I look at Tessa.
“This is how we lock him in.”
Her jaw sets. “Then let’s lock him in.”
27
Tessa
The turnout is quiet.
Too quiet.
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull in, trees closing in around the road like they’re listening.
I step out with Ace beside me, the air cool and sharp in my lungs.
This feels different.
Not like running.
Not like hiding.
Like stepping into something on purpose.
Blaze stays by the truck, laptop open. Trigger disappears toward the treeline. Beast lingers close—silent, watchful.
“Remember,” Ace says quietly, “you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”
I nod.
“I want to.”
Because this—
This is mine.
A car approaches.
Slow.
Stops a few yards away.
A man steps out.
Mid-thirties. Uniform. Hands visible.
“Cole?” Ace calls.
“Yeah.”
He looks at me.
Recognition. I went to school with him.
Guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
