Page 67 of In the Dark of the Past

Finn turned to me, his jaw clenched. “Something’s not right.”

My pulse hammered. “He knows. He has to be part of the seven.”

“Developments,” Finn said. “What the hell did that mean? Us?” He shot me a look. “Whatever this is.” He motioned between us. “The investigation? Something else he’s taunting me about that we don’t know yet?”

My mouth went dry. “Finn⁠—”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “Not now. We can paddle that particular creek later. Right now? River, listen to me. Until we know who’s all inside this, until we know who’s watching, until we know why they’ve been targeting you—” He stopped. Swallowed. “Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t let anyone in your house.”

“I won’t.”

“And?” His voice dropped to something rough and unsteady. “If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you call me first. Not the station. Not 911. Me.”

My chest clenched. “Finn⁠—”

His hand slid to the back of my neck, his forehead lowering to mine with a soft, aching exhale.

“This isn’t like before,” he whispered. “This isn’t the Fund quietly abusing power. This is the Watchers realizing someone finally sees them.”

“And they’ll come for us,” I said.

“They’ll try.”

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, letting his breath steady mine. “Then we need to stay ahead of them,” I whispered.

Finn nodded against my skin. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We do.” He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. “And we will.”

But even as he said it, even as determination carved itself into every line of his face...

I felt it.

A shift in the air. A pressure change. A new storm rolling in—fast, vicious, and aimed straight at us.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Finn

I stared out my office window at the parking lot. By the time Graham’s taillights disappeared, my whole body felt like the wiring had been stripped and jammed back together wrong—buzzing, burning, every instinct I owned screaming trap in twelve different languages.

River still stood in the center of my office, arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the whiteboard like she could force it to give her names. The sling tugged at my shoulder, but the ache wasn’t one I could treat with ice or rest.

“Talk to me,” she said without looking over. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking Graham walked in here to take the temperature,” I said. “And I’m thinking he didn’t like the reading.”

She nodded once, sharp. “Yeah. I agree. He’s gotta be connected.”

My jaw clenched. “And either he’s nervous, or those he works for are.”

“Nervous people make mistakes,” she murmured.

“Do reckless things,” I added quietly.

That got her attention. She finally looked at me. “You think they’ll send someone.”