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I couldn’t trust anything anymore.

Pulling open a web browser, I started typing in the address for Valemont’s court records.

All I could do was find something concrete, something that could prove who made the report.

With any luck, the courts would have obtained disciplinary records from Heirs of Promise when they were searched and shut down. Names might be redacted to protect the privacy of minors. But if the records were unsealed, I could use dates and ages to find the original report.

Typing into the search bar, I hunted for a few different keywords. But nothing pulled results.

Empty. Every record.

Until a ding sounded from the email app. Clicking into it, I found a new message from Tracer. I’d tasked her with hunting down any off the books information she could on Heirs and Pastor Harris.

Tracer was the best of the best, our greatest resource in all things background checks and hidden information.

There was no subject line. Just a sentence of text and a PDF attachment.

looks like your fave pastor didn’t see jail

My brow furrowed tight as I clicked open the attachment. “No fucking shit.”

As it turned out, Heirs of Promise wasn’t nearly as defunct as I’d thought.

22

TESS

The cup of coffee was the only thing keeping my hands warm as I leaned on the cement parapet of the balcony just off the living room.

Fall had truly set in, a cool chill hitting my face as the sun warmed my skin. This time of year was full of contradictions: frigid mornings and cozy afternoons. Apples on every branch of the orchards while dead leaves cascaded to the ground.

Parading next to me, Butch’s tail flicked in the air as he hunted for more pets.

Things with Nash and Blade had settled back into something comfortable, something like a routine. But Cyrus — I could hardly look at her. And the feeling was mutual.

One thing was clear, I had no idea how to approach things with my cruelest Freak. In part because Cyrus had become a ghost in her own home, haunting the hallways when no one was looking and disappearing during daylight hours.

As I rubbed Butch’s face, the balcony door slid open.

“Hey, Trinket.” Blade poked her head out, her unruly blonde locks bouncing in the wind. “Want to go for a hike? Foliage is just about at its peak.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I looked into the woods beyond Feverpoint. “Like a walk?”

Laughing, Blade shook her head. “No, like a real hike. Bags are already packed if you’re game.”

There was something softer in her voice, her usual energy slightly tamed.

If I stayed home, I’d just stare into space and consider all the things I wanted to scream at Cyrus.

“Sure.” Turning on my heels, I clicked my tongue for Butch to follow me inside. Blade slid the door closed behind us as we headed for the front door.

I’d already gotten dressed for the day, planning to scope out the park in leggings and a flannel. So I pulled my bleached hair into a ponytail and slipped on my shoes.

“Let’s do it.” I nodded as Nash opened the front door.

The three of us headed down the steps and into the cool morning air of Feverpoint. The leaves cast a beautiful golden light over the defunct park, giving the place new life before winter took hold.

But I stopped in my tracks when I saw the Cadillac door open and Cyrus leaning inside. Shoveling garbage into a bag, she wore loose, distressed jeans and a heavyweight black tshirt.