I force my lips into what I hope passes for a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
She studies me, her head tilting. “You okay? You seem distracted.”
I take another sip of soup, using the motion to break eye contact. “Sorry. I’m thinking about my article. It’s a complicated one.”
She doesn’t push. Another kindness that stings with my deception. “Well, don’t work too hard.”
She rises, collecting our empty bowls and taking them to the sink.
After she leaves, I return to my desk and flip the yellow legal pad back over.
On a fresh sheet of paper, I begin to write, structuring an outline. Names, dates, institutions. A timeline of Carson’s movements, each transfer coinciding with accumulated complaints. Cross-references to board members who approved his recommendations despite documented concerns.
The system meant to protect these Omegas and Betas from Carson failed, so the only path forward runs through public exposure. An exposé making it impossible to dismiss him as an isolated incident or a misunderstanding.
My pen moves faster, organizing evidence into categories designed to tell a coherent story. The work absorbs me, purpose crowding out the helpless anger from earlier.
This time, Carson won’t be fighting an isolated Omega with no support system. And unlike the boards and administrators who looked away, I won’t allow this to die in silence.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Leif
The winter wind whips across the Pinecrest docks, tugging at Quinn’s purple knit hat as she clutches my hand and watches the water taxi nose toward the pier. At her other side, Sprinkles sits patiently, the massive black Newfoundland’s fur ruffling while the blue service vest across his shoulders flutters.
The sun hangs over the water, already sliding toward the mountains beyond the mainland.
Quinn tilts her face up toward me, her mitten-covered fingers tightening around mine. “Do you have to stay?”
“I do,” I tell her gently. “There’s a PTA meeting tonight.”
“But you could come to Misty Pines,” she insists. “Uncle Holden said there would be cookies.”
“That’s a very strong argument,” I admit.
The water taxi bumps up to the dock, its engine dropping to a steady idle as a dockhand throws the rope around a cleat.
“But the parents are expecting me,” I continue. “And if I skip the meeting, they’ll spend two hours arguing about fundraiser budgets with no one there to referee.”
Quinn wrinkles her nose. “They argue a lot.”
I sigh. “They really do.”
Passengers begin filing down the gangway, coats pulled tight to block the wind, and one of them towers over the rest.
Jared steps onto the dock with the grace of someone used to shifting decks beneath his feet. His work jacket hangs open despite the cold, and the scent of saltwater and engine grease trails behind him.
When he spots us, his expression softens. “Well, there’s my favorite dockside welcoming committee.”
Quinn lights up. “Mr. Jared!”
She releases my hand and runs forward, Sprinkles rising to follow at her side, and Jared scoops her up before she can crash into his knees.
“Are you ready for your trip back to the island?” he says.
“I am,” Quinn tells him. “But Leif won’t come.”
Jared glances at me over the top of her hat, his lips twitching with amusement. “Is that right?”