Mara didn't remember the drive to Evelyn's house—only the blur of fog swallowing the road and the pounding of her pulse breaking through the silence. Her hands trembled on the wheel, a trembling she forced herself to ignore.
Not Evelyn. Please, not her…
The thought repeated until it cut like glass.
The closer she got, the worse the nausea crawled up her throat, because she wasn't driving toward a suspect.
She was driving toward the one person who had held her together through the worst year of her life.
The one person she'd allowed behind her armor.
The one person she wasn't sure she could live without.
When she pulled up to Evelyn Hart's house—a white cottage with a navy-blue door, warm light glowing through kitchen windows—Mara almost wanted to turn the engine back on and leave.
Everything looked normal.
Peaceful.
Safe.
As if she were about to walk into a lie she desperately needed to be true.
She stepped out and shut the car door quietly, the sound barely rising above the wind. The porch light flickered in the fog's damp breath. Mara approached slowly, heart punching hard in her chest.
She knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Her knuckles shook by the third.
Footsteps approached from inside.
Then the door opened.
And Evelyn stood there.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, eyes soft with warm surprise—as if nothing in the world was wrong.
"Mara?" Evelyn's voice was gentle, concerned. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Mara felt the words choke in her throat.
Because Evelyn's voice—God, that voice—was the one thing that could unravel her completely. Soft, steady, familiar. A voice that had talked Mara through panic attacks, through nightmares, through guilt she couldn't confess to anyone else.
A voice she didn't want to lose.
But the texts.
The clues.
The speed at the pier.
The lies she hadn't questioned.
They were all screaming at her now.
"I need to talk to you," Mara managed. "Inside."
Evelyn nodded and stepped aside, worry settling into her features.
"What happened?"
Mara entered. The house smelled like peppermint tea and lavender—Evelyn's usual scent. It almost made Mara want to collapse into her arms and pretend none of this was real.
Evelyn shut the door behind her.
Then she touched Mara's arm.
And Mara flinched.
Evelyn froze.
"Mara… what's wrong?"
Mara stepped back. "Where were you this morning?"
"W–what?" Evelyn blinked. "I told you. I came in early. The autopsy—"
"You got to the pier too fast," Mara snapped. "Ten minutes after I called. Ten minutes, Evelyn! You live across town. That's impossible."
"I happened to be near—"
"Don't lie to me." Mara's voice cracked.
Silence filled the room—heavy, suffocating.
Evelyn's face shifted, hurt flickering through her eyes before she masked it.
"Mara… you're shaking. You're not well. Sit down. Please."
"No."
Mara's voice was raw, breaking on the edges.
"I need you to tell me the truth."
Evelyn took a slow breath, her hands trembling slightly.
"What truth do you think I'm hiding?"
Mara hesitated—because this was the moment.
This was where everything could fracture beyond repair.
"The killer contacted me," she said finally. "He said I believed a lie from the start. And that lie was you."
Evelyn's eyes widened—not with guilt, but with something far more devastating.
Hurt.
"Mara…" she whispered. "You think I would hurt you? After everything we've—after everything you've trusted me with?"
"Then explain the pier," Mara demanded, voice cracking again. "Explain how you had Ruth Stone's photo paper before we even confirmed the victim's age. Explain why—why someone is using you and Caleb and everyone around us to get to me!"
Evelyn's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"Mara. Listen to yourself. You're exhausted. You haven't slept. You're being played."
"Am I?" Mara whispered.
"Yes!" Evelyn's eyes glistened, breath unsteady. "You're chasing ghosts and turning them into monsters. You're pushing me away because you're scared—and I get it, I do—but I'm not the enemy."
Mara felt tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back viciously.
She couldn't unravel now. Not here. Not in front of her.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the photo she found in the lighthouse basement—Ruth Stone tied to a chair, staring into the camera in terror.
"I found this," Mara said, her voice barely holding together. "Under the lighthouse. Where you knew I would go."
Evelyn's breath hitched.
For a moment, Mara saw something crack in her expression—shock, recognition, something she didn't have time to decipher—because a sudden sound shattered the silence:
A floorboard creaked.
Deep inside the house.
Behind closed hallway doors.
Evelyn's eyes widened in sudden terror.
Not guilt.
Terror.
"Mara," she whispered urgently, "you need to leave. Right now."
Mara stepped back, hand dropping to her weapon.
"Who's here?"
Evelyn grabbed her arm, clutching hard.
"Mara, listen to me. He's not who you think he is. You have to—"
The lights went out.
Total darkness.
Mara yanked her gun free.
Evelyn's grip tightened as footsteps echoed from the end of the hall—slow, steady, deliberate.
Then a man's voice drifted through the house.
The same voice from the phone.
Calm. Patient.
Almost… pleased.
"Detective Ellison."
A shape moved in the darkness.
"You finally made it home."
Mara froze where she stood.
Because she knew that voice.
She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.
And the truth—
the truth she had buried for years—
the truth she was never meant to face—
finally rose up to meet her.