Page 11 of Vows of Ruin

She catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

Then, out of nowhere: “This is random, but have we figured out who Torque’s dating yet? And when do we get to meet her?”

I laugh, leaning on the arm of the couch across from her. “He’s probably too scared to bring her around. You know how we are. Last thing he needs is her watching Riot try to break someone's nose over a Hot Pocket.

She grins, but there’s mischief simmering in it. “Wrecker knows. I’m sure of it. He always magically covers for Torque when I’m looking for him.

“Wreck’s about as subtle as a hand grenade,” I say. “Good luck squeezing it out of him.”

Wrenley gives me that look, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed like she’s already plotting her next interrogation. But then she shifts gears, reaching for the knife on the desk and dragging the unopened box closer. It’s the one Hunter mentioned earlier.

The blade slips clean through the packing tape, and when the flaps fold back, she freezes.

“What the fuck…” she murmurs, voice gone tight.

I’m at her side in an instant. “What is it?’

Her hands tremble as she pulls out a delicate necklace. It’s small, silver, and unmistakably child-sized. The pendant is a little compass. Nestled beside it is an old photograph, grainy and sun-worn. A little girl in a pale blue dress, twirling beneath the glass dome of the River Oaks Greenhouse, the same necklace glinting at her throat. And next to her, barefoot and beaming with missing teeth, is another little girl.

“Who’s this?” I ask pointing at the toothless girl.

“Margot… she had just lost another tooth.” She says with a tight smile, like she is trying to remember that day.

“I lost this when I was six,” she whispers, voice raw now, as she clutches the necklace in one hand. “That day at the greenhouse. It was my favorite. Benjamin gave it to me. I thought it was gone.”

She doesn’t need to say more. The weight of what she’s holding hits her like a freight train, and it hits me just as hard. Someone had this photo. Someone knew them back then. Why are they sending it back now? I reach for my phone, finger tight on the screen, calling Hunter up to the office with clipped urgency. While it rings, I fire off a message to Max:

Get to the club. Something’s wrong. Don’t ask, just move.

Seconds later, Hunter steps inside.

“Where exactly was this package when you came in this morning?” Wrenley asks, her tone sharper now.

He doesn’t flinch. “One of the barkeepers found it by the back door. No note. Just sitting there with your name on it.”

I meet his gaze. The tension in my jaw could crack stone. “I’ll check the cameras.”

I walk behind the desk with Hunter, fast forwarding to the end of the night. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, staff taking out the garbage, standing near the back door chatting. I fast forward again seeing nothing.

“Wait, go back.” Hunter says pointing at the screen. “There. Did you see it?”

I pause where he said to go back. The feed has been looped for roughly six minutes. “It could be a glitch.” When I shift the feed forward and backward in slow motion, I see it. In the corner of the screen is a black gloved hand reaching toward the base of the camera. When it starts its normal recording again the box is sitting there.

Hunter nods without waiting, already pulling out his phone. “Calling Elias now.”

“I want you to boost the perimeter, make it subtle, though. I don’t want to spook the staff.”

Wrenley still hasn’t moved. She’s staring at the photo like it’s something haunted. Thumb brushing the edge where her and Margot's heads lean together, small and oblivious to the fact that someone was watching them. Still is. And this? This wasn’t a threat. It was a reminder.

Chapter Six

Wrenley

The couch cushions swallow me as I sit in silence next to Margot, her fingers trembling slightly as she studies the photograph. I can’t stop staring at the necklace in my lap. The small compass spins lazily, no longer tethered to any true north.

“The little compass still spins like it always did,” I murmur. “Even though it doesn’t point north anymore.” Margot glances over at me, her brows pulling together in quiet concern.

“Uncle Benjamin said it didn’t have to,” I continue, my voice low. “He said, ‘You’ll always know where you’re going.’”