⸻ ❛𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒!❜
Rory Hargrove is obsessed to uncover the truth behind Barbara Holland's disappearance, while facing her brother's enemy and buried secrets from...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE COLD MORNING BREEZE SLIPPED THROUGH the crack in the open window, rustling the old translucent white curtains and carrying the scent of damp earth into the room. The pastel-green walls, already plastered with posters of The Beatles and Back to the Future, seemed to close in on the chaos below.
It looked as if a hurricane had swept through. A small wooden desk, cluttered with potted plants, was barely visible beneath a cassette player, a record player, and an explosion of notebooks and sketches. Unpinned band posters littered the floor, tangled with crumpled clothes, paperbacks, and scattered cassette tapes.
The single bed was no exception to the disorder, its sheets and blankets half-dragged to the floor. Rory lay tangled in them, dead to the world—until the alarm clock on the nightstand, just beneath the window, shattered the silence.
A shrill ring. A violent vibration.
"Shit!" she whispered, jolting awake. The shock sent her heart pounding as she nearly tumbled out of bed. Dazed, she squinted at the glowing red numbers on the clock, her breath still uneven.
7:45 AM.
Her stomach dropped.
She had set the alarm wrong.
Damn it.
With a groan, she flopped back onto the pillow, muffling a scream that came out more like a defeated sigh. Sleep still clung to her, heavy and unforgiving, but she couldn't afford to indulge. Today wasn't just any day—it was the first day. At a new school.
That realization hit like a bucket of ice water.
Forcing herself upright, Rory kicked off the blankets and wrapped her arms around her shivering frame as she hurried to shut the window. The crisp morning air carried the lingering scent of fresh paint—a reminder of the weekend she had spent covering the walls herself. She scratched her nose, the bitter chemical smell still clinging stubbornly to the room.
Moving on autopilot, she tiptoed around the mess, scooping up a few stray items before pulling on a clean green blouse and high-waisted jeans. Her fingers instinctively reached for the delicate blue butterfly pendant hanging from her neck—the one her mother had given her when she was little.
The house was eerily quiet as she shuffled into the kitchen. A quick breakfast—oatmeal, a bite of an apple. If no one else was up yet, they were all going to be late. Again.
Crossing the narrow hallway to the shared bathroom to brush her teeth, she pushed open the door to find Billy already there, spritzing himself with cologne as if he were trying to drown in it, including his pants at the crotch.
