Page 58 of When the Smoke Clears

“It means we can’t trace it,” Gabe explains. “At least not with what we’ve got.”

The fragile hope in my chest collapses. I throw my hands up. “So we have nothing.”

“Not exactly,” Luke counters, already in sheriff mode. “We can rule some people out.”

“How?” I demand.

“This isn’t just some angry teenager firing off drunk texts,” Gabe says. “This person either knows how to navigate around security or has someone on the inside who does.”

Luke’s jaw flexes. His fingers curl into fists on the edge of the table. “Not to mention they’ve already got breaking and entering, arson, and kidnapping on their résumé.”

Kidnapping. Arson. Me.

Gabe’s brows knit. “Walk me through all of it again.”

I listen as Luke summarizes the lake conversation, filling in gaps I couldn’t bring myself to say, his voice staying eerily steady while my stomach lurches.

By the time he’s done, Gabe is staring at me like he’s seeing a completely different person.

“Holy shit, Isla,” he breathes. “This is…a lot.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Welcome to my life.”

“So the threats started about a month before you left town?” he asks.

“Yes.” I nod slowly, sifting through old dread. “First one told me to break up with Luke. Next two were…worse.”

Gabe’s gaze sharpens. “And you have no idea who wanted you gone or why?”

“No.” I shake my head. “At first, I thought it was just some jealous girl. But those last messages…”

I swallow, throat suddenly tight. “They didn’t just want me out of the relationship. They wanted me out of Wildhaven. One way or another.”

“You never considered telling Luke?” Gabe asks.

My fingers twist in the hem of my shirt. Of course I did. I considered it every single day.

“After the fire,” I say slowly, “whoever this is proved they were willing to burn a house down with me inside. It wasn’t a stretch to think they’d do the same to him.”

“So, you let him hate you for ten years,” Gabe says, not unkindly, just…blunt. “You let him think you ditched him for no reason.”

Beside him, Luke goes very still. His eyes darken, forest green deepening to something almost black. A muscle jumps in his cheek.

My vision blurs. I blink fast, refusing to let the tears fall. “It was the only way to keep him safe,” I manage. “Letting him hate me felt better than letting him die because he loved me.”

Silence settles over us like fog.

Gabe finally exhales. “I’m relieved this is all out in the open,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” Luke answers.

I glance at him. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t decode. It’s something torn between devastation and relief.

“Now we move forward,” he adds.

I cross the room to the whiteboard propped against a chair. The “villain board.” Names and question marks looped in my messy writing: Stacy, random jealous ex, shady gambler, and now a new column for tech-savvy psycho.

It’s ridiculous that my mother’s death and my almost-murder have been reduced to dry-erase ink and bullet points.