The fog seemed heavier when Mara stepped outside the lighthouse, as if it were holding the cliff hostage. Salt bit the air. Wind tugged at her coat. She stood completely still, letting the cold soak into her bones until her pulse slowed enough to think.
The one who lied to her first.
Mayor Ruth Kincaid.
Mara replayed the conversation in the mayor's office. The careful words. The measured pauses. The too-smooth alibi.
But if Kincaid was the answer… why send clues? Why force Mara to chase shadows instead of simply eliminating her like Elias?
Unless the killer wasn't the mayor.
Unless someone wanted her to think it was.
A deeper chill slid down Mara's spine.
A manipulation.
A setup.
A story.
And someone was writing it around her piece by piece.
She moved quickly down the path toward her car. Fog curled between the trees, swallowing the sound of her footsteps. As she reached for the door handle, her phone vibrated again.
Not a text.
A call.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
She hesitated, then answered. "This is Detective Ellison."
Static hissed.
A faint breath.
Then a man's voice, distorted—like someone speaking from inside a metal room.
"You're wandering off-script, Detective."
Mara's grip tightened on the phone. "Show yourself. Now."
"You're following the wrong character."
A pause.
"Again."
Mara stiffened.
Again.
"Is this about Ruth Stone?" she demanded.
A soft chuckle.
Not mocking—almost sad.
"She was the only one who understood how stories live beyond the page."
"Where is Caleb?" Mara snapped.
The voice went quiet.
Then:
"Find the lie you believed first. The one that built the rest."
Mara's breath caught. "What lie?"
But the line went dead.
A sharp, empty tone buzzed against her ear.
She slammed the phone shut and leaned against the car, heart racing. The fog seemed to pulse around her like something breathing.
If not the mayor… then who?
What lie had she believed at the start?
She pushed off the car, mind racing through every step since the victim at the lighthouse.
Footprints.
The torn book page.
The staged pose.
Caleb's involvement.
But Caleb hadn't lied. He had been terrified. Broken. Dragged into something he never wanted.
Elias had lied by omission—but not first.
The mayor had lied—but not first.
Mara closed her eyes, forcing herself back to the beginning.
The first person she'd spoken to that morning.
Officer Ray Delgado.
He'd been the first on scene.
He'd shown her the evidence bag.
He'd reported the witness seeing a man by the railing.
Her eyes snapped open.
Ray.
He had given her the book page.
He had mentioned the witness.
He had told her the scene was clear.
He had—
Her stomach dropped.
Ray Delgado had been the only one alone with the body before anyone else arrived.
Her phone buzzed again, jolting her.
A new text.
Good. You're remembering.
Mara read it twice, cold spreading through her chest.
Look deeper. Ray wasn't your first lie.
She froze.
Then who?
Her mind raced.
Someone she trusted.
Someone who had guided her from the beginning.
Someone who had been with her through the old case.
Someone who had seen every detail the moment she stepped into Greyharbor.
A voice echoed in her memory—soft, warm, familiar:
"Mara, you need to hear this."
Evelyn.
Her closest confidante.
Her medical examiner.
Her friend.
The one person who had never—not once—given Mara a reason to doubt her.
Until now.
A sharp, twisting ache filled her chest.
No.
Not Evelyn.
Evelyn hadn't lied—
Except—
Mara suddenly remembered the girl's autopsy report. The strange calm with which Evelyn had delivered the news. The oddly quick access to the old photo paper. The familiarity with the missing sister's case.
And the most damning detail—
Evelyn arrived at the pier minutes after Elias vanished.
Too fast.
Much too fast.
Mara felt the truth settle on her like a weight she didn't want to carry.
The first lie wasn't spoken.
It was a lie she believed.
That Evelyn Hart had always been on her side.
Her phone buzzed again.
A final message.
Now you understand.
Come alone.
Evelyn's house.
Before the next chapter ends.
Mara's throat tightened.
Because the killer hadn't taken Caleb just to torment a writer.
He'd taken him to break the only anchor Mara had left.
She slid into her car and started the engine, fog swirling around the headlights like ghostly fingers.
Whoever this man was—the voice, the shadow, the storyteller behind the murders—
he wanted Mara to confront Evelyn.
To see the truth.
To see the betrayal.
Mara pressed her foot to the accelerator.
Her only friend in Greyharbor might be the killer's next victim.
Or worse—
she might not be a victim at all.