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Killian studies the location, then the distance from where the buses come in. “Someone would have had to lure her over there.”
“She must have thought someone was in trouble,” Knight’s voice drops. Under his breath he mutters, “Fuck, Auggy.”
DK and I exchange a glance. The realization settles hard and fast: Knight’s connection to the missing woman runs deeper than professional interest. It tracks with everything else that never quite added up about him—the viper tattoo on his forearm, the way he showed up that night in North Side to clean up the Counts’ mess without asking questions.
“This entrance leads to tunnels that run along the east side of Forsyth,” I explain. “Between your territory and ours.”
“That’s mostly woods, right?” Killian plants both hands on the edge of the hood and stares down at the map. “And then the cemetery.”
“Arianette was found in the woods.” DK pulls out a second map, this one topographical, and runs his finger along the river. “Right about here.”
“But you don’t know how far she was carried downstream,” Killian points out. “She could have entered anywhere.”
A fucking needle in a haystack. It’s been that way since the beginning, but Amber is running out of time. She’ll make a mistake. Dragging Auggy into this and giving us a point to work from may have been her first one.
“The best thing we can do is head to the tunnel and start looking,” Knight says, already moving in that direction.
Once he’s out of earshot, I roll up the map and shove it into my backpack. The bag is heavy with everything we’ll need underground—lights, rope, extra magazines, the kind of gear you only pack when you expect the night to go wrong. DK looks at Killian.
“You sure he’s okay to go with us? That he’s not too emotional or whatever?”
“Knight’s history in Forsyth runs deep,” Killian answers, “and his history with Auggy runs deeper. There’s no way he’s standing back.”
“But he’s a Fed and—”
Killian shakes his head once. “Not right now he’s not. He’s a man looking for the woman he loves.”
Without another word he turns and follows Knight toward the maintenance building, leaving me and DK alone under the harsh lights.
I exhale through my nose. “This place has more secret relationships and muddied history than the soap operas I used to watch with my grandma.” I sling the backpack over my shoulder. “But we need to get going. Sunrise is going to come fast.”
And when it does, either we’ll have found them, or there are going to be two more bodies for us to recover.
40
Arianette
The house feels wrong.
Everyone else is out there searching Forsyth while I'm sitting in a warm room wrapped in clean clothes, as though tonight is somehow ordinary.
Now, I'm barefoot in soft cotton shorts and a faded tank top, standing in the doorway of the small den where we celebrated the Winter Solstice only a few months ago. My gaze drifts immediately to the chaise, and the memory arrives so quickly it steals my breath. It feels intentional that he brought me back to the place where we celebrated one season changing into the other. Tonight we’re on the cusp, a time when the veil is flimsy, and we can enter one place to the next.
That night it had been the four of us. Finally finding something that belonged only to us. A knot tightens in my stomach. What if that night was the closest we'll ever come to peace? What if whatever happens tonight breaks something we can't put back together?
Timothy returns in a black linen shirt and pants, closing the door behind us. The only sound in the room comes from the click of the latch echoing softly through the room before he crosses to the cabinet in the corner.
One by one, he lights the candles sitting throughout the room until the walls begin to glow with warm light. Shadows dance across the bookshelves and stone fireplace, softening every hard edge until the room feels almost suspended outside of time.
“Sit on the rug,” he directs. I find a spot while he kneels beside an old chest positioned under the window. He slides open a drawer and removes a small brass box no larger than his palm. He carries it back and lowers himself onto the rug.
Our knees nearly touch. For a beat, he watches me, and I watch him. I study his face–the one he hid from me for so long. The sharp line of his jaw hidden beneath the thickness of his beard. The green eyes that shine with so much wisdom. The scar on his chest rises above his collar, and it’s not lost on me how hard he fought to come back to us.
To me.
"Do you trust me?"
The answer comes before I even think about it. "Of course." I smile weakly. "It's not you I'm worried about."
