'And if I could turn back the clock

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark

I'd spend every hour, of every day

Keeping you safe'

However, before I could boast, tease him, or just savor the small confession, his smile twitched down, and the heat that had rushed through my blood with his bad intention disappeared as sharply as the grin did, leaving me frozen when the seriousness fell on his features.

"But if we're being honest, there's one thing I have to tell you– two actually."

I wasn't sure if it was the words in themselves, the faraway look in his eyes as if he was already slipping away from me, or the movement of his fingers distancing themselves from my belly. But it embedded a bad feeling deep in my guts – unless it was just the long seconds of silence that gave enough time for the suppositions flashing through my mind to travel in shivers down my spine.

Had something bad happened during the trip? Had someone recognized him? Had he got into trouble? Had he killed someone? Had he been with another girl? In comparison with the other possible scenarios, it wasn't as serious, and I couldn't be jealous after everything, yet it twisted my insides as much.

I could barely croak out a 'yes?' to encourage him to speak, and he wasn't really helping when his gaze traveled to my belly, and he led me to sit on a chair like what he was about to say was earth-shattering, and I needed to brace myself. Though maybe it was just him who needed it, as he took a seat in front of me, gripping the edges of the table.

"I lied," he paused for a breath, deep enough to send more suppositions down my guts.

About what? The trip? Counting time? That everything had gone well? About what he'd done?

"About the name. There's another one."

That was the only thing that hadn't crossed my mind, and I didn't know what to think of it as the relief was already washing away all the other possibilities, but the tensions in in his own body, from his inked fingers to his frown, didn't let me take a breath.

"A guy with no alibi and exactly the same height as you, and he's a newbie in their gang, so it'll be easier to frame him. It could even be his motive to kill Douglas, like some rite of passage." His hands went to the pockets of his jacket – which he still hadn't taken off in all of this – to pull out a small rectangle of paper, and he unfolded it about ten times until it was a sheet as large as the one he'd handed me minutes ago.

"I wanted to talk about it with you before, but then, Spencer asked, and I didn't think," he continued, sliding the piece of paper towards me, yet I didn't give it a glance.

All my attention was on the man before me and the why buried somewhere behind his clenched jaw and sharp gaze, and I guessed he was getting used to my questionings because I didn't even have to ask when he let out a resigned sigh.

"He's 16, probably a kid who grew up there."

I finally understood why he had made me sit as the information fell down on me like a ton of bricks, 16 tons of bricks, and for the first time, I looked at the paper.

Jeffrey Pelor. The description was as succinct as Jack Rogers's, the photo as blurry, although we could distinguish the man – or should I've said 'boy' – was young and scary too.

"I thought a lot about what you said through the ride, you know about not framing someone innocent. That guy isn't innocent. No one's innocent there, but..."

He was still young. That was the best way to describe the picture in my hand. The boy already looked far from innocent and closer to a scary criminal. He even reminded me a little of Wayne, young but already a gangster, and it was easy to imagine him resembling that Jack Rogers in some years, especially if he was accused of murder. Yet he could also become like the young man in front of me, who, behind his dangerous gangster aura and sharp contrasts, was currently at a moral crossroads.

"He hasn't done more than thefts and petty crimes, and he's still a kid." Blade's gaze traveled from the paper to my belly and up back to my face, his thoughts seeming to wander along the trail, and it was going even farther than I'd expected.

"But it isn't the only reason. I was also blinded by revenge..." He sighed again, the heaviness with which his chest deflated making me waver in my seat, and I was once more thankful to not be standing.

"'Cause Pete recognized Jack Rogers as one of my mom's old clients. I don't remember him particularly. For me, they were all the same scumbags, keeping her too long at the brothel or even bursting at our house and kicking me out when it was too 'pressing'..."

I couldn't even imagine what the little Blade had gone through, what he had gone through, yet as his voice trailed off, I could feel acutely the cold shivers he must have experienced when he would find himself stuck outside on the cold days, the emptiness of every night where he'd been left alone at such a young age, haunted by monsters that were too real, and the powerlessness of it all, lacing between my ribs and crawling into every part of me until the pressure became searing. And that was only a glimpse before he quickly shook his head.

"But it's not worth the risk. I can't be blinded."

At this point, it looked like he was just thinking out loud, letting out his dilemma through murmured words, and I could do nothing but watch as his decision was settled with a nod and a clench of his jaw.

"I'd rather frame that kid." His tone was definitive, holding the same sharpness with which he could have ordered about 50 gangsters, and no one would have been crazy enough to defy him.

"No." Well, no one except me, and as the cracking syllable made his eyebrows rise, I realized it was the first sound coming out of my dry lips.

His confession had stricken me so much that my voice had been annihilated, and it was even hard to breathe. Yet the bangs of my heart were strong enough to push the words out.

"You're not the only one to decide here. We're a team, remember?"

And the matter was about me first, especially seeing the way his eyes had been washing pure blue fear all over me since the second he'd talked about risks.

The main risks were for me and the baby, and I was well aware of it in all my being, from the depths of my core to the tip of my fingers as I glanced one last time at the document in my hand, and I tore it in half.

Life was all about choices. I'd chosen Angel's life over Douglas's. I was choosing our baby's future over another's, innocent or not, and I was choosing the face that would join to haunt my nightmares, all based on a shiver, an instinct, the beats of my heart.

"Thank you for being honest with me." My gaze dived into his clear one, which was wider than when I'd pulled the trigger and killed Douglas. "But the man that threatened me had dark eyes and grizzled hair."

"Dorothy, you don't have to–"

"I do," I cut him off with as much assurance and belief as if I was in an interrogation room– as when I would be in an interrogation room. "You've said it yourself, we've agreed to choose someone who isn't innocent, and I stand by it. Even if Jeffrey isn't fully innocent, he's still a child. We can't sacrifice his life, his freedom, for ours. Imagine if someone had done this to us when we were 16."

A few years of difference weren't much, and I knew better than anyone what it was to have all those responsibilities and accusations falling on your shoulders while fighting for a freedom you had barely experienced, and I'd had the choice. I wasn't innocent.

"Imagine if someone did this to our baby one day..." My hand slid to my belly in a protective instinct, and it was probably this instinct that guided me the most along with the beats of my heart. "So yes, I have to, for the baby, for us, and..."

I took a deep breath, unsure of where I was going here. But the bangs inside my chest were still leading me as I stood up, so strongly that I almost made the always unfazed bad boy in front of me jump, and I told him to not move before he could think I was mad.

Well, I was mad, but not at him. I was crazy, insane, and certainly out of my mind, as I rushed to the side of the fridge, where the aprons were hanging, and I rummaged through the pocket until I found the piece of paper I'd slid there exactly one week ago.

Although the past five days, five hours, 28 minutes, and 30 seconds had felt like an eternity, the memories from that day were as vivid, sending a shiver down my spine with the range of emotions that had happened from freezing cold to searing... I surely should have taken it as a sign to abort the mission, especially as his piercing gaze was burning through me with every step I took closer to him again.

Yet I'd promised myself I would do it one day, and even if it was sooner than I'd expected, and sooner than he was ready for, I felt in my guts, in my belly, and in my chest – where above, I pressed the square of paper against my heart – that it was the moment.

"And for her." I put the eroded photo in front of him, my breath and my gaze holding on to the expanse of crystalline for any indication of a tempest, even if the wave of emotions was already climbing up behind my own eyes.

"You've kept the pic?" he asked with one of his chuckles, 'not so surprised' at the fact I'd saved the photo from the fire, though the sound ended in a shallow breath as he glanced down at the picture, his inked fingers grazing the corners as if they were still burning.

"Yes, I know we can't change what happened, but..." I'd thought about those words a thousand times, trying to prepare the best to explain, yet through the cracks of my voice, none of them would come out. There were only the thumps of my heart trying to push out of my chest.

"It's still your mom, and I think that... maybe she really cared. She just got trapped, like all these other women and men because of the buzzhead... But she deserves to be remembered. She deserves justice, and if Jack Rogers took advantage of her, then he deserves to rot in jail."

Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly; maybe I was blinded by revenge or something else. Yet I couldn't erase those images of the frail woman cornered by Mr. Thornton, the powerlessness she'd emanated still crushing my chest, and I had only witnessed this kind of scene once through a faraway memory – twice, if we counted Angel. Blade, he, had probably hundreds of memories weighing on his ribcage, and they were heavier with the emotional connections, as it was his own mom he had seen getting trapped.

If for me, the images were already pressuring enough on my ribcage to light this dangerous spark, I could only understand that fire he had in him, his need for revenge, and I would have rather helped him let it out with all the risks it involved than watch it consuming him from the inside.

"I have to do that for you and your mom too," I finished, having no other word, nor breath, and the only thing left to do was wait for the bang, as it was the moment he could either destroy everything, including the photo and my heart, or...

"Shooting star..." He slowly lifted his gaze from the picture, giving me the first glimpse of what was brewing behind the crystalline shades, and it was a ripple of blue I'd never seen before. "I..."

For once, it seemed my evil genie was at a loss for words, no devious innuendo, no sharp remark coming out, just a shaky sigh, which made its sparking way deeper into my chest. For once, he wasn't trying to hide behind his armor; he was even recognizing his vulnerability as a genuine smile stretched his lips, illuminating the shimmering blue in his eyes.

As for his hand... it was still holding carefully the photo, while the other reached for my waist, tugging me closer – unless I leaned in by myself? It was hard to tell when every fiber of my being was pulled in by the tears at the edge of his eyelids and the words on the tip of his tongue, so close, and I wasn't sure if it was them that would come out first or my hammering heart through my ribcage as he wetted his lips, his gaze trailing behind me.

"I– the milk!"

That wasn't the answer I'd expected when he stood up abruptly, but my heart indeed jumped out of my chest to land in the overflowing pan as I rushed to the stove too.

"Oh fuck no! I've made a mess again..." I closed my eyes, not needing to see the inside of the pan that Blade pulled away from the heat, as the white froth around the now turned-off stove was enough.

"Don't worry, everyone knows you're a hot mess," he teased, and I kept my eyes shut as I realized I'd messed up more than the milk.

I'd messed up the precious moment, as whatever he'd been about to say was evaporated with the transparent vulnerability in his gaze, and I'd messed up the opportunity to read the rest of Spencer's article, since he'd warned me to not make another disaster. Though for this part, I could maybe still make up for it because he didn't know yet, and he was surely too lost in perfecting his writing to notice.

That thought was enough to make me open my eyes wide and meet Blade's twinkling ones.

"Hey, it's your fault too! You distracted me, so you'd better not say anything to Spencer."

"Why? You don't want him to know that I'm making you a hot mess?" The innuendos were fully back from the corners of his smirk to the sparkle in his gaze, and I was tempted to close my eyes again as his smile stretched wider and more devious.

"It's still not funny." I squinted at his cocked eyebrow, and before another bad intention could even cross his mind, I lifted a warning finger. "Don't you fucking dare tell anything."

However, no sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized that once more, I hadn't been careful about what I let out, and even if I didn't know which one had sparked the bad intention, the deepening dimple left me no doubt, making my pointed finger and my breath waver.

"Mhm, Dorothea..." The sound of my full name was unequivocal before his voice dropped to something between a drawl and a growl, so raspy and low that I wouldn't have heard if it hadn't been vibrating straight against my skin as he leaned over my ear. "Letting out curse words through those cherry lips is a dangerous thing... It's driven me crazy since the first time."

The first time? When had he even heard me curse? I hadn't cursed much in my life, only a few times since I'd known him, but in front of him, never... It had been under him.

Although it was impossible to think with his lips brushing the shell of my ear with every deep breath of his, and my chest brushing his with every shallow sigh of mine, I didn't have to search far. The memories were clear in his darkening gaze. I'd let out a curse when I'd been under him, through the raw bliss of our first time.

Just the flashback I could glimpse through his eyes was enough to recall a trail of fire throughout my whole body, from my cheeks down my legs, and everywhere in between. I had to grip the counter behind before getting lost in the memories, in the sensations... with his strong body still pressed against me, his smoldering gaze, and even the electric sparks in the air, which he'd managed to thicken with just a few implicit words and explicit looks.

It was hard to believe that three seconds ago he'd been lightening the same air with those innuendos, and a few more seconds before, he'd been speechless, everything cracking with fragility. It was his unique contrasts, switching the atmosphere sharply and making my head and my heart spin until I forgot everything– almost everything.

"Hey, don't try to distract me again! You didn't tell me the second thing you talked about?" I put my hand over his chest to keep some distance, my voice still sounding too breathless as I could feel the strong thuds under my palm.

"Oh, that." He blinked his eyes, as if trying to shake out of his own daze. "Nellie gave some muffins and tarts in case you have cravings."

And just like that, the atmosphere switched again, one of his shoulders lifting into an easy shrug, while my mouth fell agape. However, there still remained faint tingles on my skin from his closeness, and I tried to hide them with my gasps.

"What?! And you didn't tell me? I don't think I'll be able to forgive you for a lie like that!"

"And what will you do? Tackle me down?" he asked, leaning down to remind me of our height difference and surely also to show me from up close his popping dimple as he was fighting his laugh. Though there was nothing funny, and I was fully serious when I replied,

"Yes, if you don't give me the pastries."

"Okay, okay! No need to tire yourself. They're in my bag."

It was easier than I'd expected, and I let my hands, which were ready to attack him, come back down as he stepped away, the dangerous bad boy probably scared of the 5'1 mess I was. Well, it might not have looked like it as he chortled, but I was sure that somewhere deep, deep under that loud laugh, there was a tiny bit of fear, and he was lucky I wouldn't dig tonight because he'd had a long day, and he'd already opened up a lot to me.

Besides, he was about to prepare the hot chocolates as he turned to the stove again, so I wouldn't stop him. Though I still called,

"Blade... No more hiding things, right?"

"As you wish, Shooting star."

"So you'll have to tell me everything about how Nellie knows I have cravings."

I hadn't completely forgotten this detail in all of this, and even if I had an idea about the answer, I was eager to have news from Subrose, as much as tasting Nellie's pastries.

If a lot had happened for us in four months, I didn't doubt it was the same for our friends and families, and I often wondered about them.

***

*UNKNOWN'S POV*

The road to the right, the sharp rock that looked like a gargoyle, another turn, and it should have been there. My foot pressed the brake pedal as I quickly spotted the angular outlines behind the row of pine trees, the small turret, the open porch... until the car stopped completely when I caught sight of the last detail: the chimney and the cloud of smoke escaping it.

Someone was living there. I'd prepared for this, from my boots to the gun I grabbed in the glove compartment, and the many possible scenarios I'd considered throughout the ride, and yet, I stayed for too long minutes, observing the surrounding with a hand still on the ignition before I decided myself to get out of the car.

I hadn't made this one-day trip to give up now, so close to the goal. Nevertheless, I couldn't claim victory too soon either, and that was why I left my car in the shadows and I bypassed the front of the cabin, gripping the gun tightly under my coat while my eyes were scanning the area for any movements, so much that I didn't even look where I was stepping. Well, the squeaking sounds of mud under my shoes were enough indication, and I knew my boots were ruined when I reached the far end of the backyard.

However, it hadn't been the hardest part, and it was saying a lot as I glanced back at the haunting shadows of the wood behind. The goosebumps that had formed across my skin on my way here seeped in deeper when my gaze settled on the cabin ahead and the light coming from the living room window.

The forest might have been hiding many disgusting insects and dangerous beasts, but the house could be sheltering anyone too, and I was more likely to encounter outlaws than a family of bears straight out of a tale.

"Come on, just breathe. You can do it–" I didn't get to breathe; I didn't get to finish my motivating whisper to myself as a crack echoed from beside me, a large shadow following instantly, and I didn't get to think as my hand pulled out the gun.

It was all instinctive, a rush of adrenaline surging through my veins as I turned around, ready to face any wild beast or dangerous outlaw, only to find the muzzle of my gun aimed at two unimpressed eyes.

"Cluck." My scary attacker didn't even blink at the gun, flapping its wings to jump down from the wooden bench and waddling along with its shadow still larger than itself.

Yet I'd never been more relieved to see a hen, my hand flying to my chest as my heart restarted, and I could have almost hugged the gallinacean – almost. I just dropped my arm and the pointed weapon in my hand, as I wouldn't risk getting germs. Though I knew someone who wouldn't have hesitated to approach it, and even adopt it, and hopefully, its owner was the outlaw I was looking for.

That allowed me to finally breathe a sigh of relief and hope as I felt the steadying thumps under my palm. I hadn't done all this road for nothing, and I was still aliv–

"Boo!"

My heart stopped again, yet this time, before I could move a finger, two arms trapped me in a tight hold, freezing my body with a too-familiar shiver, and for an instant, I was so numb that I didn't realize the gun had been snatched out of my hand until I felt the cold muzzle against my temple.

I was facing a real, dangerous outlaw here, or more exactly, I was at the mercy of a real, dangerous outlaw, my eyes closing in surrender as every moment of my life was already flashing behind my eyelids, and the images weren't as perfect as I would have wished.

But two faces in all those memories made me take in how strongly my heart was still beating.

I was still alive, and I couldn't give up for them. They were giving me an incredible strength to struggle against my attacker, and even if it might not have made him flinch, as he pressed the gun deeper against my head, my wide eyes could take in the details of his hand... Tattoos on his left hand and all over his arms, tall figure, dangerous outlaw...

"Do you have a death wish?" Blade Sayer taunted.

I'd seen the wanted signs enough to recognize him instantly, though the black and white pictures didn't show the piercing ice blue that froze me more than the gun when I trailed my eyes higher.

He looked more terrifying than in the police photographs, and I could have almost forgotten he was one of the outlaws I was hoping to find.

"Please, let me go. I just want to see D-Dorothy."

"With a gun?" He cocked an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to the weapon now in his hand, and it was the only movement he made, giving no sign that he would release me any time soon – at least, not alive.

That was when another detail from the many articles and signs I'd seen came back to my mind: 'dangerous outlaw with murder record'.

"No, no, it wasn't for her. I would n-never hurt Dorothy. I'm–"

"Blade, how many times do I have to tell you to close the henhouse? Saturn was– oh god, what are you doing?!"

I was once again interrupted by the hen – Saturn, apparently – and mostly, by the man letting it go as soon as he noticed me, and I slowly recognized him as he approached us... Strong shoulders, brown curls, brown eyes... Spencer Colt.

Apart from his stubble, the young man looked close to the description, and far from the boy I remembered, except for his soft brown eyes, which were still the same and currently staring wide at me as the recognition was hitting him too.

"Are you crazy?! Put that gun down. It's–"

Who is it? 👀

Any guess?

Yes, I know it's another cliffhanger, and I'm being a meanie writer, but we already got a lot with this chapter, didn't we? Plus, I'm sure you can guess who is this mystery person knowing the cabin. 🤫

And I hope you liked the cute/devious/emotional part with Blade... So many emotions, so many sharp contrasts, it's our evil genie 😉✨

Do you think Dorothy has made the right choice by choosing the older guy to accuse? 🤔

Let me know all your thoughts and suppositions in the comments! And like always, don't forget to vote ⭐ because all the little notifications I get from you are illuminating my days and nights, my little shooting stars! 😘🌠✨💕