Page 138 of Brutal
“Enough.”
That tells me nothing.
And everything.
We don’t speak again until the dock comes into view. The same one. The same stretch of weathered wood. The same private access point just off to the side.
The same place where?—
I stop that thought.
“Show me,” I say instead.
He doesn’t ask what I mean. He walks straight to the access point. The chain is different. Newer and cleaner. Locked.
This is where it was.
This is where it opened.
I step closer.
The wind shifts, pushing my hair back and exposing my neck.
“That’s not the original,” I say.
“No.”
“You replaced it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the original shouldn’t have been open.”
I crouch slightly, examining the latch, the connection point, the way the chain sits. “This wouldn’t just come undone,” I say.
“No.”
“So someone opened it.”
“Yes.”
Is this the lock replacement I found during my research? Seems too simple, but then again, simple is often overlooked.
I stand and move past him onto the dock itself. The boards creak under my weight.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I know he’s following me.
I step farther out toward the edge. Toward the place where it happened.
Where everything changed.
I stop. The water below is dark and restless. The wind is brisker here. I wrap my arms around myself without thinking.
He steps in behind me. Close enough that I feel the heat of him through the cold air.
“Right here,” he says.
