As we drove towards the pub to collect Amber, my stomach churned with nervous energy. The streets, bathed in the fading grey light of late afternoon, looked unfamiliar. Everything felt distorted, and my mind kept circling back to Loretta—Monica. Could I really keep this façade up, keep playing her game? Or would she sense it, like a predator smelling fear?

When we reached the pub, Ridge parked a few streets away, out of view of the front entrance.

"I'll go in and get Amber," Ridge said as he killed the engine. His gaze shifted to me. "You don't want to see Frank, do you?"

I shook my head quickly. The thought of facing Frank Malone, with his searching eyes and the weight of everything he represented, was too much. I wasn't ready. Not yet. "I'll wait here."

Ridge gave me a short nod before stepping out of the car. I watched him disappear into the pub, and the moment he was gone, the car felt oppressive, the air thick with tension. The shadows seemed to press closer as I waited. The day had slipped away, and the sky was now tinged with blue as the fading daylight surrendered to evening.

I sat in the car, trying to shake the creeping sense of unease that gnawed at me. My eyes flicked to the streetlights flickering on, pooling pale yellow light on the rain-slick pavement. The rhythmic patter of the rain against the windshield was the only sound, but it did nothing to ease the tension winding tighter in my chest.

I stared at the entrance of the pub, half-expecting to see Frank emerge, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. The thought made my stomach turn. I wasn't ready to be Casey. I wasn't ready for the answers that came with that name. And I certainly wasn't ready to face the man who might be my real father.

I shifted in my seat, my hands gripping the edges of the hoodie Ridge had given me. The material smelled faintly of him, and despite everything, that small detail settled me. But the shadows outside seemed to shift in the corner of my eye, and I found myself glancing nervously out of the car windows. The shapes of pedestrians blurred and distorted through the rain as they passed by in twos and threes, huddled under umbrellas or pulling their jackets tight against the wind.

I reminded myself I wasn't alone. Not really. The street was busy enough, even with the rain. There were people around. I wasn't isolated. But the feeling of being watched lingered, unsettling and invasive, gnawing at the back of my mind.

I tapped my foot against the car floor, the nerves in my stomach knotting tighter as I waited for Ridge and Amber to return. They were taking too long. I glanced at the pub again, the warm glow of its interior spilling out into the street, but neither Ridge nor Amber was anywhere in sight. My heart thudded in my chest, every second dragging out painfully. What if something had happened?

I was just about to grab my phone when I saw them. Ridge, tall and steady as ever, with Amber beside him. Frank was in the doorway too; I watched as Ridge patted his shoulder and said something to him.

Amber looked pale and tense, her shoulders hunched as they stepped out of the pub and made their way towards the car. Relief washed over me as I unlocked the door.

Amber slid into the back seat with a huff, rain droplets clinging to her hair and jacket. "You left me in there with him for way too long," she snapped, crossing her arms. "It was awkward as hell. Thanks for that."

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling guilty.

Ridge settled into the driver's seat without a word, his expression hard as he started the engine.

"Alright, catch me up," Amber said, leaning forward between the seats. Her voice was quiet, the lingering strain of annoyance in her tone.

I glanced at Ridge before turning to Amber. "There's more," I began, taking a deep breath before diving into what Ridge had shared with me—about how he didn't know I existed, how everything changed when I opened the door that day, and what it meant for Frank.

Amber's face paled as I spoke, her eyes growing wider with every revelation. When I finished, she let out a slow breath.

"Jesus," she muttered. "So, what now? What about the hooded man? I mean, he's probably the one who killed Brad, if it wasn't you... No offence."

I flinched, but Ridge smiled faintly. We didn't know who to trust, but the hooded man was definitely a bad guy.

"That's the part of the puzzle I don't get. I'm not sure if it's connected to any of this," Ridge said, his face tense.

Amber nodded, but I could see the fear creeping into her eyes. "Brad's vigil is tonight... in town," she said, her voice quieter now. "We can't not go; it would be suspicious."

I felt my stomach clench at the mention of the vigil. The idea of being around so many people, with everyone grieving Brad, left me cold. The guilt twisted tighter. I hadn't processed his death fully, too consumed with everything else swirling around me—Loretta, the hooded man, and now the possibility of being Frank Malone's daughter.

But Amber was right. We had to go. Skipping it would raise too many questions, and the last thing we needed was more eyes on us.

"I need to change," I muttered, looking down at the clothes I'd borrowed from Ridge. "I can't go like this."

Ridge nodded. "We'll stop at Amber's place, and then we'll head to the vigil. But I'm coming with you."

I didn't have the energy to argue about him coming with us. Amber opened her mouth to protest but closed it again, her annoyance still simmering as she crossed her arms.

We drove the rest of the way back to our small town in silence.

As we approached Amber's street, we had Ridge park at the end, away from her house. We didn't want Richard to see us getting out of his car.

Both Amber and I darted to the house, our footsteps slapping against the pavement.

"Hi, girls," Richard called from the kitchen.

"Hi, Rich!" I called out at the same time as Amber's "Hi, Dad."

We rushed to the stairs, but as I reached the top, Amber called back, "Gotta rush—need to go out again."

"Erm, hold on one moment," Richard called, walking from the kitchen with a tea towel flipped over his shoulder. I froze at the top of the stairs, now only able to see Richard's socked feet. "I had a call from Loretta. She wanted to let me know that you two skipped today."

My breath caught in my throat as his words settled over me. Loretta had called him. Of course, she had. She was keeping tabs, playing the part of the concerned mother, just like Ridge had warned me she would.

Amber, ever the quick thinker, responded smoothly, "Yeah, it's been... hard." Her voice cracked just enough to sell the lie. "With Brad's memorial tonight, we just couldn't face school."

There was a pause, a moment of silence as Richard seemed to consider this. From my vantage point, I could only see his feet shift slightly, like he was weighing his next words carefully.

"I get it," he said finally, his voice softer now. "But... you girls take care of yourselves, alright? It's a tough time. Don't keep things bottled up."

"Thanks, Dad," Amber said quickly, already pulling me toward her room as Richard stepped back into the kitchen, seemingly satisfied.

Once we were upstairs and the door clicked shut behind us, Amber let out a heavy sigh. "That bitch."

"Amber," I said, a laugh escaping.

Amber shot me a look. "She is. She's going to have done that on purpose, but it just shows she does not know my dad."

"Come on, we best get changed," I said, walking to her wardrobe.

Amber nodded, still muttering under her breath as she moved to her dresser, yanking open drawers with more force than necessary. The tension in the room hadn't faded. If anything, it was thicker now, pressing down on both of us.

As I rummaged through her wardrobe, trying to find something to wear to the vigil, I felt the weight of everything crashing down again. The constant pretending, the secrets, the fear of what might happen next.

As we finished getting ready, I could hear the faint hum of rain picking up again outside. The weather had a way of reflecting my mood lately—cold, uncertain, and relentless.

When we went back downstairs, Richard was still in the kitchen, but he didn't call out to us again. I could see Ridge's car parked just up the street through the living room window, the rain now streaking down the glass. Amber gave her dad a quick wave, but he came to the hallway.

"I'll see you at the vigil, girls. I'm just going to finish up in here. I can take you if you don't mind waiting for me?"

"It's okay, we have a lift... from a friend of mine," I said, the words sounding robotic to my own ears.

Richard looked between us but then nodded a goodbye.

Once we were back in the car, Ridge glanced at us in the rear-view mirror. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," Amber muttered, though her expression said otherwise.

The drive to the vigil felt longer than it should have, the silence in the car thick and tense. My hands fidgeted in my lap as we neared the town square. The streets were already filling up, with people holding umbrellas, candles, and photos of Brad. It was a strange mix of solemnity and unease, the sadness palpable in the air, but the tension from everything that had happened was impossible to ignore.

As we stepped out of the car, Ridge moved close to us, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Stick together. No wandering off."

We made our way through the throngs of people, the faint flicker of candlelight illuminating the grey, rain-soaked streets. The square was filling up quickly, more and more people arriving to pay their respects to Brad. The mournful atmosphere weighed heavily on me, mixing with the gnawing anxiety that had been lurking just beneath the surface. I couldn't help but feel like we didn't belong here—not anymore. Too much had happened, too many secrets had been unearthed, and now it felt like we were walking among ghosts.

Amber lit a candle, her expression sombre as she handed one to me. I hesitated, the small flickering flame in my hands feeling fragile, like everything else in my life right now. Ridge stayed close, his presence a steady, watchful force as we moved further into the crowd.

The longer we stayed, the more out of place I felt. And that sense of being watched hadn't disappeared—it was stronger now, crawling up my spine like ice.