A Script For Seven Years

Chapter 1:Alex

Run, Alex! And no matter what you do, don't look back!

I bolt upright, panting. The bedsheets are twisted around my legs like vines, trapping me in the leftover panic of the dream. I stare out at the dark bedroom, willing my heart to slow.

It's always the same dream, the sound of feet against dirt as I run, the shadows the trees cast on the forest floor, the sharp scream that's cut off just as I hear her words. I untangle my feet from the sheets, my skin covered in a layer of sweat. The clock on the nightstand glows, a dull red, 5:00 AM. It's the fifth time this month that this dream has broken my sleep, but the terror never weakens, never fades. Each time feels like the first—the same phantom burning in my lungs, the same pounding in my heart.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and press my palms against my forehead. The silence of the house is too loud after the noise of that forest. I can still hear the rhythmic thud of my sneakers hitting the dirt and the leaves rustling in the wind. But it's her voice that lingers the longest, echoing in the quiet room long after the dream has faded.

Don't look back!

I stand up, the cold hardwood floor shocking some sense back into my soles. I need to wash this nightmare off my skin.

In the bathroom, I turn the shower faucet all the way to the left. I stand there in the water, staring blankly at the walls, still in shock. The burning water hits my face like a slap, banishing the final memories of the forest. I scrub away my sweat, get out, and throw on a pair of blue jeans and a faded gray hoodie.

Downstairs, the kitchen is completely dark, the clock reads 5:45 AM. I skip breakfast—my stomach too tightly knotted from the adrenaline— and just grab a granola bar for later. I shove my history book into my backpack, zip it shut, and pull out my phone.

I unlock my phone, the bright screen making me wince in the dark kitchen. I tap on Lucy's contact. No, wait— not Lucy. I need Cal. He's the only one who won't ask a million questions at this hour.

Alex: You awake?

The three dots appear almost instantly.

Cal: Obviously. Coffee run?

Alex: Please. The usual. Meet you at your locker.

Cal:👍

I slide my phone into my back pocket, slinging my backpack onto one shoulder, and head out into the crisp November morning. I turn on some music and pop in my headphones, In Bloom drowning out the last echoes of the forest, grounding me. The walk to school is long, all gray skies and biting wind, but by the time I reach the front doors, the adrenaline has already ebbed into a dull, familiar, ache.

The hall is a chaotic sea of slamming lockers, and groggy teenagers, despite it being so early. I weave through the crowd, my eyes scanning the lockers along both walls until I spot Cal. He's leaning against his locker, wearing his signature oversized flannel—this one a faded red and black plaid—thrown over a Nirvana t-shirt, and a pair of distressed black jeans that look like they've seen better days.

He holds two steaming paper cups from the shop down the street, a black smudge on his thumb from whatever he was drawing before he got here. As I approach, he looks up from his phone, his messy dark hair falling into his chestnut-colored eyes, and extends one cup toward me with a quiet, knowing nod.

Cal hands me the coffee, and the warmth of the paper cup immediately seeps into my cold fingers.

"You look like death, Al," he says softly, his voice cutting through the loud conversations of the hallway. He doesn't say it to be mean. It's just Cal—observant, honest, and completely safe.

"Thanks. I missed you too," I mutter taking a long sip. Standard black coffee. Bitter, hot, and exactly what I needed to burn away the cold fog of this morning. I lean my head against the locker next to Cal, letting the heat from the coffee cup sink into my palms.

"Same dream?" He asks, his chestnut eyes scanning my face with that quiet intensity that makes me want to look away.

"Same dream," I admit, looking down at my scuffed converse. "It's getting louder, Cal. It feels like she's right next to me, instead of somewhere back in the forest."

Cal shifts, the sleeve of his flannel brushing against my hoodie as he closes the distance between us. For a second, I think he's going to reach out and place a hand on my shoulder, like he used to do when we were kids. My heart does a strange, sudden flutter—not from the nightmare, but from how close he is. Cal has always been my anchor, but lately, the lines have been blurring. Every look, every midnight text, every touch, feels charged with an electric current we both refuse to acknowledge.

Chapter 2: Alex

Before he can say anything else, a voice calls out. "Hey! Wait up!"

The spell breaks instantly. Cal steps back, the space between us feeling cold and distant. I turn to see Lucy jogging across the hallway, her blonde ponytail bouncing. In a sea of groggy, gray-clad teenagers, Lucy is a ray of sunshine. She's wearing a pristine white sweater and has a brilliant smile that usually makes my chest tighten in the best way possible.

Today though, my chest is already occupied by a messy tangle of adrenaline, and whatever just happened with Cal.

"Hey, Alex. Hey, Cal." Lucy says, coming to a stop in front of us. She smells like cinnamon and vanilla, completely overpowering the smell of Cal's black coffee. She notices the dark circles under my eyes and immediately reaches out to touch my arm. "Alex, you look exhausted. Are you okay? I texted you this morning but you didn't reply.

"Yeah, fine, just had a rough night," I say, offering a weak smile. I feel Cal stiffen beside me.

"Another nightmare?" She asks, her blue eyes clouding with genuine worry. She steps closer, her touch shifting on my arm to gently squeezing my hand. She knows about the dreams too, but while Cal offers a quiet comfort, Lucy tries to fix it. "You know you can always talk to me, right? Even at four in the morning. I'll be there."

"I know, Luce, thanks."

Cal clears his throat and looks down, studying his coffee cup. "First period starts in two minutes." He says, his voice flat. He turns away and starts walking down the hall, away from us.

"Wait, Cal" I say, reaching out to him.

Lucy keeps her hand on my arm, her eyes wide and soft as she watches Cal walk. "Is he okay?"

I don't know. I look at the empty space where he was standing just seconds ago. Without him, the space feels cold and distant. The air still smells like his bitter coffee, even with Lucy still standing here.

"Yeah, he's just tired," I lie.

Chapter 3: Alex

Lucy smiles and lets go of my hand, stepping closer. "Do you want to grab lunch later? We can talk about the dream, write down what you saw," She suggests.

I nod, "Sure." My chest feels tight. I want to chase after Cal, but I also want to stay in the warm, safe company of Lucy and her brilliant smile. I open my locker and grab my stuff. "See you at lunch." I say.

 I turn towards my history class, my mind split in two. 

The heavy wooden door of the history class shuts behind me, muffling the hallway noise, but it can't quiet the storm in my head. I sink into a desk in the back row, staring blankly at the whiteboard. The bitter taste of Cal's coffee lingers on my tongue, the smell of Lucy's perfume on my sweatshirt.

My mind keeps drifting back to the forest. In the dream, the trees were skeletal, reaching up towards a bruised purple sky. I can hear my mothers voice calling my name, frantically, always out of reach. Cal had been there the day I lost her. He found me curled up on the ground, shivering. But everytime I try to ask him about that day, he goes quiet, and steers the conversation away. He's trying to protect me from something, but I don't know what. And the weight of his secret threatens to fracture our bond.

The morning passes in a blur of anxiety. Every time someone drops a book, or slams a locker, I jump.

Chapter 4: Cal

The noise of the cafeteria hits me like a physical blow. I push the lettuce around my plastic tray with a fork. I'm not hungry. My chest is tight with the secret of what happened that night, threatening to crush me.

I know what the skeletal trees in Alex's dream mean. I know why the sky is purple, bruised. It matches the bruising on my own conscience—and the lock on the basement door at home. Seven years ago, I followed my father out to the edge of the woods. I was supposed to be asleep, I wasn't supposed to see anything. I watched through the wet pine boughs as my father buried a silver locket, hands caked in wet soil, whispering threats into the empty air while Alex's mom vanished into the shadows. I kept it a secret to protect Alex. If my father found out that I remembered, or that I was the one who found Alex shivering in the dirt, his violence would turn on her completely.

Across the table, Lucy is chattering away, completely oblivious. Beside her, Alex looks pale and sickly. The dark circles under her eyes more prominent now, in the fluorescent lighting. She's wearing my old sweatshirt, the one Lucy doused in her perfume yesterday, but it doesn't seem to offer her any comfort today. Alex is drowning in her own mind, and I am the one holding the anchor.

"Cal? Earth to Cal." Lucy's voice breaks through my thoughts. She is leaning forward, her bright eyes moving between Alex and I, entirely oblivious to the suffocating tension. "Are you guys even alive? You've both been acting like ghosts since first period."

"Just tired," I lie smoothly, forcing a tight smile. It's a script I've practiced for the last seven years.

I glance back at Alex, she's staring blankly at the table, her hands still shaking against her water bottle. The dark blonde strands of her hair fall forward like a curtain, hiding her from a world that has no idea how broken her reality actually is. She doesn't look up when Lucy speaks. She doesn't look up at all.

"Tired doesn't even cover it," Lucy sighs, throwing her hands up in dramatic exasperation. "You two look like you're waiting for an execution. Come on, we have the history project due tomorrow and we haven't even started. If we fail, Mr. Harrison is going to flay us alive."

Lucy's words—execution, flay, alive— bounce off the walls of my skull, settling with a sickening weight. She uses them so carelessly. She has no idea what real violence looks like. She doesn't know the sounds of my father's heavy boots coming up the basement stairs, or the groan of floorboards under the weight of a man who keeps a silver locket buried in the dirt at the edge of the woods.

I look down at my tray. The cafeteria noise swells around us again, a chaotic symphony of laughing teenagers and clattering silverware.It feels entirely surreal. How can they all eat and laugh while Alex sits here, literally shrinking into my oversized sweatshirt? The scent of Lucy's perfume still clings to the fabric, sweet and artificial, trying and failing to mask the cold, damp scent of fear radiating off of Alex.

"Cal," Lucy prompts, tapping her fingers against the plastic tabletop. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah," I say, my voice raspy. I clear my throat, trying to channel the normal, dependable Cal they've known for years. "Yeah I'm listening. We can work on the project at my house after school. I'll drive."

Chapter 5: Cal

At the mention of my house, Alex flinches. It's barely perceptible—just a sudden sharp intake of breath—but I catch it. My heart plummets. Calm down, she doesn't remember, its okay. Her brain locked the trauma away to protect her. But her body remembers. Her instincts know that the man living in my house is a monster, even if her conscious mind can't put the pieces together yet.

"Alex?" Lucy's tone shifts from annoyed to concerned. She reaches out, intending to touch Alex's arm.

"Don't," I snap, a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

Lucy freezes, her hand hovering in mid-air, her eyes going wide with surprise. "Cal? What is wrong with you today?"

But I'm not paying attention to Lucy anymore. All my focus is pinned on Alex. The trembling in her hands has spread to her shoulders and her breath is coming in short, ragged gasps that don't seem to be giving her any oxygen.

"Alex, breathe," I murmur, leaning across the table, desperately trying to keep my voice low so we don't draw a crowd. The last thing she needs is people staring at her.

"I can't," she whispers. It's a strangled, terrifying sound. "Cal, the trees... they're too close. The sky is wrong. It's happening again."

She's slipping, the dream she had—the one with the skeletal trees and bruised purple sky—is seeping into her waking mind. She's drowning in the memory of the woods, and I'm the one that dragged her down there in the first place. My silence, my compliance, my absolute terror of my father has kept her in the dark, but the truth is clawing it's way out anyway.

"Hey, look at me," I command gently, shoving my tray aside. I reach across the table to firmly grab her shaking hands. Her skin is ice cold. "Alex, look at my eyes. Focus on me. You're in the cafeteria. You're safe."

Safe. The word tastes like sandpaper. She isn't safe. Not as long as my father is still breathing.

"I can't breathe, Cal, I can't—" her voice cracks, a gasp escaping her throat as she pulls her hands violently from mine. She clutches at the collar of my old sweatshirt, pulling at it as if it's choking her. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and completely unfocused as she hyperventilates.

"Oh my gosh," Lucy gasps finally grasping the gravity of the situation. She stands up, her chair screeching against the linoleum. "Alex? Cal, what do we do? Should we get the nurse? Is she having a heart attack? Is she breathing?"

"Lucy, sit down, you're making it worse," I say, my own panic spiking, though I force myself to keep a mask of calm.

Alex suddenly stands up, knocking her chair back, and her water bottle over. It rolls off the table and falls, spilling, onto the floor. But she doesn't notice. She backs away from the table, her hands pressed against her ears, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She looks like a trapped animal, looking around wildly for an escape.

"Alex, wait!" I yell, abandoning all pretense of remaining quiet.

I push away from the table, catching her just as her knees buckle. I pick her up in my arms, bringing her back from the edge of a total collapse, while Lucy watches in horrified silence.

Chapter 6: Cal

I carry Alex out of the cafeteria as fast as possible. I run into the auditorium, a large room with about five hundred seats, a large, empty stage, and brick walls all around. I slide down against one of the walls, pulling Alex into my lap. She buries her face into my flannel, shoulders still shaking.

"I've got you," I whisper. My hand rests on the back of her head, my fingers tangled in her soft blonde hair. I press my cheek to her temple. "You're right here with me. No trees. No sky. Just me and you."

Alex gasps for air as she curls her fingers into the fabric of my shirt. She looks up at me, green eyes sparkling like stars. Her soft round lips tremble as she tries to find her voice, her breathing still shaky. A stray, damp lock of hair clings to her cheek, and I gently brush it away with my thumb, marveling at how soft her skin feels despite the chaos of the moment. Even through her panic, she radiates a warmth that grounds me. Looking down at her, the rest of the world fades away; there is no panic, no overwhelming noise outside those doors, just the quiet, undeniable feeling of holding her close.

As she looks up at me, her glassy eyes finally clear. She sees my face. She sees the raw, desperate devotion in my eyes—something I usually try to hide behind a wall of steady friendship.

"Cal," she breathes, her voice soft and fragile. "I'm so tired of being scared."

"I know," I murmur, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. My heart hammers against my ribs, pushing the words I've kept locked away for years right to the edge of my teeth. I want to tell her that I love her, that I would rather burn my own house to the ground than let anyone hurt her again.

Before I can say the words, a sharp voice echoes from the doors.

Chapter 7: Alex

The sudden echo of heavy footsteps against the auditorium floor shatters the cocoon Cal had built around us. I flinch, my fingers tightening in the soft material of his flannel. The harsh overhead lights suddenly feel way to bright and I squint my eyes.

"Alex, are you in there?"

The voice belongs to Mark. My heart sinks. Mark was always nice enough, trying to sit next to me in calculus, or offering to help with science homework, but right now, his presence feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. I'm not ready to face the world. I'm not ready to step out of the safety of Cal's arms.

Cal shifts instantly. The gentle warmth from a moment ago gone, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension. I feel the muscles in his chest tighten as he instinctively tucks me closer to him. Through the haze of my fading panic, I look up at Cal's face. The raw devotion I had just seen in his eyes is gone, locked away behind a hard mask.

"Hey! Alex, man, everyone's looking for you," Mark says, his voice getting louder as he walks towards us. He stops short when he sees us tucked against the brick wall. His eyes drop down to my waist where one of Cal's arms is wrapped tightly, and his expression immediately darkens. "What're you doing Cal? Let her breathe. Can't you see she's freaking out?"

Mark takes a step toward us, reaching out as if to take me away.

Before he can even get close, Cal lets out a low warning sound. He doesn't move, but the sheer coldness in his glare stops Mark in his tracks.

"She's fine," Cal says, his voice dangerously low and steady. It's a complete contrast to the soft and fractured tone he used with me just moments ago. "Back up, Mark."

"I'm just trying to help her," Mark mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks between us, clearly frustrated by the wall Cal had put up between me and anyone else. "Alex, come on. Let's go, you don't need him crowding you."

I look up from Marks expectant gaze, to Cal's hard expression. Cal doesn't look at Mark, his eyes are completely fixed on me, waiting. His muscles are still clenched in a defensive posture, but his hand rubs soft circles into my back, letting me know I have a choice. He would fight off anyone for me, or let me go if that's what I wanted.

But looking into Cal's eyes, the choice is effortless.

"I'm staying here, Mark," I say, my voice soft and shaky, but firm. I lean even deeper into Cal's embrace, letting him know I'm serious. "Just... give me a moment, please."

Chapter 8: Alex

I look up at Cal, smiling softly. "Thank you," I tell him.

Cal's hard expression softens, the tension melting out of his shoulders the moment Mark is out of view. He lets out a long, ragged breath and rests his forehead against mine.

"You don't ever have to thank me, Alex," He whispers, his voice thick with emotion that he can't quite conceal. "Never."

The silence of the auditorium settles around us again, heavy but no longer suffocating. The ghost of the woods, of the skeletal trees and the bruised purple sky that had threatened to consume me in the cafeteria feels miles away now. Grounded in his lap, listening to the steady pounding of his heart beneath his shirt, the world feels manageable.

I look down at his hand, resting against my waist. "What happened back there?" I ask softly, tracing the back of his hand. "It felt... like I was dying. Like the air turned to glass.

Cal's grip tightens slightly on my waist as a shadow crosses his face for a second, before settling back into a calm mask. "It was a panic attack," He says gently, though his eyes dart away for a split second as he says this. "You just got overwhelmed. Lucy was being loud, the cafeteria was crowded..."

"No." I interrupt. "It wasn't just the noise, Cal. It was when Lucy mentioned your house. It was like a switch flipped in my brain." I look up at him, trying to read his expression. "Why does the thought of your house terrify me?"

A dangerous stillness washes over Cal. His muscles tighten just as they did when Mark threatened to take me away. He stares at me, his expression desperate. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words seem to be trapped in his throat.

"Alex," He says, his voice cracking slightly. He moves his arm on my waist to brush along my jawline, making my breath hitch. "Don't try to force it, please. Just breathe for now. You're safe with me. I promise, as long as I'm standing, nothing can hurt you."

I want to push him for answers. I want to ask why his promise feels less like a comfort, and more like a battle cry. But seeing the raw devotion in his eyes, I can't do it. I can't break the fragile peace we just built.

Instead, I nod, closing my eyes and pressing my face to his chest. I don't know what lurks in the dark corners of my subconscious, or why the mention of Cal's house made my skin crawl with instinctual, nameless dread. But as Cal wraps his arms around me, pulling me tighter, I know one thing for certain.

I may not know the monster, but I recognize my protector.

Chapter 9: Cal

The florescent lights of the library buzz with a relentless, rhythmic hum that sets my teeth on edge. Across the old oak table, Lucy is tapping her highlighter against a notebook, the sharp click-click-click filling the quiet space.

"So, if we split the presentation into three sections," Lucy starts, flipping through her index cards with a breeziness that makes me want to grab them and rip them to shreds. "Cal can take the historical context, Alex does the character analysis, and I'll handle the thematic breakdown. Sound good?"

"Yeah, fine," I mutter, not looking up from my laptop.

I'm not looking at the screen though. My eyes are focused on the bottom corner of my vision, tracking Alex's every move. She's too quiet. Her pen is hovering over an open notebook, the tip barely touching the paper, leaving tiny, black ink dots. Every few seconds, her hand twitches, tightening around the plastic casing.

The phantom scent of her hair and the dusty auditorium floor lingers in the back of my throat. It's only been a few hours since I held her against my chest, feeling her fall apart and piece herself back together in my arms.

Why does the thought of your house terrify me?

Her question from earlier still claws at my heart. A dark, ugly guilt settling at the bottom of my stomach, heavy as lead. She didn't remember. Her mind had blocked it off to protect her, but her body—her instincts— remembered everything. The nameless dread she felt is a ghost I had helped create, and every time she looks at me with that pure, unbroken trust, it feels like a jagged blade twisting deeper into my chest. I am her protector, yes. But I'm also the gatekeeper to the very nightmare she's running from.

"Cal? Earth to Cal," Lucy's says, her voice cutting through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. "Are you even listening? I asked if you have the notes on the setting."

"I have them," I say, my voice dropping into the flat, guarded tone I use to keep the world at bay. I open the file on my computer, my fingers flying over the keyboard with unnecessary force.

Beside me, Alex shifts. I catch the sharp intake of her breath. It was subtle—anyone could have missed it— but to me, it sounded like an alarm bell.

Instinct takes over before I can stop it. I drop my hand beneath the table, letting it rest on her knee. A silent anchor. I'm here, you're safe.

Alex doesn't flinch. Instead, she leans into the touch, her tense posture melting a fraction. But as she turns to look at me, the question in her soft, searching eyes doesn't fade. The fragile peace we built in the auditorium is holding for now, but the shadows are growing longer, and I can't keep the dark at bay forever.

Chapter 10: Alex

The rhythmic click of Lucy's highlighter suddenly feels like that of a courtroom. Every second sitting in this room, working on our history project feels like a lie. Cal's hand is still a warm, heavy weight on my knee, but the comfort of it is beginning to warp. It isn't just a shield; it's a restraint.

"Great, so Cal does history, Alex does characters," Lucy chirps, entirely oblivious to the suffocation tension vibrating between Cal and I. She gathers her index cards into a pile and taps it against the table. "I'm going to run to the restroom before we start. Don't do all the hard work without me."

The moment Lucy disappears around the corner, the silence between Cal and I turns razor-sharp.

"Alex," Cal says softly, his hand squeezing my knee. "You're doing it again, breathe."

"I am breathing," I lie, turning to look at him. "Cal, my mom died seven years ago in a hit-and-run. That's what the police said, that's what my dad told me. But I don't remember a crash. I don't remember a funeral. And actually, I don't remember anything from that entire spring."

Cal's face pales. The guarded mask slipping into an expression of raw panic. "Alex, please. We talked about this. Don't go digging into things that hurt you."

"Why does your house terrify me?" My voice rises, a desperate whisper. "Why did my heart speed up the moment Lucy mentioned it? Cal, if you love me, if you're actually protecting me, tell me the truth. What really happened that night?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. He looks like a man standing on the edge of an executioner's block.

"Fine." I say, a sudden, reckless surge of adrenaline overtaking my fear. My chair scrapes against the carpet. "If you won't tell me, I'll just go talk to your dad right now."

"No!" Cal lunges across the table, grabbing my wrist. His grip doesn't hurt, but it's desperate. "No, Alex, you can't go there. It's dangerous."

Chapter 11: Alex

The moment Cal says the word dangerous, the final thread in my composure snaps.

"Dangerous for who, Cal?" I demand, my whisper sharp enough to cut. I pull against his grip, but he doesn't let go. His fingers are trembling against my skin, a sharp contrast to his usual calm.

"For you," He chokes out. His bright hazel eyes are dark now and wide with a panic that makes him look hollowed out. "Alex please, just sit down. If you walk into that house, if you talk to him..."

"To your dad?" I counter, finally piecing together fragments I didn't know I possessed. "What does your dad have to do with my mother? Why are you so afraid of him?"

Cal looks around the library, desperate, terrified that someone will walk in and hear our conversation. He pulls me closer, dropping his voice until I can barely hear it. "Because he's the one that did it, Alex."

Chapter 12: Alex

The words hang in the air between us.

"What?" I whisper, the room spinning.

"The hit-and-run," Cal confesses, the truth spilling out of him like a confession under torture. His eyes fill with devastating, ruinous guilt. "Seven years ago. It wasn't an accident. My dad... he's the monster you're looking for. He hurt her."

The library, the buzzing fluorescent lights, the stacks of books—it all vanishes. I'm yanked backwards into the dark, into that forgotten spring night seven years ago. The smell of damp soil. The biting, bitter cold.

"You were there," I whisper, the realization striking me like a physical blow. "You found me there."

Cal closes his eyes, a single tear cutting through the devastated look on his face. He nods. "I found you outside my house. You were nine years old, curled up in the bushes, shivering so hard your teeth were clicking. Your green eyes were wide with fear and shock, and you had a red streak on your jacket. You were completely frozen, staring at the front door. He didn't see you, didn't know you were out there.

"And you didn't tell him." I say, finally piecing everything together, my heart hammering so loud I'm sure he can hear it.

"If I told him, he would've eliminated the only witness," Cal says, his voice cracking with raw, protective fury. "I carried you away from that house, you were so light. I brought you to the edge of the woods near the main road where the cops would find you later. I watched from behind a tree until they put you in the ambulance. I swore to myself that night that I would keep his shadow away from you forever. He has no idea you saw. He has no idea I know what he did."

He looks up at me, begging. "I kept the secret to keep you alive, Alex. If you go to him now, if you show him that you remember... he will finish what he started."

I stare at Cal, the boy who has spent seven years guarding my life from his own father. The warmth of his hand on my wrist suddenly feels different. It isn't a shackle. It never was. It's an anchor holding me back from walking right into the mouth of a wolf.

Chapter 13: Cal

"What can we do?" Alex asks, massaging her temples and pacing.

I squeeze my hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking, watching Alex pace the narrow aisle between the library bookshelves. The frantic rhythm of her footsteps echoes the pounding of my heart. For seven years, I carried this secret alone. Now that it's out in the open, the air feels thin and heavy with danger.

"We can't go to the police yet," I say, my voice a low, urgent murmur as I step in front of her, catching her shoulders. "My dad is a powerful man in this town, Alex. He has people on his payroll, including connections inside the department. If we walk in there with nothing but a seven-year-old memory, the report will vanish before it can even be filed. And he'll know it was us."

Alex stops pacing. Her green eyes, once clouded by confusion, are now sharp and determined. "Then we get proof. Real, undeniable, proof. There has to be something he kept. A man like that doesn't destroy a life and leave no trace."

A cold dread settles in my stomach. She's right. My father is meticulous, but he's also arrogant. He keeps trophies of his control.

"I remember seeing him bury a silver locket," I whisper, my voice shaking.

Alex looks at me, tears sparkling in her eyes. "What did it look like?" She asks, voice cracking desperately.

I take a deep breath and look into her eyes. "It was a small rectangle, on a silver chain. It had small flowers etched into the front. And... there was a picture inside, but I didn't see it."

She flinches, but doesn't say anything about it. "Anything else?"

"His study," I whisper, the realization making my blood run cold. "He keeps a locked safe behind his bookshelf in his home office. He thinks I don't know the combination, but I watched him open it last winter. If there are any records, they're in there."

"Then we go tonight." Alex says, stepping closer and gripping my forearm. The fear that paralyzed her minutes ago has completely transformed into a desperate need for justice."Lucy will be back from the restroom any moment. We fake the rest of the project, we act normal, and tonight, when your dad leaves for the charity dinner, we go in."

I look at her, terrified of the risk, but knowing there's no turning back. The truth is out, and the only way to protect her now, is to go through with it.

"Okay," I say, tightening my grip on her hand, anchoring us both. "Tonight we break into the wolf's den."

Chapter 14: Alex

We watch his Dad's car pull out of the driveway and race down the street. The luxury sedan's taillights bleed into the heavy downpour, disappearing around the bend of Oak Ridge Lane. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My fingers are locked around Cal's forearm. His skin is ice-cold, his knuckles white against the steering wheel of my old beat-up truck.

"He's gone," I whisper, though the roaring of the wind almost swallows my voice. "Cal, he's gone."

Cal doesn't move for three long seconds, he just stares at the empty iron-gated driveway of his childhood home. The house looms in the shadows like a slumbering beast, it's red brick facade dark except for the amber security lights illuminating the front porch.

"The charity dinner ends at eleven," Cal says, his voice flat, void of emotion. He kills the headlights. "The security patrol shifts at nine-fifteen. We have exactly one hour and forty minutes."

We slip out of the truck, the freezing rain coating us instantly. We don't run. Running attracts attention in neighborhoods like this. We walk briskly through the side gate, Cal navigating the camera's blind spots with the practiced ease of a boy who grew up hiding from his own father.

When we reach the oak front door, Cal's hands are shaking so badly he drops the spare key twice.

"Hey," I say, grabbing his hands, forcing him to look at me. The rain is dripping down his hair, framing his terrified face. "We're doing this. Together. Look at me, Cal."

He swallows, nods, and slides the key into the lock, turning it. Click.

We make our way past a living room full of books, and warm oak furniture, up a flight of stairs, and into the study. The air inside the study smells of old money, leather, and wood—the exact smell of the man who broke my family apart. I swallow the bile creeping up my throat, and pull out my flashlight, keeping it trained at the floor.

Cal leads me past the massive mahogany desk to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Silently, he reaches out, and pulls a latch that was hidden behind a stack of old law books. The entire section groans as it swings forward an inch. Behind it sits a black metal safe with a digital keypad.

"This is it," Cal whispers. He steps up to the keypad. His fingers hover over the buttons. "If he changed the code since last winter..."

"Just try," I urge, scanning the dark room, listening for the sound of a returning car.

Cal takes a breath and presses six digits. 6-7-8-7-4-7

A sharp, electronic beep rings out as the safe door opens. My heart leaps into my throat. Inside are stacks of cash, neat folders of legal documents, and a velvet-lined wooden box. Cal reaches past the money and pulls out the box, flipping it open. Inside the box is a pair of gold leaf-shaped earrings, a silver charm bracelet with a single heart charm on it, a silver engagement ring with a huge white stone in the middle, and the silver locket.

My mother's locket. Tears prick my eyes, hot and fast. I reach for it, but Cal gently stops my hand. "Wait. Look underneath."

Beneath where the velvet box sat, is a manilla folder labeled with my mother's initials, MBH. Marcella Belle Howard. I open it, and the flashlight beam illuminates old police reports, private investigator logs, and photographs—proof of a seven-year-old cover up.

"We got him," I breathe, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Cal, we actually got him."

Suddenly, the floodlights outside flare to life, casting blinding white light through the study windows. The distant roar of a luxury engine echoes up the driveway.

Cal and I freeze, locking eyes in the stark white glare.

He's back early

Chapter 15: Cal

"You need to get out of here, I'll distract him."

The words leave my mouth before my brain can fully process the terror paralyzing my limbs. The blinding white of the security floodlights cuts through the study, carving sharp, menacing shadows against the mahogany walls. The roar of my father's engine grows louder, a mechanical beast returning to it's lair.

"No," Alex whispers fiercely, her green eyes flashing. "I am not leaving you, Cal. We go together."

"Alex, look at me!" I grab her upper arms, forcing her to meet my eyes in the harsh, fractured light. My voice is a desperate, ragged hiss. "If he catches you here with that folder, it's over. He will destroy the evidence, and he will destroy you. I belong here, I can make up an excuse. You have to run."

Downstairs, the heavy thud of the garage door echoes through the house. He's inside. Alex looks down at the manilla folder clutched against her chest—the proof of her mother's stolen life—and then back at me. An agonizing war rages in her green eyes, the fierce survival instinct that brought her here wins. She nods, a single, sharp motion. "The back stairs," she breathes. "Through the kitchen."

"Go. Now."

I shove the velvet box back into the safe and swing the heavy metal door shut. It clicks into place with a sickening finality. I scramble to push the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf back, my muscles straining until I hear a click and the hidden latch snaps shut, hiding the safe.

The heavy rhythmic click of my father's dress shoes begins it's ascent up the grand staircase.

Alex darts towards the secondary exit, a narrow servants' door hidden in the shadows of the study's far corner. She throws one last, terrified look over her shoulder. I'll be waiting in the truck, her eyes promise. Then, she slips into the darkness of the hidden staircase, closing the door silently behind her.

I am completely alone.

I swallow the suffocating lump of terror in my throat, force my shaking hands into my pockets, and step out the the deep shadows just as the main study door swings open.

Chapter 16: Cal

My father stands in the doorway.

His large silhouette, the epitome of ruthless power, filling the doorway. He begins to unbutton his trench coat but stops dead when he sees me, his silver-blue eyes narrowing instantly.

"Callan," he says, his voice a smooth, dangerous baritone that has controlled people for decades. "What are you doing in my office in the dark?"

"I... I needed to borrow a book," I lie, forcing my voice to remain flat, praying that he doesn't notice the slight trembling undertone. I gesture toward the massive bookshelves. "For my history project. I didn't think you'd mind."

My father steps into the room, his eyes scanning the space with meticulous precision. He examines the desk, the floor, and then fixes his gaze on me. He walks closer, stopping only a few inches away. The scent of leather and expensive cologne suffocates me.

He reaches out, his hand gripping my shoulder with a terrifying, crushing warmth. "You know how I feel about my privacy, son," he says softly, a thin, menacing smile touching his lips. "But I suppose such a dedication to education can be forgiven. Go back to your room."

"Yes, sir," I murmur, keeping my eyes cast downward. I walk past him, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, but I maintain a measured, casual pace. I walk down the grand staircase, stepping out the front door and straight into the pouring rain.

The moment the oak door clicks shut behind me, I break into a sprint.

Chapter 17: Alex

Water drips from my hair, soaking into the fabric of Cal's old sweatshirt, but I don't care. My hands grip the steering wheel, so tightly my knuckles turn white. The truck engine idles, a low, nervous purr against the relentless drumming of rain against the roof.

Then, the passenger door flies open.

Cold wind and rain rushes in before Cal can shut the door. He throws himself inside, slamming the door shut with a loud thud. He's panting, his chest heaving, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The cab of the truck fills with the sound of our ragged breathing and the rain outside.

I turn toward him, my chest aching. Without a word, I drop the manilla folder onto the dashboard, reach across the cracked vinyl seat, grab the wet fabric of his flannel, and pull him toward me.

Cal crashes into my arms with a sharp gasp. His body shakes from the cold rain and adrenaline. I wrap my arms around his neck, and bury my face in the warm crook of his neck, letting my tears mix with the raindrops on his skin. Cal's arms wrap tightly around me, pulling me so close I can feel his frantic, heavy heart, beat against his ribs. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, burying his face in my hair.

It's enough to just live in the moment, inhaling his scent of black coffee and rain. We know the real truth about Arthur Vance, and soon everybody else will too.