The FBI’s press statement declaring hallucinogens in the water is one of the sloppiest cover-up attempts on their part. Of course, how else were they going to explain that the simple and good people of this town suddenly decided to dance naked around fires, mutilate animals and people, and bore implants into their heads to don antlers?

It also helps excuse the FBI’s many missteps during the investigation.

The task force uncovered more houses with hidden crawlspaces that connected to the shafts of the mine. That, along with occult artifacts and secret living areas, solidified that most of the families of the missing locals were involved. Agent Rana’s sub team had been closing in on Emmons, but before one brings in a law official for questioning and declares them a prime suspect, one really needs hard evidence. Unfortunately, the detective went MIA shortly before the torture chamber beneath Mrs. Lipton’s house was uncovered.

After an intense twenty-four hour interrogation, Mrs. Lipton was the first to offer up details. The society started small, select. Devyn and Colter hosted gatherings and experimented in the first Dionysian rituals. Then as the society progressed, Colter declared thirty-three higher men was the number necessary to attain their ascension.

With the support of the Liptons, that goal was achieved by recruiting people with incurable illnesses from within and outside of the town to be a part of their movement.

When the town reported the missing people five years ago, the fact they were sick was kept from the media. The families feared search efforts would stall once it was revealed they were terminal. Colter realized the families had to become a part of the movement, and shortly after, the town went silent, with more and more members being initiated to support some faction of the society. Like Tabitha the waitress, with her tiny antler nubs, earning her way up the hierarchy ladder.

When you have an affluent, influential family like the Liptons leading the charge, it makes it easier to go along with. And sometimes, all it takes is the tiniest spark of hope in a void of hopelessness.

Once Colter died, however, their society took a dark turn. While Devyn kept to her core belief system, Emmons verged into more extreme rituals, delving deeper and darker, risking the lives of members to attain the unattainable.

A sharp spasm of pain grips my side. I grunt as I adjust my position in the seat, trying to find relief for the tight dressing bandaged around my torso. I took one of Emmons’ antlers right to my flank, resulting in two fractured ribs and several stitches, but sparing my major organs.

The door swings open, and all pain is forgotten as I look up, anticipation seizing the air in my lungs until I see Agent Rana walk through. I expel a heavy breath, not masking my disappointment as Hernandez hobbles in on crutches behind the group and takes the vacant seat next to me.

“She’ll be here soon,” he assures me, leaning his crutches against the table. The agent’s leg was broken when he was hit by the truck. “She’s getting discharged from the hospital.”

I nod once. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” His faded brown eyes meet mine briefly, leaving something unsaid between us, before he flags down Pal to get a bottled water.

Whatever issue the agent had with me appears to have been resolved when I saved his life after the accident. As I sit here without an ankle monitor, I decide he also covered for me during his debriefing when he went on record to state Halen and I were abducted by Emmons’ crew at the accident site.

I’m not sure how much Hernandez witnessed while he was drifting in and out of consciousness, but as there was no dead body when the task force arrived—only a wounded fed and discarded ankle monitor—the incident report basically wrote itself.

Coming face-to-face with death does have a way of clarifying one’s existence. It’s possible Hernandez has some plan for me later, but until then, I’ll consider him a friend.

Across the table, Dr. Markus seats himself beside my field psychologist, who has annoyingly not left my company since she was recovered on the side of the road after the wreck. Though Dr. Keller was thoughtful enough to take her phone when she escaped the SUV before impact. As such, she was the one who placed the call to Agent Rana, which in turn got the task force promptly canvasing the wetland.

I rotate my glass of bourbon on the table three times, my desire to will Halen through that fucking door becoming a compulsion. I need to lay eyes on her before I walk out of this bar.

A stack of paperwork slides into view, and I shift my focus to Rana opposite me. “Your account of events,” she says. “And the renegotiated contract.” She regards my lawyer with a sharp side-eye. “I just need your signature, then you’re released.”

She sends a pen my way, and I slap my hand over the felt-tip, keeping my palm flat on the tacky surface. I can feel Crosby’s impatience rippling off him, ready to abandon this town.

I flip to the first page of the report summary and scan the fabricated details, our account of events a forgery of the finest fiction.

Halen and I fought off our abductors and fled to the facility to shut down the water supply. We were trailed by Emmons and Childs. Sheltered inside the facility, we both witnessed Emmons follow and attack Childs on the crest. Childs defended herself, resulting in them both going over the side of the dam.

Simple. Precise. Unemotional.

While the lie wasn’t necessary to protect Halen—she had a legitimate claim to self-defense—she’d already underwent heavy scrutiny for Landry, and the story was necessary to declare Devyn deceased.

Most conveniently, the carving knife was recovered at the newest marsh ritual site—wiped clean of prints and DNA—backing the theory that someone on the inside removed the murder weapon from the evidence room. As Jake Emmons’ crime scene was staged to replicate one of the Harbinger’s scenes, it’s being documented by Agent Rana that either Emmons or Childs was the perpetrator who killed and mutilated Agent Alister.

It will be released in an upcoming press statement that the Harbinger was never in Hollow’s Row.

Case closed.

I tap the pen on the table in rhythmic beats to the music, drumming up the memory of Halen bathed in firelight, swirled symbols smeared by the tears on her beautiful face, right before I told her to run. I had to let her go to protect her in more ways than one. An unselfish act that spared this town its damned fate.

Unselfish. Something I once thought I could never be with her.

The truth is, if all those innocent lives were lost, Halen wouldn’t be able to sustain that level of guilt. Not when there was a chance to save them.

For her, I’ve played by the rules for the FBI and this town. Well, for the most part. But I’m officially done with being a good little leashed consultant.

I scrawl my name across the bold line, then slide both the pen and documents over to Rana.

“On behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, we thank you for your service, Professor Locke.” She tucks the binder away in her leather case, then looks me in the eyes. “Don’t take this personally, but I hope to never see you again.”

A smirk hitches the corner of my mouth. “I would think it would be the other way around, agent.”

Her smile is genuine. “As I’m officially off the clock, I’d like a drink.”

Crosby plants his hands on the table and rises from his chair. “Well, everyone, while it’s been eventful, it’s time for me and my client to depart⁠—”

The door opens, and for a suspended heartbeat, all sounds of the bar fade away. I touch my chest, my heart knocking painfully against my sore rib cage as my gaze connects with hers.

Crosby groans and reseats himself. He then lifts his hand to summon Pal. “I’ll take another.”