He thrusts the package through the bars, his voice tight. “Here.”

I take it with deliberate slowness, brushing my fingers against his as I pull it into my grasp. He flinches at the contact, stepping back quickly, his left leg dragging more than usual as he retreats. I smile, watching the way he hurries to put distance between us.

“Wait. I need a pen.”

The guard stops. It’s against the rules, but after my demonstration of power, we both know they don’t apply to me.

He nods. “I’ll get you one.”

“Thanks, Carr,” I call after him, my tone light, almost cheerful. “You’ve been such a big help. Really above and beyond.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking with his shoulders stiff and his footsteps echoing unevenly down the corridor. I watch him until he’s out of sight, then turn my attention to the box in my hands. The ribbon is soft beneath my fingers and the scent of magnolia seeps through the packaging to waft under my nose.

I walk over to my bed and sit down before opening the box with care. Inside lies the candle I ordered, white and pristine, the wax so smooth it practically gleams. I run my finger along the surface and the scent intensifies, making me smile.

This candle is a more personal approach to luring Geneva back to me. It’ll be a soft but undeniable reminder of my presence, something she’ll breathe in with every flicker of the flame.

I set the candle back in its box, wrapping it in the folds of Bordeaux ribbon, draping the rich silk around it like a garment. Once the packaging is restored, I get to my feet and walk to the door.

“Officer Carr,” I sing-song. “Hurry up. I have shit to do.”

CHAPTER 25

Sarah and I settle into the backseat of the ride share. The hum of the engine vibrates through the seats as the driver pulls onto the quiet street. The air smells of the spicy dish Sarah insisted I try tonight, clinging to our clothes, a reminder of the good food and even better company.

The city is dark, dotted with the warm glow of streetlights and passing headlights. Despite the calm surrounding me, there’s a tightness in my chest, one I’ve been trying to ignore all evening. Sarah’s been good at keeping me distracted, but the silence between us now allows my thoughts to creep back in.

André Bisset and Luis Dominguez.

Their names have been replaying in my mind like a broken record since the moment Ghost gave them to me. I looked them up, using every government database at my disposal. Tools I wasn’t supposed to touch for something this personal, making every keystroke a gamble, a risk to my job.

And what did I find?

Nothing.

Not a single record. No criminal histories, no financial ties, nothing in the databases I’ve trusted for years. These men are ghosts, just like the man who gave me their names.

The disappointment lingers, a constant ache in the pit of my stomach. I can’t decide if it’s the failure itself or the thought that Ghost might have been lying. Maybe this was all just another game to him, another way to fuck with me.

I glance out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across my face. My reflection stares back at me, distorted in the glass, and I wonder for the hundredth time if asking Ghost for information was worth this heartache.

Yes. I’ll chase any lead if there’s even the smallest chance it will bring me closer to the truth behind my parents’ murders. No matter what it does to me emotionally.

Sarah snaps her fingers in front of my face, dragging me back. “Earth to Geneva. Are you listening?”

I blink, forcing a smile. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

She narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t press. “I was saying you need to loosen up. Seriously, when’s the last time you had a little fun that didn’t involve analyzing someone’s psyche or reading some depressing case study?”

“I’m literally having fun right now,” I counter, waving my hand toward her as proof.

She scoffs. “This isn’t just fun. This is fun and me dragging you out of your self-imposed hermit hole for some basic human interaction. Bare minimum, Geneva.”

“Harsh.” I roll my eyes, but her words hit closer than I’d like to admit. She’s not wrong. Lately, my life has felt like an endless cycle of work and avoidance, as if I’m trying to outrun something. Or someone.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” she says, her voice softening. “I miss you. Like, really miss you. You’ve been… distant. Even for you. And that’s saying a lot.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, guilt tugging at the edges of my thoughts. “I know. I’m sorry. Things have just been… a lot.”

Sarah reaches over and squeezes my hand, her warmth cutting through the chill that’s been following me. “I know, but don’t let those things stop you from living your life. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you.”

“And nothing brings joy like shopping.” She grabs her phone, scrunching her forehead in concentration. “By the way, you still haven’t picked a dress. What about this one? It says, ‘sexy professional that wants to get bent over a desk,’ but without being too slutty.”

I laugh, not only in amusement, but out of pure happiness. Tonight is the first time that my best friend has acted like her old self. The person she was before the assault.

“Try again, but with less skin showing.”

“You’re no fun. Okay, hear me out. This one.” She tilts her phone toward me. The dress is sleek, floor-length, and emerald green, with just the right balance of elegance and edge.

I glance at it and shake my head. “Too bold.”

“Too bold?” Sarah’s jaw drops as if I’ve just insulted her personally. “You’re literally the keynote speaker for one of the biggest fundraising events of the year. You’re the university’s star alumna, Geneva. You need bold. You’re not supposed to blend into the background like you do at work in that depressing office of yours.”

“First of all, ouch. Second, I’m not trying to blend in,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

She smacks my leg and looks at me as if I’m the one who just slapped her. “Trying too hard? You’re going to stand in front of a room full of high-profile donors, alumni, and university hotshots because they’re basically worshipping you for being the only person who’s ever created a psych profile on him.” She lowers her voice on the last word, leaning in closer like we’re swapping secrets. “I mean, come on. Own it.”

I shift in my seat, glancing out the window as the city lights streak past. “It’s not just about Ghost. They’re asking me to talk about my work in general. Convictions, profiles, and how psychology intersects with criminal justice. Those types of things.”

Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically. “Puh-lease. They’re asking you because you’ve put away, what? Thirty? Forty criminals? And because you’re the only person in the world who’s had a front-row seat to the inside of that psycho’s mind.” She pokes me lightly in the arm, grinning. “Face it, bestie, you’re a big deal.”

“I’m not—” I sigh, cutting myself off before I can finish the sentence. There’s no point in arguing. Sarah’s right. The university has made it clear that my keynote isn’t just about my achievements as a criminal psychologist; it’s about my connection to him. Ghost. The man whose mind I dissected and mapped like some dark, endless labyrinth.

Except I never finished the psych profile.

And I won’t.

“They don’t even care about the speech,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah. “They care about the name attached to it. Ghost’s name is more than famous. It’s legendary now.”