Ridge and I walked back to the car in silence, the weight of the lanyard pressing heavily on both of us. He slid into the driver's seat, opened the glove box, and carefully placed the lanyard next to the tin. The sharp click of the compartment shutting seemed louder than it should have been in the quiet.

We sat there for a moment, neither of us speaking. The silence wasn't peaceful; it was charged, thick with unspoken questions and mounting frustration. My mind raced, trying to piece together how this new clue fit into the picture. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

I finally broke the silence. "Why would he have that?" My voice was soft but laced with unease.

Ridge sighed, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his pale green eyes staring out into the distance. 

"That's the question, isn't it? The more we dig, the more it feels like we're spinning in circles." He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something. Something big."

His words sank in, sending a ripple of unease through me. Before I could respond, Ridge started the car.

"I need to go to Frank Malone's pub," he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The sight of the pub twisted something in my chest. Frank was inside, along with every unanswered question and half-buried feeling I'd worked so hard to avoid.

"I'll wait at your apartment," I said quickly, desperate to avoid whatever emotional mess seeing Frank would stir up.

"No." Ridge didn't even look at me, his voice firm as he turned the car onto the main road. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

I crossed my arms, leaning back into the seat with a huff. "I don't want to see him, Ridge. I don't want to deal with all of that right now."

He finally glanced at me, his expression softening for just a moment. "I get it. But I need to take the bracelets to him. And whatever else is in the tin. He needs to see it all."

"Why can't we just take it to the police?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "Isn't that what they're there for? Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

Ridge exhaled heavily, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Frank needs as much evidence as possible before we go to the police. If we hand over half a puzzle, they'll only see half a picture. And in cases like this, half a picture gets you nowhere."

I didn't respond, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Ridge was right—he usually was—but it didn't make any of this easier to stomach.

My gaze drifted to the glove box, my thoughts circling back to the lanyard. "The person who's been stalking me," I said, my voice low, "the person who probably has Amber right now... who killed Brad... they must be a student."

Ridge's eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to the road. His silence wasn't dismissive—it was thoughtful, heavy with the weight of what I'd just said.

"They have to be," I continued, the words spilling out now. "That lanyard... it's not just some random clue. It's not a coincidence. Whoever this is, they're tied to the sixth form. To us."

Ridge's jaw clenched, his expression darkening. "If that's true, then we're even closer to them than we thought."

A chill ran through me at his words. The person who'd turned my life into a waking nightmare wasn't some faceless monster lurking in the shadows. They were someone I might've walked past in the halls, someone who had been hiding in plain sight.

And now they had Amber.

Ridge parked at the back of the pub on a gravel car park, cutting the engine. The building loomed ahead, its weathered façade stirring a mix of dread and resignation in me. My stomach churned as I stared at the entrance, my hand frozen on the door handle.

"I'll wait in the car," I said quietly, my voice lacking conviction.

Ridge turned to face me, his green eyes narrowing slightly. "Sam, it's not safe for you to stay out here alone."

"I'll be fine," I muttered, glancing away. The thought of stepping inside, of facing Frank and whatever emotions he might stir, made my chest tighten. My fingers curled around the edge of the seat, as if holding on would somehow keep me out of the situation.

Before Ridge could respond, the back door of the pub swung open, and Frank stepped out. The sharp creak of the hinges cut through the stillness, making me flinch. Ridge moved quickly, stepping in front of the car door before Frank could come any closer.

"Not now, Frank," Ridge said firmly, holding up a hand to stop him. "She's not—"

"I just want to say two things," Frank interrupted, his voice calm but insistent. His gaze shifted to me, softening as though he could sense my hesitation. "I won't ask you any questions, Sam. I won't even mention Casey. But I don't want you sitting out here with some maniac on the loose."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with implication. I hesitated, my fingers tightening further on the seat's edge. Frank's voice wasn't harsh or demanding; it carried something else entirely—concern, laced with an undercurrent of fear. His hand twitched slightly at his side, as though he wanted to reach out but stopped himself.

"Sam," Ridge said gently, crouching slightly so we were at eye level. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the damp chill seeping into the car. "You'll be safer inside. I promise, we won't stay long."

The lump in my throat refused to budge, but I nodded reluctantly, pushing the door open. Ridge stepped back, offering his hand to help me out of the car, though I didn't take it. My legs felt unsteady, the cool breeze biting against my skin as I followed them toward the pub, Ridge keeping close to my side.

Inside, the pub smelled faintly of old wood and coffee, the warmth of the room doing little to ease the tension coiled in my chest. The low hum of muted conversations was underscored by the occasional clink of glasses. Ridge guided me to a corner table, pulling out a chair for me before sitting down across from me. Frank hovered nearby, his gaze flicking between us.

"Would you like a coffee?" Frank asked, his voice careful, almost hesitant. "Or something stronger?"

"Just coffee, please," I replied softly, managing a small, polite smile despite the storm churning inside me.

Frank nodded and walked to the bar, his footsteps muffled against the worn wooden floorboards. Ridge and I sat in silence, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. Ridge leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his expression thoughtful but tense.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I shook my head faintly, my fingers tracing invisible patterns on the tabletop. The rough texture of the wood was oddly grounding. "I just don't know how to act," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

Ridge reached out, his hand brushing my shoulder briefly. The touch was fleeting but comforting. "I know this is hard, Sam, but I promise, it's safer inside. We'll keep it short."

Frank returned a few minutes later, setting the coffee in front of me with a quiet, "Here you go, love." He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft but searching, before stepping away to join Ridge at the bar. Their voices dropped to hushed tones, their conversation deliberately out of earshot.

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, the heat seeping into my chilled fingers. Taking a small sip, I glanced toward the bar occasionally. Ridge was speaking in low, deliberate tones, his posture tense as he leaned toward Frank. The tin sat on the bar between them, its presence as heavy as the words I couldn't hear. Frank's face looked even more worn, his eyes darting to me every so often, filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place—pity, perhaps, or regret. Each glance made my stomach twist.

Unable to sit idle any longer, I pulled out my phone and turned it on. It buzzed incessantly, the screen lighting up with dozens of missed calls and messages. My chest tightened as I scrolled through them: Loretta, over and over again. Missed call after missed call.

I frowned, confused. Loretta's messages kept piling up—frantic, demanding, and entirely unlike her. She'd never cared about anything before—so why now? The words blurred together as my mind raced, each notification a puzzle piece I didn't know how to fit.

Mixed in with her messages were a few from Rich, all marked urgent, and one from DCI Campbell:

"We're organising volunteers for a search party. I want you to stay away. It's not safe for you to be involved."

I stared at the message, the words sinking in like a weight dragging me down. Stay away? How could I stay away when everyone would be searching for my best friend but me.