“Okay,” she whispers, her little voice cracked.

She nods, and I gently sweep a tear from her face before straightening my spine.

“Take care of the girl,” I order, looking up at Michael. “Ruby should be here, she’ll take care of her and then you come back and help finish this shit off.”

Michael nods while I start towards the area I last saw the black figure disappear. If they really were a part of the Society, then I want them for information.

Screams erupt from the entrance I came in through, followed by more gunshots. One of my men must've let my team in.

Absolute carnage is consuming that cave, but I don't worry about that, trusting that no one that participated in this ceremony will make it out alive. That was a very clear order I made.

This world will be better off without them.

I only make it about ten feet before an explosion blasts through the cave, sending me flying. Time slows as my body hurtles through air, sound becoming inconceivable.

And then it speeds again, and my body is colliding into the stone altar. The oxygen is knocked from my lungs as my back hits the corner of the altar before I collapse to the ground.

Loud ringing reverberates throughout my head, but it’s no louder than a whisper when the pain is deafening.

For seconds, minutes, hours—all I can manage is to lay there as confusion and pain swirl around me.

Groaning, I crack open my eyes, squinting through the dust clouding the area. I can’t hear a goddamn thing, but as the dust settles, the body parts strewn across the place tells me how loud it is.

Bodies are running around chaotically. There’s a man dragging himself towards the steps, one leg completely missing while part of the railing protrudes from his side. He must’ve been on the top floor and gotten blasted through it.

Along with several other people, some of them missing limbs, others just covered in blood and seriously injured. Cradling some part of their body as they process the utter shock of the explosion.

The ringing recedes, and an onslaught of screams filter in.

I groan again, forcing my body into an upright position as I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.

My head is fuzzy and my vision swims, the pain flaring brighter with every movement.

Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell happened?

A person is charging towards me, their tall, lanky body emerging from dust clouds and bloody limbs. Their mouth is open in a shout, and it’s not until they’re nearly a foot in front of me that my eyes process what I’m seeing.

It’s Jay. Why the fuck is Jay here?

He should be behind a computer desk somewhere.

“Zade, dude, are you okay?” Panic etched into every line on his face, and his hazel eyes are rounded with fear as he kneels before me, his hands sweeping over my body to check for injuries.

“The fuck happened?” My head is fucking throbbing, and my back feels damn near broken. “Why are you here?”

“I came as soon as I figured it out. It was a setup. This last video… they knew we were coming… I don’t know how, man. But they purposely leaked the fucking video. It was a fucking setup.”

I’m so focused on Jay’s mouth, slowly trying to process the words coming out of them that the sound of a gun being cocked and the cold press of metal in the back of my head registers too late.

“Glad you could figure that out, Jason Scott. Now let’s see those hands, otherwise this single bullet will find its way in both of your fucking heads.”

Jay looks up at the person standing behind me, his eyes growing impossibly larger.

“You?”

Chapter 42

The Manipulator

“A

re you surprised?" I ask through the phone, twirling the red rose between my fingers. I woke up to Zade gone, and a rose in his place.

My mother sighs. "No, I’m not. It explains a lot about your Nana and her strange attachment to the house."

I'm curled up on the couch watching the news channel, a sense of pride filling my veins as the words Breaking News and Seventy-Five-Year-Old Cold Case Solved.

Daya and I reported our findings to the police early this morning. They spent hours and hours going over our evidence. Still, after verifying the serial number and DNA test results were authentic, they declared Frank Seinburg the man that murdered Genevieve Parsons in cold blood. His motive—unrequited love.

They confiscated the diaries for now, but I made them pinky swear they would give it back. The police officer looked at me like I was unhinged when I physically made him pinky swear. But it made me feel better about parting with the diaries, even if it is temporary.

The news reporter on the screen speaks of the victim's great-granddaughter stumbling across hidden diaries in the wall and how it led to the discovery of her murder and who did it. I glance over at the window, an array of flashing lights blaring through the glass.

The news reporters are standing outside my house. They wanted to get Parsons Manor in the background. What would a creepy story be without an old Victorian house looming behind a pretty blonde woman with red lipstick on her teeth?

"She must've felt so much guilt all her life," I say quietly, the spike of sadness lingering since the realization that Nana helped cover up the murder.

Surprisingly, Mom doesn't have a snarky reply. "I imagine so, Adeline. That's a heavy weight to carry, especially because she was only sixteen years old when it happened. She was probably very traumatized."

I frown harder. "It amazes me that she was always so happy."

"Sometimes the happiest people are the saddest," she says, reciting a common quote.

"Then what are the miserable people in the world?"

"Tired."

"Sounds miserable."

She huffs out a dry laugh. "I have a showing soon. I have to go. I'll see you in a couple of weeks for Thanksgiving."

“Hey, Mom? I have one last question,” I rush out, the words bursting out of me. Something has been bothering me about this case, and the pressing need to ask is unbearable.

She sighs but stays on the line, silently urging me on.

“Did you happen to send me a black envelope full of pictures and a note?”

She’s silent, and my heart thumps in my chest. “Mom?” I prompt.

She clears her throat. “I guess your Nana and I are more alike than you thought.”

My eyes widen as realization dawns, hitting me directly in the chest. She did send me the envelope. Which means she knew all along about Gigi’s murder and Nana’s role in it.

Un-fucking-believable.

“You kept her secret,” I whisper.

“I have to go now, Addie. I have a house showing in five minutes.”

“Okay,” I murmur, but the line has already gone dead.

There’s no way of knowing when exactly Mom found out about Nana covering up the murder—I doubt she’ll ever tell me—but I imagine it was sometime before I was born, considering I have no memories of those two ever getting along.

Mom’s bitterness and dislike for Nana suddenly make more sense.

Nana covered up her mother’s murder, and in return, her daughter covered up her involvement.

My brain gets clogged with all that information, and the utter shock that my mother also played a hand in covering up Gigi’s murder. It’s too much.

I turn and stare out at the window as my thoughts turn to Zade. Really, they never left. He's been sitting in the back of my brain all day, weighing down on my shoulders.

Is he safe? Alive?

When did I start worrying about his safety?

I need my head checked. But I will never make the initiative to do so. In a roundabout way, I'm starting to accept my new reality.