The air conditioning vent.
My gaze darts to the corner beside her bed, heart picking up speed. That vent. We found it together when we were teenagers, sneaking cigarettes and notes and little glass bottles of cheap liquor into the room when no one was paying attention. It’s small, tucked low to the floor, and hidden by her nightstand. Unless you knew it was there, you’d never think to check.
I move quickly but silently, slipping to the side of the bed and pressing my hands to the smooth wood of the nightstand. I grit my teeth and push, careful to keep the movement quiet as the legs scrape lightly across the floor. Dust scatters underneath, and my stomach tightens as the small metal vent comes into view.
There it is.
Unassuming. Overlooked. Forgotten by everyone but me.
I crouch down, knees hitting the cold hardwood, and run my fingers along the edge of the grate. The metal is cool beneath my touch, but it’s loose—just like we left it. Just likeshewould’ve left it if she wanted someone like me to come looking.
I don’t know what I’m going to find inside.
But I know Reign.
And if she left something hidden here… it wasn’t meant for them.
It was meant for me.
My fingers tremble as I work the vent cover loose, the metal cool and gritty beneath my touch. It resists at first—just enough to make my breath hitch—but then it gives with a soft creak, the sound barely audible in the quiet stillness of the room. My heart thuds hard against my ribcage, a deep, rhythmic pounding that echoes in my ears as I peer into the narrow space behind the grate.
There, nestled in the dustless darkness like it’s been waiting for me all along, is a small, worn cell phone and a folded piece of paper.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just stare, eyes wide, pulse surging with a blend of adrenaline and dread. The phone is old, the kind we used to carry around in high school—thick with age, scratches lining the plastic edges, the familiar chipped corner that tells me exactly whose it is. Reign’s. The one she used to guard like it held state secrets. And maybe, back then, it did.
I reach in carefully, my fingertips brushing the cold metal before curling around the paper and the phone. They feel too light to carry the weight they suddenly press into my chest. I sit back slowly, leaning against the side of her bed for support as the letter unfolds in my hand like it’s made of glass. My legs feel numb, and my lungs are tighter with each passing second, like I’m bracing for something I’m not ready to read.
The folded paper is thick, like it was meant to last. My name is written across the front in perfect, looping cursive—the kind of penmanship that always made Reign’s notes look likesomething out of a storybook. Elegant. Unmistakable. It’s her handwriting. No doubt in my mind. The sight of it makes my stomach twist violently.
I swallow hard, trying to keep the rising tide of emotion at bay. Dread curls low and slow in my gut, sticky and cold, but I force myself not to give in to it. I won’t assume the worst—not yet. Maybe she left this for me as a precaution. Maybe it’s nothing more than an old memory she didn’t want to lose.
But deep down, a part of me knows better.
My hands are shaking as I clutch the letter and the phone to my chest, staring at my name in the dim light like it might suddenly explain everything.
And for the first time in this search, I’m afraid of finding out the truth.
The paper is creased from being folded tightly, the edges slightly worn. It feels delicate. Rushed. Like it was written in a hurry, in fear. Despite that, Reign’s handwriting is unmistakable. The sharp slant, the sweeping loops—it’s hers. Even in panic, she writes like she’s painting her thoughts in ink.
My fingers tremble as I unfold it fully, the silence in the room stretching so long and thick that I feel like I’m underwater. The world narrows to just me and her voice echoing off the page.
Berk,
I was devastated when they told me you burned in that fire along with your father.
But I stopped believing a damn word that comes out of his mouth, so I’m not taking the chance. I’ve got to explain… but I don’t have time to say everything I want, and I don’t even know if you’ll ever read this. God, I hope you don’t. I hope I get the chance to tell you in person, to stand in front of you and make you see that I mean it. I hope I can look you in the eye and say I’m sorry, and that it actually matters.
But if I can’t—if something happens—then at least you’ll hear me here.
I love you. I never stopped. You were always more than just my best friend. You were my anchor. My person. My sister. And I am so sorry for bringing you here that night. I thought it would be okay. I thought it would be safe, and that we could have a girl’s night with them being out of town at the conference.
I didn’t know the boys would be gone. I would never have taken that risk if I had known. Never.
But they… they drugged our food, Berk. The cook brought it in, just like always, and we didn’t think to question it. It hit fast. That’s why everything was foggy. Why we couldn’t think clearly. Why we barely moved, why our memories come in pieces like shattered glass.
I still don’t remember everything. Not fully. Just pieces. Sounds. Pain. You crying. Me screaming.
I think something bad is going to happen to me. My dad made me write a note about you and my boyfriend—like he needed you to be the villain, to tie things up. Like I wouldn’t behere later to explain myself. I don’t know what he’s planning. But I can feel it. I’m scared, Berk.