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“That’s it.”

Sheriff Tate stared at it. “You’re sure it opens the cabinet at the camp?”

“No,” Judy said. “But the cabinet has a brass lock, and this looks old enough to fit.”

I watched her turn the key beneath the light. Her face changed when she noticed the engraving.

“What?” I asked.

She held it closer.

A tiny number had been stamped into the brass.

Nine.

The same number of girls in the photograph.

The same number of women the Keeper had chosen.

Judy looked at me.

She didn’t have to say anything.

I knew what she was thinking.

Nothing about this case felt accidental anymore.

We held each other’s gaze a second too long.

Something hot and familiar moved through me, only it wasn’t the same feeling I’d had when I was seventeen. This was heavier. Stronger. It carried all the years between us and everything we had become without each other.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth.

Then lifted again.

She felt it too.

I knew she did.

Max suddenly raised his head.

His ears went forward.

Trigger turned toward the hallway. “What is it, boy?”

Max stood and faced the front door.

A second later, someone knocked.

No one moved.

Sheriff Tate reached for his weapon. Trigger stepped in front of Rylie, and Judy’s hand dropped to her gun.

I moved beside her.

Not in front of her.

Beside her.