Where Secrets Hide [Chapter 3]

In the nurse’s office, I heard the announcement echo through the overhead speaker.

“All juniors, meet at the front lobby for the museum. Last call for the field trip is in 10 minutes.”

Mrs. McElroy’s voice was as crisp and cold as always, snapping the room into motion even though it was mostly just me and Finn.

Nurse Callahan rushed in, keys jangling at her side. She had that hurried, overworked look again—hair slightly out of place, the scent of cheap coffee clinging to her scrubs.

“You two can go to the field trip,” she said, barely pausing as she tugged her sweater tighter around her. “Just watch over Zara, please.” She gave Finn a half-glance, like she wasn’t sure he could be trusted with much, but then offered a quick, tired smile.

“I have to leave again—have fun, kiddos!” And then she was gone, already halfway down the hall before the door clicked shut behind her.

As soon as she left, Finn stood up with a long, exaggerated stretch, like he hadn’t just dropped a whole cluster bomb of cryptic revelations on me ten minutes ago. His arms cracked overhead and he let out a content sigh like this was just a normal Tuesday.

I stood, too. My head still throbbed a little and the world tilted just slightly, but I squared my shoulders. No way was I going to let him see me stumble.

He opened the door and turned back, grinning with mock enthusiasm. “Come on, Detective. Field trip time.”

I followed him out into the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above us.

“Try not to act like you’re the lead on this case, Henderson. You’ve been helpful for, like, five seconds.”

He scoffed. “Helpful? Please. I’m the reason we even know half this stuff. You were still busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

I stopped walking. The air between us suddenly shifted.

“Excuse me?”

He turned, that infuriating smirk already crawling up one side of his face. “Don’t get all offended. I’m just saying—maybe if you stopped glaring at everyone and actually paid attention, we wouldn’t be this behind.”

My jaw clenched. Heat rose in my chest. “Behind? I was the one who got the message, remember? You were too busy scribbling doodles to notice anything until now.”

He stepped forward, eyes flashing with something sharp—anger, maybe. Or frustration.

“Those ‘doodles’ might be the reason we find her. Unless you think your emotional breakdowns are the real clues.”

That hit harder than I wanted it to. My spine straightened.

“You think this is a joke? She’s missing, Finn. Missing. Not some school project you get to show off with.”

His voice dropped, suddenly more serious. “I know that.”

He paused, jaw tight. “I just want to actually do something about it. Unlike you—standing there waiting for someone else to fix it.”

“Wow,” I said flatly, almost whispering. “You really haven’t changed.”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze narrowing. “And you still think you’re the only one who gets to care.”

We stared at each other, frozen in that narrow hallway, footsteps echoing from somewhere down the corridor. It was too quiet, too close. I hated how near he was. I hated the way he didn’t back down. But most of all, I hated that a part of me didn’t want to back down either.

I pushed past him with a hard shoulder bump, not stopping to look back. “Let’s just get to the museum.”

“Gladly,” he muttered, falling into step beside me. “Try to keep up.”

The bus ride was loud and chaotic, filled with obnoxious laughter and the smell of someone’s off-brand vanilla body spray. I crammed into a seat next to Cassie and Andrea, both of whom were too busy whispering about some sophomore drama to notice I was fuming. I crossed my arms and stared out the window, watching the town blur past.

I hated that he was right. I hated him, no matter what.

The museum looked smaller than I remembered. It was old—red brick with white pillars and banners flapping in the light breeze. There was a charm to it, but also this air of forgotten history, like everything inside was trying a little too hard to be remembered.

The building creaked with age, the wood floors groaning under groups of students being herded inside by tired chaperones. Some dusty portraits hung along the front corridor, their golden frames slightly tilted, as if even the people in them were too tired to stay straight.

I was barely two steps inside when I heard familiar footsteps behind me.

“There’s this painting we should check out,” Finn said casually, brushing past me. “Also, don’t take what I said earlier too hard. We’re supposed to be partners, remember.”

His voice was matter-of-fact, not apologetic, and that just made it worse.

My fists clenched at my sides. I told myself to let it go, to just walk away—but my body moved before my brain caught up. I shoved him. Hard.

He stumbled back, unprepared, and fell to the ground with a loud thud that echoed through the hall.

My heart stopped.

A couple of students turned. I stood frozen.

No no no. I messed everything up.

He sat up slowly, grimacing and rubbing his shoulder where he landed. I expected him to explode, to shove me back, to yell. But instead… he pulled out his notebook.

With one dramatic flourish, he scribbled something, then tore out the page and waved it in front of me.

“Detective Zara seems… unstable.”

I blinked, unsure whether I wanted to scream or burst into tears. He smiled like it was some big inside joke and stood up, brushing off his hoodie.

“Come on. Let’s go check out the painting,” he said, like I hadn’t just assaulted him in a public building. He cradled his shoulder a little, but didn’t say anything about it again.

He led me down a quiet corridor to a temporary exhibit. The lighting was softer here, and the crowd thinner. The walls were lined with paintings on loan from other museums, each one framed in dark wood and lit from above like they were holding secrets in their brushstrokes.

We stopped in front of one in particular.

It was quiet, open.

A pale brown field stretched across the canvas. In it, a girl lay on her side in the grass, reaching toward a distant farmhouse. Her arms were weak. Her back twisted slightly. She was turned away, her hair stringy, her pink dress the only splash of color.

The plaque read:

“Christina’s World, 1948 – Andrew Wyeth.”

“She dragged me here last month,” I said softly. “Said this painting reminded her of feeling trapped.”

Finn didn’t say anything for a second. He just stared at it, unmoving.

Then, without looking at me, he murmured, “She dragged me here too. Said it reminded her of freedom.”

I turned to him sharply.

“She lied to one of us.”

He shook his head slightly.

“Or she told both truths.”

His voice was low now, thoughtful. “Ellie was… complicated.”

Still not looking at me, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small folded slip of paper.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me without fanfare. “Thought you might know what this means.”

I took it slowly. It felt fragile. The kind of thing you look at too fast and it falls apart.

I didn’t open it. Not yet.

I tucked it into the inside pocket of my jacket and nodded. “I’ll look at it later.”

“Suit yourself.”

He turned back to the painting.

And for a second, neither of us said anything. Just stood there.

A missing girl.

Two clashing memories.

And a field that somehow said both freedom and prison all at once.

I spotted a small piece of paper tucked behind the edge of the painting’s frame, barely visible—just a torn corner peeking out like it was waiting for someone to find it.

I elbowed Finnick and nodded toward it. “Look.”

“I see it,” he said, voice suddenly low and serious, like a switch had flipped.

“Well, go grab it!” I hissed, nerves jumping.

He gave me a look. “Why me?”

“Ladies first!” he said with a smirk, like we weren’t in the middle of something important.

I rolled my eyes hard and reached up, fingers brushing the edge of the frame as I tugged it loose. The paper crinkled in my hand. It was yellowed like something aged or forgotten, but the ink—it looked fresh. Way too fresh.

I stared at it.

“Well? Open it,” Finn said, shifting beside me like he couldn’t wait another second. He looked at the paper in my hand like it might explode with secrets.

Then a voice behind us froze my whole spine.

“Well, if it isn’t Finnick.”

It was cold and mocking and way too close. We both turned.

I shoved the piece of paper back into Finnick’s hand.

A tall guy, pale and bony, stood a few feet away. His hoodie was pulled low, and his eyes were shadowed, sunken, unreadable. He looked older than us—twenty maybe, twenty-one—but something about him felt… off. Not just threatening. Hollow.

Finnick’s whole body changed. He stiffened, squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw so tightly it looked painful. That flicker of fear in his eyes wasn’t something I’d seen before. Not from him.

“Who’s this?” the guy asked, eyes sliding over to me. He gave me a once-over like I was just a detail. Something unimportant.

I opened my mouth. “I’m—”

But Finnick slammed his hand over my mouth before I could finish.

Hard.

It stung, bad.

“She’s none of your business,” he snapped, voice edged and dangerous. He shoved me behind him like I was breakable, like I couldn’t handle a single threat.

The guy laughed, tossing his head back. “Oh! I’m so scared!” He threw his hands up like he was shaking with fear, but it was all mockery. Every move exaggerated, fake. “Gonna protect your little girlfriend now, huh?”

I didn’t even think. I bit Finnick’s hand.

Hard.

He yelped and yanked it away, reeling back. “What the hell?!”

“Don’t treat me like I can’t defend myself!” I snapped. “I don’t need you to protect me from some random guy!”

“You don’t understand,” Finnick growled, his voice razor-sharp. “This is not your business. Don’t interfere.”

My stomach twisted, but I held my ground. “And you don’t get to decide what I do.”

The guy didn’t flinch. He looked at Finnick with that same dead-eyed stare and said, “Stick to the deal. Or it’s gonna get real messy.”

Then he turned and walked off, just like that. Like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

I whipped around to Finn, heart pounding like crazy. “What. Was. That.”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were on the floor, shoulders hunched, jaw still tight. He looked like a shaken version of himself. I tried to catch his eye, but he kept turning away.

“Finnick.”

Silence.

“Finn,” I said again, more firm. “What was that all about?”

He finally looked up at me—but barely. “None of your business,” he said, voice clipped. “I just saved you from something worse. That guy… he’s not just some rando.”

“Oh wow,” I said dryly. “The boy savior strikes again.”

His eyes flared. “You don’t know anything, Zara.”

There it was. The wall. Slammed up between us again.

I took a step closer, my voice steady but low. “If this has to do with Ellie—I will find out. You don’t get to hide this.”

He didn’t back up. We stood close, too close, the tension thick enough to taste.

“It’s just some shady stuff,” he muttered. “Nothing important.”

Gang stuff. He said it like it was normal. Like it wasn’t terrifying.

“You’re involved in gang type of shady?” I asked, stunned.

He flinched. Not much, but I caught it.

I stared at him, trying to read whatever truth was buried beneath that stupid bravado. “I don’t care how tough you act, Finnick. You don’t get to pull me into this and then shut me out.”

He ran a hand through his hair and winced, probably from where I’d bitten him. “You’re already in it whether you like it or not. That’s the problem.”

He turned and started walking toward the next exhibit, not even checking if I followed.

But I did.

Because I wasn’t about to let this drop.

He went into the sculpture exhibit.

“Finnick!” I yelled, exhasperated.

He was about ten feet away. His back was turned to me, one hand lifted slightly into the air like a warning. I stood there, waiting for him to say something, but he stayed quiet.

I stepped closer. Five feet now.

He slowly lowered his hand and turned toward me. His expression was tight, eyes flicking toward the corners of the room like he expected someone to leap out from the shadows.

“Zara, I’m not in a gang,” he whispered, voice low and sharp. “I’m just… messing with the wrong people.”

My heart thudded louder.

Without warning, he grabbed my arm. Hard.

“Let go of me!” I yanked, but his grip only tightened.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he started pulling me—dragging me—toward a door tucked into a dark corner of the room.

“Finnick! Are you crazy?” I shrieked, too loud, my voice bouncing off the museum walls like a fire alarm.

“Zara! I’ll explain everything! Just shut up right now,” he snapped, eyes darting around as he flung the door open and shoved us into what I quickly realized was a supply closet. Cold, dusty, barely lit.

The door slammed behind us.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed, breath catching.

“Shh.” He pressed a finger over his mouth. His breathing was fast. So was mine.

“Okay,” he started again, voice steadying, “that guy? Don’t ever talk to him unless I’m there. I know you’ve got your little tough-girl thing going on, but drop it when it comes to him. Spy? Fine. Stalk him? Fine. But don’t talk to him. Don’t let him get close. Don’t open your mouth.”

I blinked. “Why should I listen to you? What—am I gonna get thrown in a van or something?”

“Maybe.” He was serious. That’s what made it worse. In the dark, I could barely make out his face, but I could feel the tension coming off him in waves. He was nervous. And Finnick never got nervous.

“Zara, take me seriously,” he said, leaning closer. “We’re going to need two people to figure this out. And even if you don’t trust me to find her… I trust you enough to try.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. His voice cracked on that last part.

But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t back down.

“Finnick,” I said slowly, “how can I ever trust you? You’re a manipulative sociopath. I can’t trust someone with as much blood on their hands as you.”

Then I pushed past him and walked out of the closet.

Back into the museum. Back into the light. My head buzzing.

I meant all of it. Every word.

No matter how much he tried to fix himself, to patch over his rough edges—he would always be someone I couldn’t trust.

Finnick slipped out of the hidden room a minute later. His face was pale. Eyes wide. He looked even more stressed than before.

I didn’t even get to react before I bumped into someone.

“Well, hello there.”

The man’s voice slithered down my spine like ice water.

It was him.

I froze. My legs turned to stone. My brain screamed at me to move. Think, Zara. Think.

Nope. Walk away. Walk away now.

I spun on my heel and walked.

Footsteps followed. Sharp. Unhurried.

I picked up my pace. So did he.

I could hear it—his shoes echoing behind me, too close, too steady.

My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred. My chest tightened like a vice.

Not now. Not now, Zara.

I started jogging.

He didn’t stop.

I darted into the next exhibit—some long-forgotten war, the walls lined with antique weapons and mannequins frozen mid-explosion.

His voice echoed through the room, hollow and taunting:

“Why so quick to leave?”

I didn’t look back.

I ran.

I ran harder than I ever had.

And then—I saw him. Finnick.

I sprinted. No hesitation. Just fear and instinct.

“Finn!” I crashed into him, heart racing, breath coming out in ragged gasps. I ducked behind him like he was some kind of shield.

“Whoa! Hey, what’s going on?” His voice was soft now. Gentle. Like it wasn’t just his fault this was happening.

I shoved him hard.

“Your little deal almost got me—I don’t even know what to call it! He chased me, Finn! I did what you said! I didn’t talk to him but he still came after me!”

His face dropped. “The guy?”

“YES, who else, you idiot?!” I yelled, and the tears came fast. Hot. Unstoppable.

He blinked fast. “Hey. Calm down, Zara. He’s not around right now, okay? We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

He looked me right in the eyes. Like that would fix anything.

“You’re telling me to calm down?” I snapped. “After I just got chased by some gang freak? Finn, this is your fault!”

I hated him.

I hated him.

He was going to get me killed.

And the worst part?

Some twisted, pathetic part of me still didn’t want to leave him behind.

He sat me down on one of the benches.

“Good thing he doesn’t know anything about you.” he muttered

“Finnick if you wanna find her block him out. Now.”

“Zara. You don’t understand!” he said, tired of saying the same thing over and over again.

“If I break off the deal, I’ll be dead, either he’d do it, or you’d do it when you find out the deal I made.”

“What is it?” i pressed, desperate and mad

He sighed and sat down next to me. “When I was fifteen,” Finn says, voice tight, “I was short on cash and—stupid. I used to sneak into abandoned houses and steal stuff. Not like… TVs or anything. Just weird stuff. Jewelry, letters, sometimes old journals or photo albums. Creepy, I know.”

He pauses, glancing away. “This guy—his name’s Marcus, I think—found me through someone else. Said he had a job for someone who knew how to… find things. He wasn’t asking for stolen jewelry or anything. He wanted me to track people down. Not, like, kidnap them or hurt them—just figure out where they were, what they were doing, report back.” I stared at him, eyebrows narrowing.

“I thought it was nothing. Just surveillance. I was fifteen. I thought it was cool that some shady guy wanted my help. I got good at it. Too good. He’d give me a name, a photo, and I’d find where they lived, what school they went to, even who their friends were. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to know what he did with the info.”

He swallows hard. “Eventually I cut it off. Told him I was done. But people like him don’t just let you go. He kept showing up. Asking for favors. Little ones. Like the one today.”

“What kind of favors?”

He couldn’t meet my eyes. His knuckles were white against the wooden seat back in front of him. “Tracking down a little guy, Luke. I told him I couldn’t… I mean, the kiddo only looked about fourteen.”

I connected the dots in an instant. Luke was my little brother. He’d been hanging around the wrong crowd lately — staying out past curfew, ignoring texts, letting messages pile up without a single answer. I tightened my grip on the metal rail beside me. I felt my knuckles tremble beneath my skin, an icy rush of rage threatening to boil up. I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him. Instead, I forced myself to stay composed, or at least pretend.

“You didn’t take the job though?”

He looked at me in disbelief. “You think I’d track down some fourteen-year-old for a creep?”

“You better not. Luke is my brother.” The words fell heavy into the silence between us. I noticed a chill ripple through Finnick; his face paled, and yet a strange sort of relief crossed his features — like we’d crossed a dangerous boundary, but made it back safely.

Over the museum’s speakers, a voice crackled: “All St. Harper’s High students please make your way to the exit, I repeat, make your way to the exit.”

Finn stood up first. “Let’s get going, Thorne.” His back was stiff, taller somehow, trying to pretend we hadn’t crossed a raw nerve. He walked away without another word. My knees were weak when I stood, nearly threatening to fold beneath me. There were eyes on me — I felt it — a piercing, icy stare I couldn’t shake.

I rushed forward and fell into stride beside him.

“Have you called it off yet?”

“Of course I have, Zara! I’m not insane!” His voice was a mixture of frustration and shame. “Meet me out here after school. Maybe Mr. Dead Inside won’t be here.”

I nodded quietly and turned my gaze forward. I noticed Cassie and Andrea a few feet away. But something was… different. There was someone with them — someone I hadn’t noticed at first. Black, shimmering hair fell in messy curtains over their face. Whatever it was, it seemed… to warp reality itself.

I squinted, trying to make it out, but I couldn’t see who it was. They turned.

No.

No.

NO.

Suddenly, in a grotesque twist, Ellie’s face appeared — or what remained of it. It was twisted, raw, and inhuman. It seemed to spin and warp in a grotesque clockwise spiral. Her lips stretched into a horrific smile filled with needle-like teeth; a bloody, forked tongue darted in and out.

Not real.

Not real.

Not real.

Ignore it.

Ignore her.

I forced myself forward and fell into stride beside Andrea, ignoring the icy drops of saliva that fell from the monster’s gaping jaw and landed on my shoulder.

“Hey Andrea.” My voice was small, tight, barely a thread tying me back to reality.

“Hi Zara!” She turned and smiled warmly, oblivious to the nightmare stalking us.

Cassie jumped in, eyebrows raised, hand on her hip. “Why are you and Finn hanging out so much?”

I paused. I didn’t want everyone thinking we were friends or something more. “We made a deal, that’s all. We’re trying to find Her ourselves. Finally giving me a break from the toilet face smashing.” I avoided using her name — it seemed erased, forgotten — but I hadn’t forgotten. Ellie was not gone. We’d find her.

I turned my head just slightly and there it was — the Thing — drooling, staring, its grotesque, piercing eyes locking on me. Colors seemed to warp and the school walls pressed inward. My knees faltered.

No.

Fight it.

Stand tall.

“You sure nothing’s going on?” Cassie pressed, eyebrows raised. “Seems odd. He’s never this kind.”

“If he’s gonna use me for his gain, I wouldn’t be surprised.” I forced a bitter little laugh.

“Ladies! Have you not noticed the line moving?” a gravelly voice called from behind. I turned and saw Coach Harlene, face perpetually bored, eyebrows barely lifting in a show of exasperation. She’d been a chaperone for years — nearly a fixture — always insisting she’d say no…until Vice Principal McElroy somehow convinced her.

Andrea hopped forward first and rushed outside. Cassie and I followed close on her heels, letting the chilly air rush against us, a temporary reprieve from whatever horrors were closing in from all directions.