⸻ ❛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...
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STRANGELY, THAT MORNING, THE SUNLIGHT DIDN'T COME IN THROUGHT THE CRACK in the window between the curtains. Aura rubbed her eyes, still tangled in a maze of sheets. With great effort, she lifted one eyelid to peek at the glowing numbers on the clock.
Ten minutes until her shift started.
"Shit!" she yelled, leaping out of bed, a wave of dizziness hitting her from the sudden movement. She quickly threw on her swimsuit to save time later—no need for a stop at the locker room—and slipped on her comfortable denim overalls.
She was insanely late. And to make matters worse, she didn't have Steve's car that day, which meant she'd have to bike all the way there. And after her shift, she'd be racing to Starcourt Mall to keep up with the mystery of the secret Russian spy code—the very thing that had robbed her of sleep last night. She'd spent hours tossing and turning, her mind obsessively piecing together different possibilities and meanings for that cryptic phrase.
Could it be about something inside the mall? A mission unfolding right under their noses? Could it have ties to the lab? Or was it all just a joke?
As she pulled back the curtains, she realized she might not even make it to work. The once-clear sky was now smothered in thick, stormy clouds, heavy with the promise of rain. But there was always some lunatic willing to swim in a downpour.
Yet another terrible day to be without Steve's car.
She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs, and flung her bedroom door open.
Heavy metal blasted from Billy's room. Well, at least he was finally at home. She waited for him to come home last night, but there was no sign of him. Now, she could have that long-overdue conversation about the accident.
She inhaled deeply, steeling herself. He wasn't slipping away this time.
But the moment she pushed open his door, the music hit her like a wall—louder, harsher—along with a fresh wave of disappointment.
The room was a disaster. Just like the rest of the house, as usual. She had gotten home late the night before, Max hadn't been around, and clearly, no one else had bothered to clean up.
Dead cigarettes scattered across surfaces, dirty laundry piled in heaps, empty beer cans rolling along the floor.
But no sign of Billy.
She planted her hands on her hips, exhaling sharply, a stinging sensation creeping into her eyes. Worry clawed at her chest. She bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was for Billy to drown himself in stress and pain, to keep running from his emotions. He had always been intense—hot-tempered, passionate, restless. And Rory had always been there to help balance him, to act as the bridge between his heart and his mind.
