I’ve always believed that silence could be safe.

Growing up, it kept me from answering questions I couldn’t explain. Silence was my shield—around teachers, neighbors, the police. Even Aunt Moira. Especially Aunt Moira.

But now, sitting in Jace’s truck with that message glowing on his phone screen, silence feels like a trap.

“Stop digging. Or she’s next.”

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. But the message says everything we’re both afraid to.

Next.

Next means someone’s keeping score.

And I’m suddenly very aware of just how close I’m sitting to Jace Morgan.

“I should go,” I whisper, reaching for the door handle.

“No.” His voice is firm. “Not until we figure this out.”

I pause, fingers hovering over the latch.

He turns to me. “Lena, they’re not just watching anymore. They’re threatening you now.”

I finally look at him. His jaw’s tight, his eyes fierce.

“But this could be because of your dad,” I say carefully. “You found that note in his office. Maybe this is his mess.”

He flinches, but nods. “Maybe. But if you think I’m going to let someone hurt you over it—”

“You might not have a choice, Jace.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I always have a choice.”

That night, I lie awake in bed, my heart racing every time a car passes outside. I keep my bedroom light off. Just a sliver of moonlight filters through the window. I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the photograph, the lipstick on the mirror, the way that cheerleader said you bring things with you.

I thought maybe it was just about Jace. That someone didn’t want us getting close.

But what if it’s more?

What if it’s always been more?

A noise outside makes me sit up—fast.

Not a loud one.

Just the sound of footsteps. Slow. Measured.

I reach for my phone. It's just past midnight.

I inch toward the window, careful not to make the floorboards creak. My fingers part the curtain slowly.

There’s no one there.

But the gate is swinging.

And I know for a fact I latched it when I got home.

I step back, heart hammering.

I don’t sleep after that.

I just wait for morning.

When I get to school, Jace is already waiting near the side entrance.

His hair’s damp. Probably from an early practice. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“I didn’t get much sleep,” I say, stopping in front of him.

He studies me for a beat. “Someone came by your house.”

“I think so.”

He lets out a quiet curse. “They’re escalating.”

I glance around. A few students pass us, but no one pays attention.

“Maybe I should go,” I say again. “I can ask Moira to send me to live with someone else. A new place. A new name.”

Jace steps closer. “You really think running will stop whoever this is?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But staying might get someone hurt.”

His voice softens. “I don’t care what happens to me.”

“Well, I do,” I shoot back.

We’re both quiet after that.

Then he says, “What if we find out the truth first?”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that? Interrogate your dad?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Jace—”

“He’s hiding something, Lena. You said it yourself. And I have a feeling whatever it is started way before you ever stepped into Silver Hollow.”

We skip lunch and sneak into the school records room instead.

It’s tucked behind the main office. A small, windowless space filled with filing cabinets and old yearbooks.

Jace picks the lock with a bent paperclip, because apparently he’s done this before.

I give him a look.

He grins. “Long story.”

The room smells like dust and forgotten things.

We split up. I take the left wall. He takes the right.

“Look for anything with your dad’s name on it,” I whisper. “Or my mom’s.”

“I know.”

We search in silence, the metal drawers creaking as we sift through folders. Most of them are boring—attendance records, teacher memos, old PTA meeting notes.

But then—

“I found something,” Jace says.

I rush over. He’s holding a yellowed folder labeled Walker, Angela – 2014.

“Why would the school have something on her?” I murmur.

He opens it slowly. Inside is a disciplinary form. A single sheet of paper.

Date: October 3rd, 2014

Incident: Unauthorized presence on school grounds after hours

Notes: Witnessed by security. Claimed she was “retrieving personal items.” Found near science lab.

I frown. “She was a nurse. Why would she be near the science lab?”

Jace shakes his head. “That’s not even the weird part.”

He flips the page.

Stapled to the back is a photograph. A grainy black-and-white still from an old security camera. It shows my mom, standing near the back entrance of the school.

She looks... scared.

And behind her, in the blurry background, is a man in a dark coat.

Face hidden.

The image makes my skin crawl.

“There’s a second copy of this photo,” Jace murmurs. “In my dad’s office.”

I jerk my head toward him. “You’re sure?”

“I saw it two years ago. I didn’t know who the woman was then.”

I clutch the folder to my chest. “We need to get out of here.”

“Agreed.”

We tuck the folder under my jacket and slip out the back door. No one sees us.

But I can’t shake the feeling that someone knows anyway.

That evening, Jace texts me a single line:

Come outside.

I find him leaning against his truck in front of my house.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Better now.”

I slide into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer until we’re already driving. “To talk to someone who might remember what happened the night your mom died.”

I stare at him. “Who?”

He glances at me. “The neighbor across the street. Mrs. Langley.”

My stomach twists.

“She’s still alive?”

“She’s in a care facility now,” Jace says. “But I called in a favor. We can visit.”

“Does she even remember?”

“She saw someone that night. Leaving your house.”

I go cold. “How do you know that?”

“She told the police. It’s in the original report.”

“And no one followed up?”

Jace looks straight ahead. “I think someone made sure they didn’t.”

The facility is quiet. Too quiet. A nurse escorts us to a small room where Mrs. Langley sits in a chair by the window, hands folded in her lap.

She looks up as we enter, eyes clouded but alert.

“Are you the Walker girl?” she asks.

I step forward. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Lena.”

She nods once. “You look like your mother.”

My throat tightens. “I came to ask about... that night. The night she—”

“I remember.”

I glance at Jace. He sits beside me, silent but steady.

Mrs. Langley leans forward. “It was a man. Tall. Wearing a coat with a patch on the sleeve.”

“A patch?” Jace repeats.

She nods. “Looked like a team jacket.”

My pulse skips.

“What kind of team?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes. “Hockey. I used to see them wear those all the time. Back when your father coached.”

Jace stiffens beside me.

“What did he look like?” I ask.

Mrs. Langley shakes her head. “Didn’t see the face. Just the walk. Confident. Like he’d done it before.”

The room feels suddenly colder.

She looks right at Jace.

“You remind me of him.”

He swallows. “Of who?”

“Your father,” she says softly. “Always did walk with secrets.”

We don’t speak much on the drive back.

The roads are wet. The sky is dark.

Jace keeps both hands on the wheel, his face unreadable.

“He was my hero,” he says quietly. “Growing up. I thought... maybe he made some mistakes, but he always tried to do right.”

“He still might be innocent,” I say gently.

But even I don’t sound convinced.

We pull up to my house. I open the door, ready to leave, when Jace says—

“I think we need to find out what your mom knew.”

I nod slowly. “And what she left behind.”

His phone buzzes.

He picks it up.

Stares at the screen.

I lean over.

It’s a photo.

Of my sketchbook.

Open to the page with the eyes I drew.

And in the corner, a note.

“Keep drawing. We like seeing what you remember.”