Page 36 of In the Dark of the Past

“Exactly.” He looked up at me, voice low.

My mouth had gone dry. “So, what’s the tag? A message? A warning? But to whom? Do you think someone’s using them? Like for…I dunno…unassuming safehouses or storage or something?”

“Maybe something worse.”

The silence that followed said we were both thinking it. Not just vandalism. Not just kids. Not just a coincidence. A network. A system. A threat with organization and intent.

I shivered. “Let’s stake it out,” I said, before I could second-guess myself.

Finn hesitated for only a second, then nodded. “I should say hell no. You’re not law enforcement. But I don’t really want to derail my people from what they’re working on either. Especially not with the Eleanor evidence now. And not until I know more.” His gaze held mine, storm-dark. “So…tonight?”

I nodded, pulse thudding.

I wasn’t sure what we were walking into. I wasn’t sure what it would do to us. But I was too far in to turn back. Too invested. Too close to the truth to stop now.

Chapter Fourteen

Finn

The wind had teeth tonight. It snapped at the cruiser as I eased us off the road and into the shadow of the tree line, headlights cutting out with a final blink. The Lodge Hall loomed ahead like a wounded animal—half-collapsed roofline, boarded windows, graffiti peeling where the weather hadn’t already claimed it. A lone floodlight on the south corner buzzed in that way old lights do, the kind of sound that makes your skin twitch.

Beside me, River tightened her jacket and stared straight ahead, knee bouncing like there was a storm brewing under her skin.

I shouldn’t have let her come. Should’ve called Cade or Atlas. Should’ve done a dozen things differently. But when she’d looked at those photos—with that damn red eye scratched across each building—her determination had been volcanic. It always had been. Nearly a decade apart hadn’t changed that. And if I hadn’t let her come, she’d have done something reckless alone.

“Lights off,” she murmured, already pulling binoculars from her bag.

I flipped the knob, and the cruiser went dark. Only moonlight and the far-off flicker of the floodlight touched the clearing.

“Anything?” I asked quietly.

She scanned the lot. “Still nothing. But there’s definitely movement in there. I can feel it.”

I didn’t comment. River’s instincts were usually dead-on. And the more we uncovered about the Benevolence Fund, the more I felt the ground under this town shifting, cracking, ready to swallow something whole.

“Why the eye symbol?” she asked, lowering the binoculars. “It’s too deliberate to be random tagging.”

“No idea.” I leaned back, keeping my gaze fixed on the side entrance. “Could be a mark. A warning. A way to claim space. Or, yeah, those old ghost stories. Teenagers used to spray the symbol all over the quarry.”

She snorted. “Teenagers aren’t running a town-wide slush fund with deep pockets and blackmail tendencies.”

Her tone was sharp, but not at me—at the truth unraveling around us.

Another thirty minutes of silence stretched, thick and weighted. The kind that made you aware of your heartbeat and the way it thudded too loudly in your rib cage. Somewhere in the woods, an owl hooted, three short bursts like a countdown.

River suddenly sucked in a quick breath. “Movement. Left side.”

I followed her angle. A hooded figure slipped between two loose boards and into the building. Quick. Purposeful. A faint gleam of red flashed when the floodlight sputtered overhead. A second figure followed. Taller, heavier build. Something in the silhouette tugged at a memory, but my brain wouldn’t grab it.

My pulse kicked. “I’m going in,” I whispered.

“Like hell you are going alone,” she hissed, sliding her binoculars back into her bag.

Before I could stop her, she was opening her door. I cursed under my breath and followed. We moved low, staying to the darkest pockets of the trees. The wind carried the faint scrape of metal shifting against wood, followed by the murmur of voices.

At the corner of the Hall, I caught River’s wrist, dragging her behind a dumpster. Her pulse thudded under my fingers like a hummingbird.

“Just hold,” I breathed.