Page 70 of In the Dark of the Past

“Now,” I said, “I drive you home.”

“I can drive myself.”

“No,” I said more sharply than intended. “What did I tell you? You’re not going anywhere alone.”

Her brow arched, but then she blew out a breath. “Because I’m a target.”

“Because I think you’re the target right now for some reason,” I corrected.

“Finn—”

“My arm’s stitched, it’s not broken,” I said. “I can drive. And I’m not letting you walk into an empty house without checking every entry point first.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re not going to sleep until you know I’m safe, are you?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’m not.”

Something in her eased a fraction more. “Okay,” she whispered. “Then take me home.”

The streets of Maple Ridge were unusually quiet—too quiet for what we had just unearthed. That was how small towns worked. The stillness came first. The rupture after.

River watched out the passenger window, her profile caught in the glow of passing streetlights.

“You’re thinking loud,” I said.

She didn’t look at me. “You ever think about how many lies we grew up believing?”

“Every damn day.”

“It’s like the whole town gaslit itself for a decade,” she whispered. “People saw Eleanor’s missing posters. They heard the rumors. They felt the unease in their bones. And instead of trusting that, they trusted the people at the top.”

“They trusted the version of the story they wanted to believe.”

She turned her head toward me. “Are we ready for this? I mean, really ready? Because once this starts unraveling⁠—”

“It’s already started.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

My grip tightened on the wheel. “No,” I said honestly. “You want honesty? I’m not ready. But I’m not backing down either.”

Something flickered in her eyes—approval, relief, maybe something worse.

“You know,” she said softly, “I really never expected to trust you again.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways.”

Her laugh was small. Tired, but real. The kind that made me want to pull over and make sure she never had to walk into danger again.

I knew what that wanting was. I’d known for a long time. I just hadn’t said it out loud since before she left, and saying it now felt like handing her something she hadn’t asked to carry.

So, I didn’t.

I kept driving.

River’s house came into view, safe and sturdy, tucked beneath its towering maple.

Except something was wrong. I felt it before I saw it—an instinct sharpened by years on the job.