Keith
Stevie’s words are still ringing in my ears long after she’s gone.
Two males. Unknown. In the mausoleum that night.
And Hope—
No. I can’t even finish the thought.
I shove back from the table hard enough that the chair legs screech against the floor. The air in my office feels too tight, too heavy with the ghosts of unanswered questions. Every instinct I have screams that this isn’t over. That something’s been crawling beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to tear through.
I grab the ledger from my desk and flip it open. My handwriting fills the pages—names, ranks, duties, watch rotations. But it’s the guest logs I’m looking for, the ones from that cursed night.
“Stevie’s information changes everything,” I mutter under my breath.
There were nearly sixty people ther
