No One Owns Me

Chapter 12 — Someone Is Watching

“They’re already here.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a heartbeat, no one breathes. No one moves.

Drake takes the phone from my hand, his gaze sharp and hard as he studies the image. “Where was this taken?”

“Right here. Behind us.”

“How can you be certain?”

I point to the faint shape in the glass. “The reflection.”

Ward is already crossing the room, yanking the curtain aside just enough to scan the grounds. Only darkness, wind-tousled trees, empty fields. No figure. No shadow. No sign anyone was ever there at all. He steps back, frowning.

“Gone.”

“I saw them.”

“I know you did.”

Duncan’s voice cuts through the tension. “Wake Isabella. Now.”

I shake her shoulder gently. “Isabella. Wake up. Please.”

Her eyes flutter open, wide and confused as she takes in our faces—all serious, all focused on her. “What’s wrong?”

I hold out the phone. Her face drains of every drop of colour the moment she sees it.

“No. That’s impossible.”

“What is?”

She takes the device, her hands trembling so badly the screen wobbles. “I know that window. But this isn’t this house.”

I blink. “What?”

“Look closer.” She points to the faint lines of the frame in the reflection. “Our window is small, divided into panes. This one is wide. Unbroken.”

Ward leans in, his expression shifting. “She’s right. This was taken somewhere else.”

“Then where?”

Isabella closes her eyes for a long moment, like she’s pulling a memory up from deep water. “I’ve seen this room before. Ever since I was little. In nightmares.”

“Describe it.”

“Thick stone walls. One huge window looking out over nothing. A heavy wooden table in the centre.”

Drake swears softly. “The warehouse. The office where we found the files.”

My blood runs cold. “We weren’t there twenty-three minutes ago. The timestamp says it was taken after we left.”

“Exactly.” Ward taps the screen. “They didn’t take this photo of you in that room. They made it look like they did.”

“Recreated it,” Duncan says quietly. “To make you think they’re already inside your head. Inside your walls.”

Isabella gives a shaky, sharp smile. “Well. It’s working. But they’ve made a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“They think fear will break us.” She squeezes my hand tight. “They forgot we’re not alone anymore.”

I look at her—really look—and see the same fire I feel burning in my own chest. We’re not the same girls who walked through that door hours ago. We’re stronger. Together.

Drake barks orders instantly. “Full sweep. Every room, every entrance, every shadowed corner. Leave nothing unchecked.”

The Kings fan out. Ward stays at my side; Duncan stays close to Isabella. Five minutes later they return, shaking their heads. No tracks. No bugs. No sign anyone had breached the perimeter. But the photograph remains, impossible and unsettling.

“We leave now,” Drake says firmly. “Before they make their next move.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Casey—”

“They want us running. Every time we move, we play by their rules. Every new safe house just proves we’re scared.”

Ward nods slowly. “She’s right. We run, they win.”

“Then what do we do?” Duncan demands.

I tap the photograph. “They want to watch us? Fine. Let’s give them something worth watching.”

Duncan’s jaw tightens. “Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t even heard the plan.”

“I know you. It involves danger. And you in the middle of it.”

“Dad.”

“No.”

“You’re getting predictable.”

He sighs. “And you’re getting reckless.”

“Maybe.”

Ward steps between us before we can argue further. “Or… we turn their trick against them. They want us to think they’re one step ahead? We let them believe we’re terrified, hiding something valuable, waiting for them to make the first mistake.”

Drake’s eyes light up. “A trap.”

“Exactly.” Ward grins. “Let them come to us.”

I smile back. “Now you’re talking.”

Duncan mutters something under his breath that sounds very much like I’m going to regret this.

“By the way,” Ward adds, glancing between us, “you two are exactly alike when you’re being stubborn.”

“We are not,” I say at the same time Duncan says “Yes we are.”

We glare at each other. For the first time all night, the tension loosens, just a little.

“Bait,” Drake says, bringing us back. “We need something they’ll risk everything for.”

I reach into my bag, fingers closing around the heavy black register. “They think I have the original Crown records. The one that proves who we are.”

“Let them believe it,” Ward says. “Leave it out where they’ll see it. Make it look like we’re guarding it with everything we have.”

Duncan looks at me. “And when they walk in?”

I meet his gaze. “We stop running. And we finally get some answers.”

An hour later, the house is pitch black. Every curtain drawn, every lamp extinguished. The Kings take their positions around the grounds—hidden, silent, unseen. Duncan watches the upper landing; Drake covers the back door; Isabella waits safe in the locked basement room. Ward stands beside me in the front hallway, a decoy copy of the register tucked tight against my chest.

“Nervous?” he whispers.

“No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

I glance at him. “Maybe a little.”

“Good. Only fools aren’t scared.” He leans one shoulder against the wall. “You know you don’t have to be brave all the time, right?”

“I know.”

“Good. I’m getting tired of admiring your act.”

I smile—until a floorboard creaks upstairs.

We both freeze. Ward’s hand goes to his weapon. Another creak. Slow. Deliberate.

Then a voice, soft and clear: “Casey.”

My blood turns to ice. No one else should be here. No one else knows my name like that.

“Stay here,” Ward murmurs.

I shake my head. Together.

He nods once. We move up the stairs, step by silent step. The upper hallway is empty—until a shadow shifts at the far end.

“Stop!” Ward calls.

The figure runs.

I sprint after them, boots thudding on the floorboards. “Wait!”

They burst through the back door and vanish into the dark. By the time we reach the threshold, they’re gone. But something lies crumpled on the step: a small cream envelope, my name written across the front in looping, familiar script.

I reach for it.

“Don’t,” Ward says quickly. “Every message they send just drags you deeper.”

“Fair point.” I pick it up anyway. “But I need to know.”

Inside is one photograph. I stare. My breath catches in my throat.

It’s Isabella—small, maybe six years old—standing in a sunlit garden, holding hands with a woman whose face I’d carried in my dreams for as long as I can remember.

My mother.

Alive.

The date in the corner reads: six years ago.

Duncan reaches us, his voice tight. “What is it?”

I turn the photo over. One sentence is scrawled on the back:

YOUR MOTHER DIDN’T DIE WHEN YOU THOUGHT SHE DID.

My hands shake so hard the paper crinkles. Duncan takes it, his face draining of all colour. He sways, like the ground has tilted beneath him.

“Duncan?” Ward says gently.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the words, like they might vanish if he blinks.

I look at the photograph again—my mother’s smile, Isabella’s missing front tooth, the bright summer light. Six years ago. She was alive six years ago. All the stories, all the grief, all the certainties I’d carried my whole life… they were all lies.

“Dad,” I whisper. “Where is she?”

He looks up at me, eyes glistening, broken.

“I don’t know. But I swear… I’m going to find out.”