Averie sat at her desk, heart pounding, surrounded by evidence no one had dared to see - until now.

The tapes. The letters. The evaluation reports stamped "cognitively intact." Her grandmother's voice, soft and shaking but clear.

She pressed play again on one of the cassettes, her grandmother's voice crackling softly through the speaker - fragile but certain.

"They told me love would ruin me. But it was the silence that did."

The story was ready.

And Averie had crafted every word of it.

A polished statement. Audio clips embedded. Copies of every suppressed document.

All scheduled to post across social media, sent to news outlets, and dropped anonymously into inboxes that mattered.

One click away.

She hovered over the button.

Her hands didn't shake.

Not anymore.

This wasn't revenge.

It was resurrection.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down, expecting another news alert.

But it wasn't that.

Unknown number.

One new message.

Don't post it. Not yet. I need to see you first. - W

Her heart stopped.

Her chest tightened so fast she forgot how to breathe.

Wes.

She hadn't seen his name - not his real one - since he left. Since he disappeared

without another word after the letter.

Her fingers flew across the screen.

Where are you?

Three dots appeared. Then vanished.

Then reappeared.

Somewhere I shouldn't be. But I'm close. I just need one night. Please. Meet me before you light the fuse. I'm at the cabin. The one on Route 6. You remember.

She did.

The old place they talked about fixing up. A safe house that never became more than a dream.

She stared at the screen.

The post timer was set for midnight. She had two hours.

Her finger hovered over the cancel button.

Don't trust it, her brain whispered.

You already said goodbye.

But her heart -

Her heart didn't care.

She grabbed her keys.

The cabin on Route 6 was just as broken as they left it.

Empty beer bottles on the porch. Dust and pine needles covering the steps. The door creaked when she pushed it open.

It smelled like old wood, rust, and memory.

And then -

He stepped out from the shadows.

Same eyes. Same curls. Same quiet, burning presence.

But different.

Harder. Haunted.

"Wes," she breathed.

He didn't smile. Not yet.

"You were really gonna post it?" he asked.

She nodded. "I still am."

"I know," he said. "That's why I needed to see you first."

He moved closer.

Close enough for her to see the bruise on his cheekbone. The cut on his lip.

"What happened to you?" she whispered.

"I tried to get answers of my own," he said. "Turns out your dad's not the only one

who's been keeping secrets."

Averie blinked. "What do you mean?"

He handed her a folder.

Inside: photos. Surveillance. Old reports.

One stood out - a photo of her grandmother and a man that wasn't Samuel. Date

stamped two years after she was supposedly institutionalized.

"She wasn't locked away the whole time," Wes said. "She got out. Or they let her out.

Either way? someone made her disappear again."

Averie's stomach turned. "But why?"

"Because she knew something," Wes replied. "Something about the Langford Trust. I

think she tried to expose it - and they buried her a second time."

Averie clutched the folder. "I have to post it. People deserve to know."

"I'm not stopping you," he said. "But if you post it now, you won't just take down your

father. You'll blow up the Trust. The foundation. Everything tied to it - including every

grant, shelter, and program your grandmother helped create."

Her voice cracked. "So what do I do?"

"You find the whole truth," Wes said, brushing hair from her face. "Not just the part they let survive."

Averie swallowed hard. "Then help me finish it."

He smiled for the first time. "That's why I came back."

Back at the house, she canceled the post.

Not because she was afraid.

But because the truth wasn't done speaking.

And this time, she was going to let it scream.