I didn't stop to question why he was there. It only mattered that he was. He was, after all that time. He still was.

I'll be home soon.

He was, and he wasn't. Not the way I wanted him to be.

"Maisye?"

Yes. No. I don't know.

My answer came out as one giant, squelching bubble of a sob.

He cursed into the phone. "I have to go."

I curled into the floor, lacing my hands behind my head and squeezing my arms hard against my ears.

I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.

Go.

They all went. They all left.

"Hey." He hauled me up by the shoulders, but gave up as my legs failed and I plopped right back down. "Maisye!"

I looked up as the phone clattered to the ground. He was still there, crouching in front of me with a worried frown. In the dark circles under his eyes and the tight press of his lips, I saw everything he had spoken of the last time we talked.

Someone broken. Someone exhausted from worry. Someone who couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take me.

He shook me gently. "Are you okay?"

No. "I'm fine. Ciar's hurt. He's shot. There's a service road, with a shed." I was babbling, and I knew none of it made sense to him, but I still believed that all I had to do was get all the facts out, and someone could jigsaw them together.

"Slow down," Mark said, spacing the two words much too far apart. "Who? Where? What happened?"

I searched his face wildly. "Tilda, she—"

What interrupted me wasn't a sound. It was the change in his face. Like a veil dropping, everything went slack. It was the face he'd greeted me with when I was finally released from Laurel Valley. The one that said, I don't want to deal with this.

"What did you do?"

I could tell by the way the words fell from his lips that he was numb. Thrown right back to that place we'd been in almost a year ago.

"What is going on over here? Maisye?"

A second figure dropped to the ground beside us, and my heart leapt at the sight of Clarissa's immaculate pantsuit. I reached for her and seized her collar, leaving bloody stains on the white fabric.

"Tilda shot Ciar," I blurted. "She chained him up in the woods. He's still there. You have to help him."

Her mouth fell open, wariness flashing across her eyes. "Did you say Tilda?" she breathed.

I nodded.

"That's impossible."

Mark shook his head, shifting so that his body blocked me out of the conversation. "That's not what she means."

I glanced between them. How did he know her?

"Where is she?" Clarissa asked me, staring past Mark.

"I don't know where she went. She had Donovan."

Mark sighed, and I cut off whatever was coming by crawling toward Clarissa.

"She took them. Amanda, Monica, Crystal. Valerie," I mumbled, afraid to so much as blink and miss a second of eye contact. "You have to find Ciar."

"Okay." She grabbed my hands and squeezed. "Okay. It's okay. Do you think you could tell me where to turn if you sat in the passenger's seat?"

"Stop. Stop it," Mark interrupted, still speaking only to Clarissa. "She should be in a hospital, not off on your mission."

She kept her gaze on me. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head.

"It's not physical," Mark hissed. "She's not talking about Matilda."

I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. He didn't believe me, because he knew me. Clarissa believed me because she didn't.

"Come on," she said.

Mark bit his tongue as she took my hand and helped me to my feet. He'd never give out my medical information, but I saw the temptation flit across his face.

"Maisye, please," he said as we headed for the door. "Just think for a second."

I thought. Watched his face. All I saw was Ciar.

I turned back to Clarissa. "Let's go."

Mark didn't even try to follow us. As I forced my aching legs to keep up with Clarissa, I threw her a glance. "What is he doing here?"

"Looking for you." She threw open her door and slipped inside, graceful even in her haste. "He showed up and said you hung up on him and haven't returned his calls since. Bit awkward, really, since the police were in the middle of a manhunt for you."

I bit back a manic laugh. "Why is he with you?"

"I thought he might be able to help."

I plopped down beside her and fumbled with my seat belt. "On a scale of very to utterly, how disappointed are you?"

I tried to contain the bite in my words. None of this was Mark's fault. He only wanted to protect me. But I hadn't asked him to, and I hadn't asked for the mistrust in his eyes, either. I also hadn't asked for a complete mental breakdown, and I'd never really forgiven him for walking away.

We rolled up to the exit, and I pointed left. Clarissa carefully avoided my gaze as she looked both ways before pulling onto the road.

"I think he does care about you. He traveled the whole way across the country to make sure you were okay," she said lightly. Then, after a moment of silence: "He really does look like Donovan, doesn't he?"

I looked out the window. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." She obeyed my direction as I waved my hand at the next turn. "Tillie, then. How?"

I chewed on my lip as I pondered where to even begin. How? I had half-answers, the short summary Tilda had given us. The rest was just more questions.

"She survived the jump. It was her plan. The body belonged to Maria...our sister. She set everything up with a group helping victims of human trafficking."

Her hands tightened around the wheel. "Trafficking?"

I nodded. "Donovan. They had a baby...he took it."

"Jesus Christ," she whispered. "I ran the faces you gave me, Maisye. All women who disappeared without a trace. A few were suspected trafficking."

"Go right," I said, trying to remember the way I'd walked in reverse. Everything came up too quickly in the car. "There's a service road somewhere...it's almost impossible to see..."

Clarissa slowed down, but we still spent over thirty minutes driving back and forth on rural roads, each one looking just like the last. Were we even in the right place? What if I remembered wrong?

And then she leaned forward, peering through the windshield. "Is that it?"

I had to squint, but I finally saw what she meant: the tiniest hint of gravel along the roadside, barely visible under the thick foliage that spilled out into the road.

"I think so. Maybe." I didn't even know anymore. I didn't know where we were. I didn't know why I thought I could find the shed again. I didn't know why I'd ever thought I could handle Boston.

I didn't know what the last three years of my life meant now that Tilda was alive. Maybe they were just like everything else.

Nothing.

We bounced down the driveway, and I fought back a sob as the run-down shed appeared in the distance. Ciar was in there. How long had it been? Hours, at least. Was he still alive?

He has to be.

Clarissa reached for the radio on the dash. "Jackson, do you have my location?"

After a moment of static, a man answered. "Yes, ma'am."

"Send a team. I want everything."

I threw the door open before she'd fully stopped, and I stumbled on the way out. The gravel bit into my hands as I caught myself, scrambling toward the shed.

He has to be.

"Maisye, wait!" Clarissa called, her footsteps crunching after me. "You don't know what's in there—"

I slammed through the door, zeroing in on Ciar's body. He was flat on the floor, eyes closed and cuffed wrist held aloft by the radiator. His breaths weren't ragged like I remembered, but quiet. Shallow. Almost peaceful. A sheen of sweat glossed his pale skin.

"Ciar," I whispered, falling to the floor at his side. I bent over the makeshift tourniquet, trying to figure out if it had done its job. Was it too loose? Too tight? Could a tourniquet even be too tight? I tried to slip my fingers underneath it, but failed.

"Down, tiger." Ciar cracked one eye open, watching me with half a weak smile. "At least tell me you brought help before you molest me."

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped my mouth, bubbled up from my throat by relief. "You asshole. You're the one who got shot in the groin."

He let his head fall back with a hollow thump, two soft laughs rasping from his chest. "Yeah. My fuckin' bad."

His humor melted suddenly, his gaze following something behind me. I looked over my shoulder as Clarissa entered. The two exchanged guarded glances, reminding me how much she didn't like him.

She stopped just inside the door and lifted her chin at him. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know." Ciar jiggled his trapped wrist, clanking the chain against the radiator. "Wasn't exactly in a position to see much."

"But you did see something."

He studied her, and I couldn't tell if the hard press of his lips was from pain or distrust. "You're FBI?"

She shot me a disapproving glance, which I returned with a glare. She was supposed to be helping.

Finally, she nodded.

So did Ciar, the back of his head dragging along the wooden floor. "They were in a white Fiat."

She bit her lip, and I saw her balance waver for a moment, stuck between moving forward and running for the door like she could catch up to Tilda and Donovan. This was the one time I understood. The one time I would've told her to go, to find them.

As she watched us, from my hand still resting on Ciar's thigh to the rapid rise and fall of his chest, she spoke into the radio in her pantsuit pocket.

My aching muscles relaxed inch by inch as she called in the car's description. I leaned over Ciar, resting my forehead against his hip as I squeezed my eyes shut.

It was okay. We were alive.

We could wait for the real rescue while Clarissa left to join the hunt.

But the click of her shoe that broke the silence came toward us, not away. Her shadow moved, blocking the sunlight from the window above and then releasing it again as she crouched beside me.

I went completely limp. Ciar didn't move, and neither did I, but Clarissa's hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and steady.

She stayed.

(Holy crap, guys! Only one more chapter [and an epilogue] left! I can't believe it's gone by this quickly 😭 But I wanted to take this time to thank each and every one of you who's read this far — I know it's been a long ride, and I appreciate you all! You guys are awesome, seriously 💜💜💜)