“Listen closely,” I say, necessity sharpening my tone. “You’ve poked something, and it’s noticed. You’re at risk.”
Her eyes widen, unspoken questions forming. “What kind of risk?” she asks, skepticism sharp, determination alongside caution.
“The kind that doesn’t announce itself,” I say.
She crosses her arms. “That’s vague.”
“That’s generous,” I reply. “I’m working with limited information and a very bad feeling.”
“Those aren’t facts.”
“No,” I agree. “But they’re usually right.”
She studies me for a second longer, then exhales. “Okay. Say I believe you. What now?”
“Actively searching, following your trail,” I reply, choosing strength. “You must follow my lead. If we don’t act now, you won’t be safe here anymore.”
Urgency compels me to safeguard her against what's been unleashed. Our paths are now intertwined—a promise of protection beyond boundaries, every instinct revisited.
“It’s time,” I say, motions resolute. “Trust me.”
11
ELLIE
Returning to the sheriff’s office feels different today.
I’m not here to be polite. Not anymore anyway.
Who are you kidding? You know you’re a chubby pushover on your best day.
It’s time for direct questions.
It doesn’t matter if he likes you or not. This isn’t a rom-com, and you are not the plucky plus-size exception.
I was initially sure last night that Caleb was warming to me. He’d seemed so concerned about the so-called threat that I wondered if he wasn’t constructing an excuse to spend time with me.
But, when he brought me to the station “as a precaution” he once again disappeared behind a cool distant veneer. As if he’d accomplished a task, and could now switch off whatever charm he’d mustered once he knew I was out of harm’s way.
If there’d ever been any harm to avoid to begin with.
But if there wasn’t, and he doesn’t care about you, why bother dragging you from your bed in the middle of the night?
I was finally released to return to my room and change well after the sun rose.
This morning, Moonhaven’s cool air warns me to tread carefully. This town is clearly a labyrinth of secrets. Yet, my questions are lined up, shaped by a need for clarity beyond curiosity’s gentle probe. An intensity wraps around my intentions as I return to the station.
This is no longer a project designed only to give me an excuse for a move. This is a mystery that needs solving, and I’m going to be the one to do it.
The office door swings closed behind me, the click a heartbeat away from confrontation. Sheriff Caleb Hart stands there, tall and composed—a sentry unmoved by drafts or emotions. Warmth doesn't permeate his stance. His gaze, assessing and steady, feels like a tightrope between civility and patience.
“I’m here for more than pleasantries today, Sheriff.” My voice asserts, tempered by purpose. “I want details about the disappearances—like Karen Jenkins’s case. I know there’s more.”
His response is measured, practiced. “Ms. Carter, those records stretch far back into history. The cases you mention are not straightforward.”
His restraint as he eyes me cooly reads as tolerance, a controlled indifference wrapped in calm professionalism.
That really pisses me off.