NCT Ten | Mafia

Questions.

Layla's P.O.V

He makes me drop him on a gloomy corner in Franklin City. He melts into the shadows as soon as he's out of the car, like a shark disappearing into the murky depths of the ocean.

We only spent a couple of hours together, but it feels like I lived a lifetime in those hours.

I head toward the freeway that will take me back home, a deep suburb as far east as you can get from west.

I put my phone back together while I'm stopped at a light just before the freeway entrance.

The texts and voicemails flow in. Mom asking where I am. She hadn't gotten my voicemail. Then it's Mom saying I'm not at Chelsea's. Mom angry. Then Dad.

I quickly give them a call.

"Layla!" Her voice is high, the way it gets when she's drinking or mad. I'm thinking she's a little of both. My throat clenches with worry—or maybe just grief. She's like this more and more.

"I just got your messages," I say. "I'm fine, I'm okay."

"Where are you?"

"Just driving around," I say. That's what the man said to tell people. I wanted to drive around and think about my school project.

"You lied to us!"

"I knew you wouldn't understand, so I—"

"You lied! You frightened us out of our minds! Not to mention wasting the time of the police!"

A bolt of fear shoots through me. "I shouldn't talk while I drive," I say. "Everything's fine." I hang up, thankful for the excuse.

But everything isn't fine.

Detective Wonwoo is there when I arrive.

My pulse kicks into overdrive. He smiles at me in a kindly way, like an uncle.

My mother embraces me—partly for the benefit of Detective Wonwoo, I'm sure. I'll get the freeze or worse once he leaves.

Dad looks stern. "You gave us quite a scare, young lady."

I murmur something about not having ideas for my prehistoric village. "I thought I'd be home before you noticed." Part of me does feel guilty for all the fuss. I've been taught to be small and silent, to take up as little space as possible.

The other part of me is scared of what Detective Wonwoo sees. His eyes are sharp despite the vague smile on his face. I have the impression of a mirror, one of those one-way things they put in interrogation rooms. He can see me, but I don't know what he's thinking.

"I'm sorry to waste your time," I tell him, heart beating too fast.

"It's no problem," he says smoothly. "I'd actually like to ask you a few questions."

"Questions?" My voice sounds as high and thin as my mother's.

"About the incident last fall." His tone is sympathetic, but I'm not fooled. He's observing me. Recording every detail in that whirring computer he's got inside his head. "We have some new leads that I need to follow up."

"This again?" Mother gives me a hard look, as if I asked for it to be brought up. "The incident is best forgotten, Layla you know that. You can't let it ruin your future. Or this family."

She leaves the room in a flurry of silk and Chanel No. 5. The guilt sits heavy in my gut, churning like rocks. Like boulders. I don't want to ruin this family. But how can I forget him? I can't.

You don't want to forget him, a voice inside my head whispers.

It's my darkest secret.

My father glances at his phone. "I've already missed two meetings."