Brendon lay on his small, narrow bed, a single flickering lamp casting soft amber light across his apartment. Outside, the sounds of Ridgecliff drifted in through the half-open window—distant engines, murmured conversations, a siren echoing into the distance. But within the four walls of his apartment, the world was still.
Silent.
He held the note in one hand, the paper slightly crinkled from being folded and unfolded too many times. He'd read it so often he could recite it by heart. But he kept reading it anyway, as if the ink might shift on the page and reveal something new. Something that happens in movies.
Brendon,
If you're reading this, then I've made the right choice.
I can't talk to you openly. It's too dangerous now. They're watching—everyone.
Please don't tell anyone you found this. Not even your closest.
Call me. It's important.
—D.
"D," he muttered under his breath. "Who the hell are you?"
He turned to the small table by his bed, where his phone sat. The number on the note hadn't been saved, hadn't been dialed. Yet.
He picked up the phone.
Paused.
Thought.
And then pressed the digits one by one, slowly, carefully. He didn't enable location scrambling or call masking—no tech interference. Just a straight call, raw and exposed. If "D" had gone through all this trouble, maybe she wanted it that way.
He leaned back against the headboard, held the phone to his ear.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—click.
A soft voice greeted him on the other end. Feminine, calm, almost playful.
"I knew you would find it out."
Brendon's jaw tensed. "Why risk yourself like this? You know we can track you back via this call, right?"
There was a soft laugh on the other side. A knowing, light chuckle that dripped with confidence.
"But you didn't. Have you?"
He narrowed his eyes. "How are you so certain?"
"Because that's what your nature is." Her tone was now slightly teasing. "You want to make sure this note is real, don't you? That I'm real. That there's a truth behind these words before you act. You always double-check your facts. That's what makes you different from the rest."
Brendon's breath caught. This wasn't a guess. This wasn't a lucky shot in the dark. She knew him.
Deeply.
Intimately.
This wasn't some amateur pulling strings.
He sat up straighter. "You're awfully familiar with me for someone I've never met."
"Oh, we've met," she said, a smirk audible in her voice. "Maybe face to face too, maybe not in a way you'd remember. But I've seen how you work. I've seen how you hesitate when you need to, how you hold back when others would break. I've been watching you longer than you know."
His skin chilled.
He swallowed hard. "Alright. So what do you want to tell me? This isn't just a social call."
"Still sharp," she said with mock admiration. "You haven't lost your edge. That's good. Because you'll need it soon."
Brendon exhaled. "Enough riddles. What is it?"
There was a pause. A brief moment where all he could hear was her quiet breathing.
Then her voice shifted—more serious. Controlled.
"Don't trust your mayor."
Brendon's brow furrowed. "Mayor Guerio?"
"He's hiding something. Something big. Something that ties this entire mess together—Amelia, the cult, the disappearances. He's not clean, Brendon. Not by a long shot."
Brendon leaned forward, gripping the phone tighter. "If you have proof—"
"I don't. Not in a way I can show. Not yet. But listen to your instincts. That's why I left you the note and not someone else. You've been close to him. Too close. He's always one step ahead of everyone, right?"
Brendon was silent.
He had felt something off about Guerio. Ever since their encounter at the docks. The polished smile. The convenient trip to France. Too perfectly timed.
"Why me?" he asked quietly. "Why not the Chief? Or Robert? Why not send this through official channels?"
She hesitated.
"Because you're the only one who hasn't been bought yet."
That hit him like a punch to the chest.
"Brendon," her voice softened now, like a whisper through wind. "Please… look into Lagooncrest Isle again. Don't let the trail go cold. You saw what was there. You felt it. I know you did."
Brendon closed his eyes. Images flashed behind his lids—the damp, echoing caves, the haunting humming, Amelia's trembling hands in cuffs. The terrified look in Carlos's eyes. The soft pulse of something darker, something ancient and unsaid.
"I saw it," he whispered.
"Then you know."
And just like that, the line went dead.
No click. No beep. Just silence.
Brendon stared at the screen for a long time. The number was still there. But he knew it wouldn't work if he called back.
He let the phone fall onto the bed beside him.
Everything had just changed again.
There was a force operating underneath all this. Something deeper than just a runaway girl or a corrupt cult. The threads weren't just tangled—they were wrapped around Ridgecliff like a vice.
And Mayor Guerio was right in the middle.
The night had fallen fully now. The streetlights outside flickered to life, bathing the room in an orange hue. In the distance, thunder rolled—low and distant.
Brendon leaned back against the headboard once more.
He didn't know who "D" was.
But he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't done with Lagooncrest Isle.
Not even close.