Innocent Until Found Dead

Chapter Twelve

"You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending." —C.S. Lewis

The car hummed beneath Quinn, the steady rhythm of the tires on the asphalt lulling her into a hazy state of observation. She curled against the passenger seat door, her head resting on the cool glass of the window as she stared out at the ever-changing landscape. North Carolina's rolling hills and familiar patchwork fields were slipping further behind with every mile. Quinn had cried herself dry hours ago, and now the dull ache behind her eyes was her only companion.

The move felt surreal, like she was drifting through a dream she couldn't wake up from. Her parents were gone. Her childhood home was gone. Everything she knew—everything that rooted her—was packed into the truck, following them at a steady pace. Even though she tried not to look back, she couldn't stop thinking about the life she was leaving behind.

"Do you need to stop for anything?" Laura's voice broke through the hum of the car, soft but tinged with concern.

Quinn shook her head, still watching the passing trees. "No. I'm fine."

They hadn't spoken much since leaving that morning. Laura had tried to fill the silence with small talk—sharing stories about work, recounting vague memories of Riverford—but Quinn could barely muster a response. It felt like she was drowning under the weight of everything, and conversation only tightened the pressure in her chest. What made it worse was Laura's silence about the Devil's Influencer. It was as if she was trying to paint their move as a choice, not the desperate escape it really was.

Her aunt's gaze flicked toward her, but she didn't press. Instead, she reached for the radio dial, twisting it until a soft, bluesy tune filled the space. The melancholy notes felt fitting, and Quinn let the music blend with the scenery outside. She let her mind wander.

The further north they traveled, the greener everything seemed to become. The forests were denser here, the trees older and closer together, their trunks thick with moss. She spotted a deer standing at the edge of a clearing, and its head tilted toward the sound of the car. A moment later, it disappeared into the shadows.

"This place looks different," Quinn murmured, breaking her own silence.

Laura glanced at her. "It does, doesn't it? Connecticut has a lot more nature. Riverford's even more secluded. As I said, it's practically in the middle of nowhere. But I think you'll like it." She smiled gently. "It's peaceful."

Quinn wasn't sure she wanted peace. Peace felt hollow, too quiet. But she didn't say that. Instead, she just nodded and returned to her view of the woods.

They stopped halfway at a roadside diner, the kind of place that smelled like fried food and coffee the moment you stepped inside. The neon "Open" sign buzzed faintly in the window, and a small bell jingled as they pushed through the door. The air was warm and thick with the scent of bacon grease.

Quinn followed Laura to a booth by the window, slumping into the seat across from her. A waitress appeared almost immediately, her cheerful demeanor a sharp contrast to Quinn's mood. Laura ordered coffee and a grilled cheese; Quinn just asked for water. She wasn't hungry.

As they waited, Quinn toyed with the straw wrapper on the table, twisting it into knots. Laura sipped her coffee, watching her with a patient expression.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Laura asked after a long pause.

Quinn's fingers froze mid-twist. She didn't look up. "What's there to talk about?"

"You're going through a lot, Quinn. More than most people your age should ever have to deal with. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

"I'm not overwhelmed." The lie felt heavy in her mouth, but she said it anyway. She focused on the wrapper, pulling it apart until it shredded into tiny pieces.