She adjusted the page of notes in front of her, even though she didn’t need to read the next line.
A long pause.
“What happened to Caroline Simms?”
The studio went silent.
Then she added quietly?—
“Because some stories don’t fade.”
A beat.
“They wait.”
The red light died. The On Air sign went dark.
Lila pulled the headphones off. The silence of the studio rang in her ears.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, laminated photo—not of Caroline, but of a girl with the same eyes, standing on a pier in a different town.
Her cousin.
“I’m coming,” she whispered to the empty room.
Then she looked at the monitor, at the name ELEANOR HARPER trending in the sidebar.
The grief in her eyes hardened into something colder. Sharper.
She didn’t just want the truth for Caroline. She wanted to see the woman who had “fixed” Charleston finally broken.
For the first time that night, Lila let herself think what she didn’t say into the mic?—
Stories like this didn’t wait for answers. They waited for someone to blame.
And this time, Lila already knew exactly where she intended to point the spotlight.
18
City Limits Café — Sylva
The breakfast rush had slowed, but City Limits Café still smelled of bacon grease and fresh biscuits.
Willow moved behind the counter with the quiet efficiency of someone who had done the same dance every morning for twenty years. Coffee mugs clinked as she topped off another round.
Outside the front windows, the square looked calmer than it had all week.
Mountain Mystery Week had finally packed up and gone home.
The ghost hunters were gone.
The true-crime crowd had finally gone home.
Sylva had fallen quiet. Until now.
Deputy Scout Wilson sat in his usual booth near the window, elbows braced on the table while he scrolled his phone with a deepening frown.
Across from him, Deputy Luke Hale leaned back with a mug of coffee balanced loosely in one hand, chair tipped onto its back two legs like it always was until Willow gave him a look.
