Jace:
The walls of my shack felt too close, Too quiet, Too full of questions I couldn't answer.
I'd searched every drawer, Every cabinet, Every inch of the floor. The photos were gone. Not misplaced, Not forgotten, Taken. Someone had stood in my house while I wasn't here. Someone knew I was digging. Someone wanted me to stop. I rubbed my hand across my chest, trying to settle the knot that had lived there ever since Calla's words outside the garage. "You're a killer." Now this.
I needed air. Real air. Not the stale kind trapped inside four walls. I grabbed my truck keys instead of the Camaro's. The old Chevy Silverado greeted me with its familiar creak as I climbed inside. The truck wasn't fast. Never had been. It wasn't supposed to be. Dad bought it when I was fifteen because, accordin
