We didn't go back to the motel.
Too many eyes, too many ears — and after what happened at the Marina Towers apartment, I knew M.G. wouldn't waste time sending someone to tie up loose ends. Or worse: V might already know where we were.
So Emily drove us to an old apartment above a closed laundromat — a place she once used to hide from her own family when things got bad. One bulb in the hallway flickered. The paint peeled off in long strips like shedding skin. It was perfect.
Inside, Sophia slumped into an old armchair by the window. She looked ten years older than she had two days ago — pale, lips cracked, her side still wrapped in fresh bandages. Emily fussed over her, making tea with water she'd boiled in an ancient kettle. I dropped my backpack on the warped table and pulled out the laptop.
M.G.'s coffee stain was still on the lid.
I powered it up. The fan whirred like an old truck engine. Sophia watched me, eyes glazed but sharp underneath.
"Any luck?" she asked, voice raw.
I didn't answer right away. The Final Recording sat open on the desktop — my mother's face frozen mid-sentence, her eyes hollow but burning with that last spark of defiance.
V is the root. V is the only one who can burn the garden.
Emily sat on the edge of the table, one leg bouncing. "What does that even mean? V could be anyone. Some rich donor? An old family friend?"
"Or another secret partner," Sophia murmured.
I shook my head. "It's more than that. She said V is the root. Like they started all of this. Paid my father, controlled Mirabel… Maybe even ordered the poison."
Emily frowned. "So what's 'the garden'?"
I scrolled back through the video, frame by frame. Behind my mother was a window — rain streaked down the glass, just like the night she died. But in the corner, the edge of a notepad stuck out from under her hand.
I paused it. Zoomed in.
Three letters scribbled on the paper: V.H.S.
"What's that?" Sophia asked.
I squinted closer. "V.H.S. It's not a tape. Look — it's written next to an address. 'V.H.S. – 36 Hunters Grove Estate.'"
Emily blinked. "Hunters Grove? That's out by your father's old hunting lodge, isn't it?"
My throat went dry. The garden. The estate. That place was our family's pride — acres of forest, a walled garden my mother used to tend to before she got sick. She called it her sanctuary. It made sense that the code would point there.
Sophia's voice cracked the silence. "It's a trap."
I looked at her. "What?"
"You know it. They left it there because they want you to go. You think V doesn't know we have this laptop? M.G. will run straight to him."
Emily folded her arms. "We can't do nothing. Nina — you've come this far."
Sophia slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. "Look at me! Look at what they did to us. You think we'll walk into the woods and V will just hand you the final piece?"
I knelt beside her. Took her cold hand in mine. "I know it's risky. I know you're scared. But I can't stop now, Soph. My mother died for this. You almost died for this. If we don't finish it, they'll come after us forever."
She closed her eyes. Silent tears tracked down her cheek. Emily touched her shoulder, grounding her.
"Then we plan it right," Emily said. "We don't just drive up there like idiots. We watch, we wait, we get in and get out."
Sophia's breathing steadied, but she didn't look at me. "If you die, Nina, I swear I'll kill you myself."
I laughed — a broken, exhausted sound. "Deal."
We spent the next few hours combing the files on the laptop.
Emails. Bank statements. A chain of payments looping back to the White Orchid Trust and V.H.S. Every thread led to the same name: V.H.S. Foundation. A nonprofit on paper — in reality, a shell for something darker. Money went in, people went silent, and my mother ended up in the ground.
By dawn, we were all half-blind from the screen glare.
Emily crashed on the couch, shoes still on. Sophia dozed in the chair, one hand curled around a kitchen knife she refused to put down.
I sat on the floor, laptop balanced on my knees, my mother's journal open beside me. The last page was blank — but when I tilted it under the cheap desk lamp, faint indentations appeared.
A message pressed so hard into the page it scarred the paper.
Trust no one. V sees everything.
I traced the words with my finger, my pulse thundering in my ears. My mother knew she was being watched, even at the end. She'd hidden everything in plain sight, hoping I'd be smarter than she was.
I wasn't sure I was.
When the sun crested over the city skyline, I found Emily awake, pacing the kitchen with her phone pressed to her ear.
She hung up when she saw me. "You ready?"
"Are you?"
She snorted. "Nope. But let's do it anyway."
Sophia stirred, blinking blearily. "Where's the garden?"
"Hunters Grove Estate," I said. "My family's last secret."
Emily tossed me the car keys. "Then let's burn it to the ground."
The estate lay on the outskirts of the city — twenty acres of forest, a crumbling stone wall, and the rotting remains of my father's old hunting lodge.
As Emily parked along the tree line, I stared through the windshield. The garden my mother once loved looked like something out of a nightmare now — weeds choking the stone paths, vines strangling the greenhouse windows. Somewhere under that tangled mess was the truth she'd died trying to bury.
Sophia's voice was low, brittle. "You sure you don't want backup?"
I forced a smile. "I've got you."
We slipped through the gate at dawn's edge, feet crunching over dead leaves. Every shadow felt alive. Every snap of a twig made my breath catch.
At the greenhouse door, I found an old brass lock — but the wood around it had rotted through. I kicked it open.
Inside, the glass walls were streaked with mildew. Dead roses climbed toward the ceiling beams, their thorny branches forming a tangled web. In the center sat an old garden bench — and under it, a rusted safe, half-buried in dirt.
Emily crouched, brushing away soil with her hands. "This it?"
I knelt beside her. The safe's dial was crusted with rust. I pulled out my mother's journal, flipping to the last page.
There. A tiny note I'd missed before: Code: 12-26-03.
My parents' wedding date.
My fingers trembled as I turned the dial — left, right, left. The latch clicked.
Inside, under a sealed plastic cover, sat a thick envelope marked V. And a single key — engraved with the words Wraith House.
Sophia stared at it. "What the hell is Wraith House?"
I lifted the envelope, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
"It's the root," I whispered. "It's where this all started."
A branch snapped behind us.
Emily shot to her feet, wrench in hand. But it was too late — a figure stepped from the shadows of the garden, dressed head to toe in black, a hood obscuring their face.
A voice, muffled but unmistakable, drifted toward us. Calm. Cold.
"Hello, Nina. Did you really think you'd find the garden before the gardener?"
I clutched the key tighter as the figure stepped forward, gun glinting in the early light.
Sophia's whisper trembled at my shoulder. "What do we do now?"
I felt my mother's words burn in my mind: Trust no one.
And in that heartbeat, I knew. There was no turning back.