We drove through the night.
Neither of us spoke much. What was there to say, really? That I'd spent six years haunted by a ghost who was never dead? That Riven had let guilt, pride, and pain fester into silence?
The villa lights were off when we returned.
But Gregory wasn't gone.
He was waiting.
On the terrace. Holding a drink. Dressed in casual linen like some retired villain from an old mafia movie. The moonlight cast long shadows across his face, but I saw the twitch in his jaw when we stepped into view.
"Elara," he said slowly, "you shouldn't be here."
"You should be in prison," I shot back.
Riven stepped forward, voice low and sharp. "Where's Ryker?"
Gregory blinked, unfazed. "Ah. I see. So the truth's finally scratching its way out."
"We saw the footage," I said. "We know what happened that night."
"Do you?" he asked, sipping his drink like we were discussing weather. "Because what you think you know… might just be the beginning."
I clenched my fists. "Then start talking."
He sighed and set the glass down. "I didn't kill Ryker. I saved him."
---
The silence afterward was loud.
"Excuse me?" Riven said, voice tight.
Gregory paced to the edge of the terrace, looking out at the sea. "That night, Ryker knew too much. He got involved with a syndicate — money laundering, illegal land deals, corporate espionage. I told him to stop. He didn't. So they came for him."
My stomach turned.
"I tried to protect him," Gregory went on. "Tried to negotiate a way out. But Ryker was reckless. He made threats. Recorded conversations. That USB you found? Only a sliver of what he had. He hid the rest. Somewhere even I couldn't find."
My throat tightened. "So what did you do?"
"I staged his disappearance. Faked a kidnapping. Paid people off. Put him in a private facility under a different name, heavily guarded."
Riven stepped forward. "He's alive?"
Gregory's eyes finally met mine. "He was. Until two years ago."
"No," I whispered.
"He developed paranoia. Delusions. Refused to eat. Eventually… he disappeared from the facility. We searched everywhere. Either he's dead… or he doesn't want to be found."
A weight crashed into my chest. Not just sadness — fury.
"You locked him away instead of helping him," I said. "You buried the truth so no one would ask questions."
"I buried the truth," Gregory said coldly, "so you would survive. The moment you started remembering, they would've come for you too."
Riven's voice was like steel. "And now they will."
Gregory looked at him. "Then you'd better be ready."
---
Back at the cabin, the air felt heavier.
Ryker might still be out there. Or maybe not. But one thing was certain: we weren't safe anymore.
I stared at the drive, still clutched in my hand. "He left this for a reason. There's more to it."
Riven sat beside me. "What are you thinking?"
"That if Ryker knew he was being hunted… he wouldn't hide everything in one place. He'd scatter the pieces. Leave trails."
"Breadcrumbs," he said.
"Exactly."
And suddenly… I remembered something.
An old email. A fake one Ryker had once made during high school. Just to mess around. E.Q.alpha@...
I grabbed my phone and logged into the email app.
The account was still active.
And in the draft folder — hidden, unsent — was a message:
"If you're reading this, El… I'm not safe. But you might still be. Don't trust anyone but Riven. Look under the tree. You'll know the one."
No date. No location. Just that cryptic line.
But I knew what tree he meant.
Ryker used to take me to this massive sycamore near the cliffs, just outside town. We carved our initials into it when we were fifteen. It was our "what-if" place.
And now it might be a map.
"We're going," I told Riven.
"You think something's still there?"
"I think he always planned for me to find it."
---
The sycamore stood just as I remembered — tall, crooked, with peeling bark and a hollow base. Faded initials still scarred the trunk: R + E.
I dug near the roots with my bare hands, dirt caking my nails. The sun dipped lower, and Riven kept watch, scanning the trees for anyone who might be following.
Then I hit something hard.
A metal box.
Inside it? A second USB… and a note.
"Trust your heart. Not the face."
I stared at it, then looked at Riven.
"What do you think that means?"
His face was grim. "It means whoever took Ryker… might look like someone you love."
The hair on my arms rose.
If they were using doubles — or disguises — or if Ryker had a twin we didn't know about—
"Riven…" I whispered, heart racing.
"What?"
"You were born first, right?"
He frowned. "Yeah. Why?"
"What if you weren't?"