Page 40 of In the Dark of the Past

The words hit like ice water.

“Your mom started asking questions,” Libby said softly. “I found copies of her notes hidden in some donation files. She thought the Fund was paying to make people disappear.”

My stomach twisted, sharp and sick.

Finn straightened, his voice low and lethal. “Who else has seen this ledger?”

“Just us,” Autumn said. “But whoever hid it will likely notice it was moved.”

Nivea stopped pacing. “We’re not the only ones working tonight. Andra just texted. Someone tried wiping Eleanor’s digital personnel file. She blocked it, but…they know.”

Myra stepped closer and gently took the ledger from my shaking hands. “Look at me, River.”

I did.

“We have evidence now. Real evidence. But we just painted targets on all our backs.”

A broken laugh escaped me. “Good thing I’m used to running.”

Finn’s hand finally settled on my wrist—warm, steady, calloused. “You’re not running anywhere.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Not bravado. More like a promise.

Something inside me snapped—not apart, but into focus. Cold. Sharp. Unbreakable.

“Then we finish this,” I said, steel entering my tone.

Cade cracked his knuckles. “About damn time.”

Libby’s smile was small and vicious. “Tomorrow, research teams at dawn. We take this Fund apart brick by brick.”

Everyone scattered, grabbing laptops, whispering strategies, already dividing tasks. I stayed rooted, flipping back to that page and staring at my mother’s name until it blurred and burned behind my eyes. Only when the others drifted toward the stairs did Finn move. He slid the ledger into an evidence bag with deliberate care.

Then he looked at me.

Really looked.

“I should’ve fought harder for you back then,” he said, his voice sandpaper-rough. “When your dad…” He took a deep breath. “I let them shove me into a corner. Thought I was protecting you. I wasn’t.”

A lump rose in my throat. “I slammed the door on you. I was scared and angry and you were the only person telling me the truth. I hated you for it.”

His breath hitched. “I never stopped—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching hard. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It might,” I whispered.

We were close—so close I could smell the outside from earlier still clinging to his jacket. His pulse fluttered at his throat. My breath tangled with his.

Finn lifted a hand, slow enough to give me every chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

His thumb brushed my bottom lip—the touch barely there, like he was memorizing what was under it, and my heart stuttered violently.

“River…” he murmured, his voice breaking on my name.

“Guys?” Libby’s voice floated down the stairs. “We’re locking up. You coming, or planning to move in?”

The moment shattered. Finn stepped back. His hand dropped, and his expression shuttered. Then, he turned and headed up the stairs.

I stayed where I was for a beat, under the flickering lamp, letting the quiet settle around me as I envisioned my mother’s name one last time.