Beatrice.
The text from Nathaniel came at eleven-thirty AM, just as I was trying to figure out how to slip past Gerald without him following.
Change of plans. Not the park. Too exposed. Meet me at the old marina. Pier 7. You know the one. Come now. We're out of time.
I stared at the message, my stomach clenching. The old marina was abandoned—had been for years. Rusted boats. Rotting docks. The kind of place where screams wouldn't carry and bodies could disappear into dark water.
Every instinct screamed that this was a trap.
But I was already grabbing my purse, already heading for the door, already choosing answers over safety.
Because not knowing felt more dangerous than any trap Nathaniel could set.
I left while Gerald was in the shower. Didn't leave a note this time. Didn't make e
