I could still hear Chad's screams echoing in my head.
Even with the rain beating against the windshield, even with Zaire's music turned low to distract us—I could still hear him.
Zaire's hands were clenched on the wheel. White-knuckled. Andy sat behind me, knees drawn up, staring blankly out her window.
And me?
I was falling apart in slow motion.
"I can't stop thinking about him," I said finally.
Zaire didn't look at me.
I turned toward him. "Sebastian could be somewhere like that right now. Tied up. Bleeding. Waiting for someone to come."
"Mia," he said quietly.
"We have to find him," I said, louder now. "We have to. I don't care if it's dangerous. I don't care if—"
Zaire slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Mia, enough!"
The car went silent.
I stared at him.
"I get it," he said, teeth clenched. "I get that you care. But what more do you want to do? Did you not see what that guy did to Chad? Did you not see what he's capable of?"
"Zaire—" I tried, but he cut me off.
"That wasn't some mugging or revenge or scare tactic. That was cruelty. That was surgical. He made Chad confess before torturing him. That's not a man, Mia. That's a monster with a checklist."
I blinked hard, jaw trembling. "So what, we just give up?"
"No. We stay alive."
His voice cracked at the end, and that's when I realized it wasn't just anger.
It was fear.
Andy leaned forward from the back seat. "You don't get to yell at her for caring."
Zaire's jaw tensed again, but he said nothing.
I wiped the tears off my face, looked out at the rain-streaked road, and said quietly, "Turn around."
Zaire blinked. "What?"
"Turn the car around," I said again. "We're going back to the boathouse."
"Mia—why?"
"There's something we haven't checked. Hastings Hospital."
Andy sat forward fast. "That place? It's abandoned."
"Exactly," I said. "It's near the water, it's big, it's empty, and it's been untouched for twelve years. No security. No cameras. Just rot and dust."
Zaire exhaled, shaking his head. "You really think he'd be hiding there?"
"I don't know what I think anymore," I said. "But it's the only lead we've got."
Thunder cracked above us. A heavy sheet of rain slammed down on the car, blurring everything outside.
Zaire squinted through the windshield.
"We're not driving into that storm," he muttered.
Andy nodded. "Let's wait it out. Dry roads are creepy enough without lightning strikes."
We pulled into a gas station parking lot and sat there in silence as the rain hammered the roof.
None of us spoke.
But we all knew—
If Sebastian was still alive... we didn't have long.
The rain had softened into a mist by the time Zaire swung into a gas station lot. The wipers slowed to a lazy sweep, each pass smearing streaks of streetlight across the windshield.
"I'm grabbing something to drink," he said, shifting into park. His voice was flat, like the argument from earlier was still clinging to him.
He opened the door, and cold air rushed in. Andy's gaze followed him without meaning to.
Zaire reached into the back seat and pulled on a dark hoodie—the same kind she'd seen in that video. It slid over his head in one practiced motion, the hood dropping low over his brow. He adjusted it with both hands, tugging it forward until his face was swallowed in shadow.
And then she saw it.
As the sleeve of his T-shirt bunched up before the hoodie covered it, something caught the light—a faint black curve of ink, just above his wrist. Not a full tattoo, just the edge of something circular. But she'd seen that before. In the frame, just for a moment, when the hooded figure in the video tilted the boiling pot toward Chad.
Her stomach tightened.
Zaire shut the car door with a heavy thud and started toward the store, his steps steady, unhurried. There was a way his shoulders moved—slightly forward, rolling like he was carrying more weight than he should—that made her chest feel tight.
It was the same walk.
She'd swear on it.
But when he disappeared through the store's glass doors, she just sat there, staring at the rain sliding down her window, telling herself it was nothing.
And failing.
The rain had stopped, but the world still glistened—black asphalt slick like oil, yellow reflections from the buzzing streetlamps stretching in long, distorted streaks.
Mia was stuffing a bottle of water into her bag when she noticed Andy's face.
Pale. Rigid. Her eyes darting toward the far side of the lot.
"What's wrong?" Mia asked, uneasy.
Andy's jaw was tight. "Get in the car."
"Andy—"
"Now, Mia."
The sharpness in her tone made Mia obey. She slid into the passenger seat while Andy circled to the driver's side. Her hands shook as she jammed the keys into the ignition.
Mia frowned. "You're scaring me. What is it?"
Andy's voice came low, almost trembling. "That hoodie. The way he moves. It's him. The guy from my class—the one who sold me the phone. I swear it's the same walk."
Mia's blood went cold.
Andy slammed the gear into reverse and backed out hard, tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement. They were halfway to the exit when—
A shape stepped into the headlights.
Hood up. Head tilted. Motionless.
Zaire.
For one frozen heartbeat, it didn't feel real—just a shadow in the beam.
Then he smiled.
Andy swerved to go around him.
He moved faster than should've been possible—yanking something from his side. A long, steel pipe. He swung it once, hard.
The driver's side mirror exploded in a spray of glass.
Mia screamed.
Andy floored it, trying to tear past him. Zaire didn't flinch. He sidestepped into the lane, ramming the pipe into the front left tire. The sound was deafening—a brutal POP—and the car lurched sideways like it had been kicked.
The wheel jerked violently in Andy's hands. She fought to correct it, but Zaire was already moving, pounding toward the passenger side.
Mia saw his face now. Not the Zaire she knew. Something sharper. Wilder. Eyes lit with a cold, deliberate hunger.
Andy's voice was a strangled shout. "Hold on!"
She yanked the wheel hard right, trying to throw him off. But the shredded tire skidded on the wet road, the back end fishtailing.
Zaire slammed the pipe against the passenger window—once—twice—the tempered glass splintering but not breaking.
The third hit cracked it wide open.
Rainwater and cold air rushed in. Zaire's arm shot through the gap, grabbing at Mia's shoulder. His grip was iron.
Mia thrashed, kicking at him, nails clawing at his sleeve. "Let me go!"
Andy spun the wheel again, the car screaming as the rubber tore against the asphalt. Zaire lost his grip for a second, and that was all it took.
The car shot forward—straight into the curb at the edge of the lot.
The impact was like being punched by the world. The airbags exploded. The windshield spiderwebbed. Mia's ears rang so loud she couldn't hear her own scream.
Through the haze, she saw him.
Standing in the mist and steam, pipe in hand, that same crooked smile on his face.
And he was walking toward them.
Zaire didn't let go of my chin.
If anything, his grip tightened.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice low but trembling — not from fear, but from something darker. "You think I was just... your friend? Your shadow? I worshiped you, Mia. From the day they dropped us both into that rotting excuse of a foster home, you were the only thing in my world worth looking at."
His eyes didn't blink.
"I watched you. Every day. Waiting for you to turn. Waiting for you to see me. But you didn't. You saw him." His lip curled, his gaze flicking to Sebastian like it burned to look at him. "You always saw him."
He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head slowly. "You don't know what it's like... to never be loved. My dad... gone before I could remember him. My mom? Weak. Pathetic. Hung herself in the bathroom while I was still in the house. I found her swinging there like some broken wind chime. And then they tell me to go live with strangers."
His smile came back — sharp, twitchy.
"But you were there. You. And I thought... maybe. Maybe she'll be different. Maybe she'll care."
I tried to pull away, but his fingers only dug harder into my jaw.
"But then they took that from me," he hissed. "Andrew. Chad. Those worthless pigs. They touched you. Hurt you. And I wasn't there to stop it. Do you know what that felt like?"
His tone dropped into a whisper. "It felt like my whole world died. But then... I realized I could still fix it. I could still make them pay. One by one. Slow. Creative. I'd give you justice... and then, maybe you'd finally see me."
His smile cracked wider, showing teeth. "But he ruined it."
His eyes shot back to Sebastian. "He started sniffing around. Poking where he didn't belong. And then..." Zaire's voice darkened. "...he found it."
****
The night was quiet, except for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the house.
Sebastian sat in the cramped living room of Zaire's foster parents' home, waiting. He'd come here on instinct — after what he'd seen at the precinct.
Hallowe hadn't noticed him lingering by the open file on the desk. Two photos — Andrew's and Hannah's — side by side. Same cause of death listed under each name: Angel's Trumpet poisoning. A rare toxin, usually fatal within hours.
Sebastian had brushed it off the first time — back when he'd spotted dried yellow petals in Zaire's duffel bag. But now...
He tapped his foot, restless.
"Zaire's out," the foster mother had said. "You can wait in his room if you like."
Big mistake.
Sebastian walked into the small, dimly lit room. It smelled faintly of cologne and something floral.
His eyes scanned the space — unmade bed, neat row of books, a locked box under the dresser. But then he noticed it.
A sliver of pale yellow sticking out from between the pages of a worn leather diary on the desk.
He pulled it open.
A pressed Angel's Trumpet petal lay flattened against a page covered in cramped handwriting — diagrams, numbers, instructions.
How to extract toxin. Concentrate into paste. Conceal in liquid.
Sebastian's blood went cold.
*****
I felt my stomach twist.
Zaire was still smiling. "He found my recipe. My little... hobby. Thought he could play detective. That's when I knew — he wasn't just in my way. He was a threat. And threats..." His head tilted, his voice almost sing-song. "...don't get to breathe for long."
He leaned closer until his forehead almost touched mine.
"But you, Mia... you're not a threat. You're the reason I started all of this. And when it's over—" he grinned, eyes gleaming, "—you'll finally be mine."