Page 39 of In the Dark of the Past

I shut the door gently. “You watch yours, too, Finn.”

He waited—actually waited—until I was inside and the entryway light flicked on before pulling away. Only once the cruiser disappeared did I realize I’d been standing there holding my breath.

The silence in the house hit me like a blow. Too loud. Too empty—the kind of emptiness that echoed. I kicked off my shoes, gave Fox a pet, and paced to the kitchen, replaying everything in loops. The voices. The red eyes. The roster of threats and the cold dread that came with it. And beneath all of it…Finn. Solid. Steady. Close enough to touch, but still oceans away.

I grabbed my laptop and notebook, setting them on the dining room table like I could drown everything out with research. I spent some time looking through some things and grabbing something to eat, but when I flipped the notebook open, a vibration tore through the quiet.

My phone.

Nivea.

I snatched it up. “Hey, what’s⁠—?”

“River, you need to get to the library. Now.”

Her voice trembled. It didn’t sound like fear exactly, but something adjacent. Controlled panic.

“Autumn found something in the archives,” she added.

“What kind of something?” I asked.

A shaky breath came across the line. “The kind that changes everything.”

I took the library steps two at a time. The heavy door groaned open, the old building breathing me in like it knew my secrets and wanted more.

The air downstairs was thick—old paper, cool stone, and the faint ozone tang of tension. They were all waiting.

Autumn stood at the head of the table like a prophet preparing to drop a revelation. Her glasses were perched crookedly on her head, strands of hair escaping her bun. Her hands shook as she set a single leather-bound ledger on the table like it was a bomb she wasn’t sure was disarmed.

Libby wouldn’t meet my gaze. Myra’s arms were crossed so tightly her fingers had gone white. Nivea paced in tight circles, that pink streak in her hair flashing each time she turned. Cade leaned against a shelf, his jaw ticking, eyes sharp.

And Finn…

He stood near the microfilm cabinets, arms folded, watching everything. The overhead lamp carved brutal shadows along his cheekbones, and he looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath since he’d left my driveway.

I hated how relieved I felt at seeing him.

Autumn didn’t waste any time. “This isn’t the public Benevolence Fund ledger,” she said. “This is the real one. The one the Civic Committee kept locked in the mayor’s private archive.”

My heart stuttered. “How…did you even get that?”

“I flirted,” she said simply. “Page forty-two.”

I walked over and flipped to it. The world narrowed to ink on paper.

Marta Bennett – 3/14/2011 – $18,000 – Extended treatment allocation – Stonybrooke Estates

Eleanor Jenkins – 9/22/2010 – $5,000 – Voluntary relocation incentive

Alexine Reed – 11/03/2010 – $7,500 – Confidential severance

My mother’s name sat there like it had been waiting for my eyes. The ledger blurred. Finn was suddenly beside me—not touching, but close enough that the heat of him grounded me.

“There’s more,” Autumn whispered. She turned to another page.

Seven names were there: Eleanor’s, my mother’s, and five others I didn’t know. Three were crossed out in red ink, and my mom’s had a red question mark beside it with some text.

“‘Handled differently,’” Autumn murmured.