Page 122 of In the Dark of the Past

My pulse kicked into a sprint. “Everyone stay put.”

Atlas was already moving, his gun drawn, slipping out the hallway door. I followed seconds later with River a step behind—because she wasn’t staying anywhere without me, and we both knew it.

The corridor smelled like bleach and cold air.

Atlas stood in the plastic flaps in the threshold of the loading dock, his gun angled low.

“Hands where I can see them!” I barked.

A shape stepped into view, but it wasn’t the hooded figure. It was a kid. Thin, soaked, and shaking.

His sweatshirt was streaked red with paint, not blood, and the color clung to his fingers.

Atlas lowered his gun a fraction. “Not our guy. But not random, either.”

The kid’s voice cracked. “Are you...Sheriff Callahan?”

“That depends,” I said. “Who’s asking?”

“Evan,” he whispered. “Evan Narnachek.”

Those who had filed in behind us went still.

Evan Narnachek. Eleanor Jenkins’ former student. He’d been missing for four years and was one of the names Libby had found circled twice in Eleanor’s margin notes. He was also one of our potential cold cases.

My chest tightened. “You’re a hard person to find, Evan. Where ya been?”

He laughed, a broken, frightened sound. “It’s easy to stay ‘missing’ when you’re scared enough and have more than one reason to stay gone.”

River stepped forward, her voice gentle and steady. “Evan. Why did you come here?”

He glanced back at the alley, then at the warm spill of light behind us, then at me, like he was choosing which direction meant the worse death.

“I was warned, and I came because they know. Because I’m just tired. I want this to be over. All of it,” he whispered. “They know you found Marta’s and Eleanor’s notes. And they know you’re coming for them.” His eyes shone too brightly. “And I think I just became their next loose end. If they could find me to tell me about you, then they can find me, period.”

Behind and to the left of us, glass shattered.

“Atlas. Get him inside,” I ordered. “Check the locks. Nobody leaves, and nobody enters.”

Evan crossed the threshold into the loading dock like stepping into a sanctuary.

I made a pass of the loading doc, found nothing but an opportunistic raccoon, and headed back inside, double-checking the lock behind me.

“Start where you think we need to hear it,” I told Evan as I walked into the back room.

His eyes flicked over every exit and every body in the room.

“I didn’t volunteer,” he said, his voice breaking. “Nobody joins the Watchers because they want to. You get cornered, and you get scared. Then you get taken.” A tremor ran through him, violent and uncontrolled. “They don’t let you go. Not when you know what they’ve done. Not when you’ve seen things.”

Autumn froze. “The lists?”

“Yeah. The names. Notes about who deserved ‘correction.’ People they planned to ruin. Or silence.” His throat clicked. “Or bury.”

A sharp inhale from Libby. Cade muttered something vicious under his breath.

“Who runs it?” I asked, each word deliberate.

Evan laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “You already know. Or you wouldn’t be in here instead of at the station.”