The traffic roars overhead—ROOOAR—oblivious, relentless, as if the world hasn't cracked open beneath it.
Red and blue lights strobe across the embankment—SWEEP SWEEP—painting Serafin's face in sharp color. He doesn't move. Neither do I.
Because standing ten feet away from us, hands raised just enough to look cooperative—
Is Declan.
My mouth goes dry.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I whisper.
Declan tilts his head, a familiar, infuriating gesture. "Caoimhe. Still dramatic, I see."
My hands curl into fists. "You shouldn't be here."
"I could say the same," he replies calmly, glancing at the officers spreading out—CRUNCH CRUNCH—hands near their weapons.
Serafin steps forward, voice sharp. "You know him?"
"I know him," I say, every word tasting like rust. "He's the reason I left."
Declan smiles faintly. "That's not how I remember it."
A police officer approaches—BOOTSTEPS—authoritative, wary. "Everyone stay where you are."
Declan raises his hands higher. "Officer, thank God you're here. These two assaulted me. I was trying to help."
I laugh, sharp and hysterical. "Help? You hunted me through the woods."
He looks genuinely wounded. "Caoimhe, this is exactly what I warned them about."
Serafin turns to me. "Warned who?"
"Them," Declan says smoothly. "The police. The lawyers. Everyone who would listen. She's unstable. Always has been."
My chest tightens painfully. "You lying bastard."
An officer looks between us. "Ma'am, we're going to need you to calm down."
"No," I snap. "You're going to need to listen."
Declan sighs, like I'm exhausting him. "See? This is what I mean."
The wind kicks up—WHOOSH—carrying the smell of exhaust and wet earth. Somewhere behind us, a radio crackles—STATIC—indistinct voices overlapping.
Serafin steps closer to me, grounding. "She's been targeted all night. We have evidence."
Declan chuckles softly. "Evidence? Or paranoia?"
My heart pounds—THUD THUD—anger burning hotter than fear now. "You sent those messages."
Declan's eyebrows lift. "Messages?"
"Don't," I snarl. "I know your fucking phrasing. You always liked to sound reasonable while you destroyed people."
An officer holds up a hand. "Enough. Both of you."
I turn on him. "He threatened me eight years ago. He's been manipulating everything since."
Declan shakes his head sadly. "Caoimhe, you left town after the accident. You spiraled. You blamed me because it was easier than facing what you did."
The words hit like a slap.
Serafin stiffens. "What accident?"
I swallow hard, pulse roaring in my ears. "He's twisting it."
"Am I?" Declan asks gently. "Tell them. Tell them what really happened."
Traffic thunders overhead—ROAR—a truck blasting its horn—HONK—and I feel suddenly exposed, standing under lights with nowhere left to hide.
An officer gestures toward me. "Ma'am?"
I look at Serafin. His expression is steady, but his eyes search mine. "Caoimhe," he says quietly. "What happened?"
My throat tightens. "There was a fire. Years ago. At the marina warehouse."
Declan nods. "She was there."
"I was there," I admit. "But I didn't start it."
"You ran," he counters. "You let people think—"
"I ran because you told me to," I snap. "You said you'd handle it. You said if I talked, it would destroy my family."
Declan's smile fades for the first time. "I said you needed time."
"You said you'd ruin me," I correct. "And you did."
An officer frowns. "We have records of that fire. It was ruled accidental."
Declan shrugs. "Because it was."
I shake my head violently. "You altered statements. You paid people off. You made me the unstable witness so no one would listen."
The radio squawks—STATIC—"Unit Four, suspect in custody near weigh station."
Declan's jaw tightens just slightly.
Serafin notices. "You didn't expect them to catch your people."
Declan's gaze flicks to him. "You should've stayed out of this."
Serafin smiles coldly. "Funny. I was thinking the same."
One of the officers steps forward. "Sir, we're going to need you to come with us."
Declan hesitates—just a fraction too long.
"On what grounds?" he asks.
"On the grounds that multiple witnesses put you at the scene of an armed pursuit," the officer replies. "And we have messages traced to your devices."
My breath catches. "You traced them?"
The officer nods. "Barely. But yes."
Declan exhales slowly, composure cracking at the edges. "Caoimhe," he says quietly. "If you keep pushing this, everything comes out. Including your part."
I meet his gaze, heart pounding. "Good."
Serafin's hand tightens around mine.
Declan studies me for a long moment, then smiles again—sharp, knowing. "You really think the truth will save you?"
Before I can answer, shouting erupts behind us—YELLING—boots pounding—THUMP THUMP—another officer running toward the group.
"Gun!" someone shouts.
Everything explodes at once.
"Down!" Serafin yells, shoving me aside.
A gunshot cracks—BANG!—so loud it feels like my skull splits open. I hit the ground hard—THUD—hands scraping asphalt.
People scream—SCREAMS—officers shout commands—YELLING—sirens blare—WEE-OO WEE-OO—
I look up just in time to see Declan move.
Not away.
Toward me.
And in that split second, I realize something terrifying.
This was never about silencing me.
It was about controlling how the story ends.
And he's not done yet.