When nothing goes right, turn left

What was left unsaid

Veronica stared at the phone screen, William's name glowing like something she wasn't sure she wanted to touch. 

She had let his call go unanswered before. Let him fade into the background while she drowned in secrets. 

But now? 

Now, she couldn't. 

Her thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before she pressed accept. 

"Veronica?" His voice came through—low, uncertain, familiar. 

She swallowed hard. "Yeah. It's me." 

Silence stretched for a beat too long. 

Then— 

"I didn't think you'd answer."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Neither did I." 

William exhaled, and she could hear the weight in it. 

"Listen, I know I left things messy. I know you probably hate me."

Veronica didn't respond. She wasn't sure what she felt anymore. 

"But I need to talk to you. Not just about us,"William continued. "About something else. Something you need to know."

Her grip on the phone tightened. "What are you talking about? 

There was hesitation on his end—too much hesitation. 

"Smith," he finally said. "He wasn't just some random guy, Veronica. He was looking for me before he died." 

The floor beneath her might as well have dropped out. 

'What?' she whispered. 

"I don't know why yet," William admitted. "But whatever he was trying to find—it led him straight to me." 

Veronica's pulse pounded. 

Smith had been looking for someone. But not Hilary. 

William.

And now, Veronica wasn't sure who she could trust anymore.

Veronica stepped into the dim glow of the café, heart hammering in her chest. She spotted William instantly—sitting in the back, head bowed slightly, fingers tapping absently against his cup.

The sight of him knocked the air from her lungs.

He was the same. And not the same at all.

She forced herself to move forward, each step heavier than it should have been. When she slid into the chair across from him, he finally looked up.

Silence stretched between them.

"You look good,"he said, voice hesitant, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to say it.

Veronica exhaled. "Cut the crap, William."

He flinched slightly—but then smirked like she'd said something he expected.

"Right. Straight to it."

"Tell me about Smith."

William leaned back, studying her. "You really don't want to start with 'how have you been?'"

Veronica's fingers curled into fists. "How you've been doesn't matter right now."

Something flickered in his expression—"hurt? Annoyance?" But he let it go, reaching into his jacket.

He pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the table.

"This is what he left behind. Before he died."

Veronica hesitated before picking it up.

Her pulse stalled.

It wasn't just notes about the investigation.

It was her name.

Circled. Underlined .

And a question scrawled beneath it.

"Why is she connected?"

Veronica's blood ran cold.

Smith had been investigating her.