
Deck shakes his head. “No.”
He zooms in on the road, following the route Adrian took. And suddenly every piece fits. The beach house wasn’t the destination. It was a stop. A place Adrian knew he could use to hide while he figured out his next move.
I stare at the screen. “He’s taking him back.”
Silas looks at me. “Back where?”
I already know. Port Angeles. The place Adrian came from. The place Eli came from. The place where Adrian believes he still has control.
My hands curl into fists. “He’s taking Eli home.”
Deck looks at the map. “Then that’s where we go.”
I nod. Because for the first time in days, we aren’t chasing ghosts. We have a direction. Adrian thought he erased every trace. Thought nobody would find the trail. But he forgot one thing: he left evidence behind.
And now we’re following it all the way to Port Angeles.
Back to where this all started.
34
Eli
Adrian moves me back down into the basement.
A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, barely throwing enough light to reach the corners. The room reeks of damp concrete, old blood, and sea salt.
I sit on the floor, wrists bound tight behind my back. My fingers went numb hours ago. Blood still drips onto the concrete. Every muscle in my shoulders burns from being held like this, and the skin on my wrists is torn raw from fighting the restraints, every movement sending fresh fire through my arms.
