I perk up. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes burning fiercely. “I wish I would have broken more, though.”

“The nose is good.” I sketch my fingertip down the brim of Ayden’s nose. “You did well, Shy Boy.”

We exchange a meaningful moment, and then he backs the car out of the parking spot and steers toward the road.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened this morning?” I ask as he drives down the road lined with fast food places and restaurants.

“Yeah… Let’s go pick up some lunch and park up near the bridge.” He flips on his blinker to make a turn. “I want to be able to talk to you privately about some stuff before we head to town, anyway.”

“Head to town now?” I ask and he nods. “What about class?”

We only have a thirty-minute lunch break, and we wasted ten minutes getting to the car. Driving to the city limits of San Diego takes about twenty minutes, give or take a half of an hour for traffic.

“We’re skipping the rest of school.”

My nerves bubble inside me. What the heck is going on? “Why?”

“Because...” He nibbles on his bottom lip, mulling over something. “We’re… We’re taking a self-defense class, instead.”

“Why?”

“Because my parents and yours want us to be safe, to make sure we can protect ourselves if we need to.”

I’m not sure what to make of that.

Protect us from what exactly?

Chapter 5

Ayden

Five hours earlier…

The visit with the police turns out to be exactly what I was dreading. To move the case forward, they want me to try a few sessions with an amnesia therapy specialist.

“If it turns out to be too much for him or shows no signs of working within the first few sessions, then we’d like to try a few more aggressive methods.” A detective who goes by the name Rannali explains. “I know this might seem a little extreme, but—”

“A little extreme,” Lila cuts him off, her tone razor sharp. “You’re showing no sympathy for Ayden, who’s been through enough already and just lost his brother.”

“Sympathy isn’t my priority,” he replies straightforwardly—he has been that way the entire visit, “solving this case is a priority. We truly believe that if Ayden can remember those days he spent in the house, he could help us identify some suspects.”

“But I thought you weren’t positive it was the same people,” Lila points out. “That maybe he was just in the same area by coincidence. You said a lot of homeless people migrated to that area because the vacant homes were good shelter.”

“Right now, tracking down those people is the best lead we’ve got,” he responds vaguely, appearing mildly annoyed by Lila’s excessive questioning. “And right now, your son is the last known person alive who’s seen what these people look like. It’s becoming a priority that he moves forward in his therapy. I know some therapists who come highly recommended for these types of things.”

Lila’s expression simmered with rage. “You don’t need to be so coldhearted about it. You’re speaking about him like he’s not even a person. Just a tool to help solve your case.”

“Help solve his brother’s murder,” he pressed as he coolly reclined back in his seat. “Do you know anything at all about this group of people?” He reaches for a folder on a filing cabinet then straightens in the chair. Opening the folder on the desk, he removes a paper and places it in front of the Gregorys. “They call themselves soulless mileas or warriors. Worshippers of evil, the list of the horrendous crimes these people have committed goes on and on.”

Soulless mileas.

Soulless mileas.

Soulless mileas.

The name screams repeatedly in my head, but the noise is minimal compared to my accelerating heart rate. In the folder is a letter written in sloppy handwriting that looks an awfully lot like my sister’s. When I lean forward to get a better look, the detective hastily shuts the folder. He’s not quite quick enough to stop me from seeing the signature on the bottom, though.

Sadie Stephorson.

My sister.

Detective Rannali avoids eye contact with me, focusing on Lila and Ethan as if I don’t even exist.

“Wait? I don’t understand,” Lila says perplexedly to Detective Rannali. “Why are you mentioning these people?”

“We believe that someone in this group is responsible for the kidnapping of your son three years ago.” He pauses with a brief glance in my direction. “And that they might have played a part in Felix Stephorson’s murder along with several others over the last decade. It would make sense with his body being found close to the home Ayden and his brother and sister were removed from.”

I want to shout at him to tell me why on earth he has a letter from my sister in the folder.

“Why would he have been there, though?” I ask. “Did they kidnap him again?”

“There were no signs of kidnapping,” the detective answers. “But we haven’t ruled out that theory either. We also have a theory that maybe your brother was looking for the people himself.”

My back straightens in the chair as an icy chill slithers up my spine. “Why would he do that? It would make no sense.”

Ignoring me, he drones on until I can’t take it anymore. I need to know what that letter was.