The note echoed in her head like a scream trapped in a cathedral.
He didn't die in the fire.
It was impossible. And yet, Arden couldn't stop shaking.
Inside Cole's car, the world outside blurred into shadows as he drove them into silence. The photo sat between them, that message scrawled on its back like a wound: raw, undeniable.
"He didn't die in the fire," she whispered again, almost hoping it would change if she said it aloud.
Cole didn't respond at first. He was too focused, too still. "What if he didn't?" he finally said. "What if someone else died that night... and Jamie disappeared?"
The idea turned her blood cold.
"But the body…" she started.
'Was identified by a necklace," Cole said, voice low. "Not dental records. Not DNA. Just scorched silver."
She closed her eyes.
Jamie's necklace. Their mother's initials etched into it. Arden had given it to him the night before the fire. He hadn't wanted it. Said he didn't need luck.
But he'd worn it anyway.
Had someone else worn it for him?
---
Hours later, they arrived at the old house where her mother's things had been stored—dust-coated and untouched since the funeral. She hadn't been back since.
Arden went straight to the attic.
She pulled open a box labeled Jamie and found it: his battered journal, full of lyrics and sketches, pages soaked with the voice she thought she'd lost forever.
Her fingers trembled as she flipped through it.
One entry stood out. A week before the fire:
> He's watching. He knows. But he won't find the cabin. Not unless Cole tells him. I think he suspects I've made copies. I left her a trail. If she follows it, maybe one day she'll know.
Arden stared at the page. Her voice came out cracked.
"He left me a trail."
Cole moved closer. "The cabin?"
She nodded. "Our parents used to take us up north in the summers. Jamie and I used to pretend it was our own little kingdom. After they died, we never went back.'
"And Daniel?" Cole asked.
She shook her head. "He never knew about it."
---
They drove through the night, into the mountains. The air grew colder, crisper, as the road narrowed into gravel.
Moonlight guided them through the trees until the cabin appeared, half-sunken into the earth, the wood gray with age.
But someone had been here.
The door was ajar.
Inside, the air was thick with presence—dust, warmth, the faintest hint of wood smoke.
On the cot lay a folded blanket. Next to it: an empty mug and a worn photograph. Arden picked it up with shaking hands.
It was of her and Jamie, ages ago, standing in the cabin doorway, laughing.
There was something scribbled on the back in her brother's unmistakable hand:
> You made it. But now you have to decide—what truth are you really ready for?
Cole crouched by the fireplace. "It's still warm."
On the wall, carved into the wood, was a final message.
Not for her.
For him.
> You shouldn't have come, Cole Hart.
Arden turned to Cole, heart slamming in her chest.
"You never told me he mentioned you."
Cole's face was pale in the moonlight. "Because I didn't think it mattered."
But it did.
Because now she had to ask herself the one question she never imagined:
Had Cole known more all along?
Arden took a slow step back.
"Why would Jamie carve your name into the wall?"
Cole didn't answer at first. His eyes lingered on the fireplace, but his silence said more than words could.
"You said you didn't know," she whispered. "You said you weren't there the night of the fire—"
"I wasn't," he said quickly. "Not at the house."
"But you were somewhere."
Cole stood, too fast. "We're wasting time. If Jamie's alive—"
"No," she snapped. "We're not skipping this."
She held up the photo again. Her hand no longer shook. "Why would he leave a warning for you? Why here?"
Cole swallowed hard. "Because I lied to him."
The words were soft. Almost too soft.
Arden froze.
"I didn't mean to," he continued. "But Daniel approached me before the fire. He asked questions—about Jamie, about what he was hiding. I thought it was paranoia. I didn't know what he was planning."
"You told Daniel something."
Cole nodded. Shame carved lines into his face. "I told him about the journal."
The room chilled around them. The journal—where Jamie kept notes, sketches, possible evidence.
"You led Daniel straight to him."
"I didn't know," he repeated. "I swear to you, Arden—I thought I was protecting both of you. Daniel said if I helped him get rid of whatever Jamie was hiding, he'd leave you alone."
Her jaw clenched. "And you believed him?"
Cole met her eyes then, and in them she saw the brokenness of a man who had chosen the wrong side once—and couldn't forgive himself for it.
"I was nineteen. And afraid."
"You should've been afraid of me," she hissed.
A gust of wind slammed the cabin door shut behind them. The sound rang like a gunshot in the woods.
They both turned.
Outside, a branch cracked.
Arden stepped to the window.
In the dark, just beyond the clearing, a shadow moved.
Watching.
Then vanished.
She turned back, pulse racing. "We're not alone."
Cole reached for her hand. "We need to go."
But Arden didn't move.
She stared again at Jamie's words carved into the wall.
You shouldn't have come, Cole Hart.
Because Jamie hadn't just been hiding from Daniel.
He'd been hiding from both of them.
And maybe the fire that destroyed everything wasn't just meant to erase evidence.
Maybe it was meant to erase witnesses.
The silence that followed was not empty—it pulsed.
The figure in the woods had moved like it knew them. Like it had been waiting.
Arden's breath quickened. "That shadow—did you see it?"
Cole stepped beside her, nodding once. "Too tall for an animal. Didn't run. It watched."
Arden grabbed the journal and the photo. "We can't stay here."
They rushed outside, but the woods were still again, the silence now suffocating. The leaves didn't even rustle. Arden scanned the trees, her flashlight cutting into the dark like a blade. Nothing.
Until she stepped into the clearing and her foot hit something solid.
She looked down.
A plastic-wrapped package, half-buried beneath leaves. She crouched and pulled it free, peeling back the wrap.
Inside: a flash drive. Labeled in Jamie's handwriting.
> "Play if I'm gone."
Arden's hands turned to ice.
Cole came up behind her. "What is it?"
She showed him, and for the first time since she'd known him, Cole looked afraid.
"We need to see what's on it," he said.
---
Back at the motel, the laptop buzzed to life. Arden sat on the edge of the bed as the screen loaded.
A single file.
She clicked it.
Jamie's face appeared—pale, unshaven, eyes sunken. He looked straight into the camera like he saw them.
> "If you're watching this, I'm either dead… or I've made you think I am."
Arden clutched the sheets.
> "Daniel knew. Long before the fire. He knew I had the names, the photos, the accounts. He said no one would believe me. And then… Cole gave him what he needed."
Arden's breath hitched.
> "But I don't blame him. Not really. Fear makes traitors of us all. But if you've found this, Arden… I left something behind. Something Daniel can't destroy. Go to the place Dad taught me how to lie."
The screen went black.
Arden sat in stunned silence.
"Where Dad taught me how to lie," she murmured. "What does that mean?"
Cole was already on his feet. "Think. Anywhere specific? A childhood hiding place?"
Her mind raced. Jamie had been clever. Coded. Emotional. But their dad—he was a card player. He'd taught them how to bluff, how to read faces.
Suddenly it hit her.
"The old poker shed," she whispered. "By the lake. Our father used to say lying was just 'good acting with stakes.' He taught us to play cards there. Taught Jamie everything about strategy."
Cole nodded slowly. "That's the next move."
But Arden wasn't looking at him anymore.
Her eyes were locked on the window.
Because out in the parking lot, beneath the flickering motel sign—
The same shadow stood watching.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Waiting.
Arden didn't scream. She couldn't.
Her voice locked in her throat as her eyes fixed on the figure in the parking lot. It stood like it had all the time in the world. Like it had no reason to hide.
Cole followed her gaze. 'Get in the bathroom," he said, his voice hardening, protective instincts kicking in. "No lights."
"But—"
"I'll handle it."
He grabbed the motel room's old revolver from his duffel—a weapon Arden hadn't even known he carried. She hesitated, but the look on his face told her this wasn't the first time he'd needed it.
Arden backed into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
She crouched near the tub, clutching Jamie's journal, the flash drive, and her phone. Her hands trembled.
A soft knock echoed—three slow raps on the door to the motel room.
Not loud. Not aggressive. Just deliberate.
She strained to hear. The click of the door handle. Cole's footsteps.
A long pause.
Then—his voice, low and sharp: "What the hell are you doing here?"
Another voice replied. Male. Calm.
"You weren't supposed to bring her.'
Arden's heart stopped.
It wasn't Daniel. But the voice was familiar.
She leaned toward the door, inching it open just enough.
The man standing there wore a black coat, boots caked in pine needles. He had a scar slicing down his jaw. His eyes were cold.
"I said I'd handle it," he said. "You weren't supposed to bring her this far."
Cole looked furious. "She found the trail. I couldn't stop her."
The man stepped closer. "Then end it. Before she gets to the lake."
Something icy flooded Arden's chest.
Cole wasn't shocked. He wasn't denying.
He'd known this man. All along.
He'd brought her here—for Jamie. For answers. But maybe also… to control what she learned.
Her hand clamped over her mouth.
Outside, Cole turned toward the bathroom.
For a second, she thought he'd expose her.
But instead, he said, "She's not going to stop now."
The man nodded slowly. "Then she dies with him."
---
Arden waited until the voices faded. She didn't dare breathe until the sound of boots crunching gravel disappeared entirely.
When she emerged, the room was empty.
Cole was gone.
And so was the gun.
She didn't waste time.
She snatched the keys, shoved the flash drive and journal into her coat, and ran.
Her phone buzzed—one new text.
No name. Just a number she didn't recognize.
> Don't trust him. Meet me at the lake. Midnight. Come alone.
Below it, a location pin.
And three words.
> —Jamie. I'm alive.