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PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)

the reason i always say "please don't be a ghost reader" this isnt just because i want votes, i mean i do, but ive been writing on this app for 3 almost 4 years and it helps me stay motivated because that means people are reading my stuff. and unlike other people, they have so many views on their books and i know my writing isnt the best but i love to write and it just helps me stay motivated. and i know i unpublish and republish my chapters and i get thats really annoying

【 SEASON EPISODE 4 PART 1 】

As John B steered the boat toward the dock, his jaw was clenched, his disappointment palpable in the silence between him and Clara. The last few hours had been a crushing blow-they'd come so close to finding the Royal Merchant, only to realize it wasn't there, or worse, that someone had already claimed it. Clara, meanwhile, wasn't sure what to feel. The treasure hunt had been John B's obsession, his beacon of hope. Seeing that hope dim was unsettling.

When the boat finally pulled in, John B jumped out, grabbing his backpack, barely saying a word. Clara followed suit, her mind churning as she watched John B's frustrated stride up the path to the Chateau. The setting sun cast long shadows over the place, but before they could even reach the front door, a voice broke the quiet.

"Hey, kids."

The words froze them both in place, prickling the hairs on Clara's arms. They turned toward the source and saw Cheryl, the social worker, sitting on the battered old couch in the living room. She looked right at them, her expression unreadable but stern.

John B rolled his eyes, his expression twisting in frustration. "You know, Cheryl, it's kind of a bad time for a check-in," he said as he tossed his backpack to the floor with a heavy thud.

Cheryl's voice, calm but unyielding, cut through the air. "Not a check-in. We're here to take you, John B."

Her words landed like a punch to the gut. Clara shot a shocked look at John B, her mind racing. "Just John B?" Clara managed, stepping forward, fear flashing in her eyes. "What about me?"

"You," Cheryl answered, her gaze unwavering, "you're going back to the group home."

Clara's heart sank, a wave of panic crashing over her. She'd fought so hard to escape the cold, indifferent walls of the group home. She thought she was finally free, that she'd found a family with John B and their friends. The thought of going back there, to that life-she couldn't bear it.

Before she fully processed her decision, she bolted. With a sharp intake of breath, Clara grabbed her backpack, threw the door open, and sprinted out of the Chateau, her heart pounding in her chest. Her feet flew across the yard, and in one swift motion, she snatched her bike from where it leaned against the fence.

"Hey! Get back here!" one of the cops shouted, but Clara barely spared him a glance, adrenaline fueling her as she hopped on the bike, pedaling furiously down the winding dirt path and onto the street.

The wind whipped against her face, and her legs pumped as fast as they could, her heart thundering with each pedal. But then she heard it-the shrill blare of police sirens in the distance, growing louder as they closed in on her. She threw a glance over her shoulder and saw the flashing lights gaining ground.

Think, Clara, think. She spotted a fence up ahead, leading into someone's backyard, and without a second thought, she flung herself off the bike, letting it crash to the ground as she took off on foot, vaulting over the fence with a quick, desperate leap.

"Clara Liu-Routledge! Get back here!" a cop's voice echoed, but she was already sprinting across the yard, ducking through a line of trees.

That's when she saw it-a motorcycle, just sitting in someone's driveway. She hesitated for only a split second before her instincts kicked in. JJ taught you how to ride; you can do this, she reminded herself, feeling her pulse quicken as she hopped onto the bike. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the ignition, but finally, it roared to life.

Gripping the handlebars tightly, she peeled out, speeding down the narrow street as fast as the bike would go. The tires screeched, kicking up gravel as she navigated the turns, her mind locked on one goal: getting as far from the Chateau as possible. But then-she hit something. A rock? She didn't know. She only felt herself lurch forward, tumbling from the bike and landing hard on the pavement, the impact rattling through her bones.

She groaned, trying to push herself up, feeling the sting of scrapes and bruises. Before she could steady herself, a familiar figure rushed toward her.

"Girl, did you just yeet over that chain?" Sarah Cameron's voice was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she skidded to a stop beside Clara.

Clara looked up, her cheeks flushing as she realized who was standing there. Sarah Cameron, the girl she'd secretly liked for as long as she could remember, someone she thought she'd never be able to confide in because, well, Sarah was a Kook. And Kooks and Pogues didn't mix... right? But there was no time to dwell on that now. She looked over Sarah's shoulder and saw the police car rounding the corner, heading straight for them.

Clara's stomach dropped. "We need to go. Now. Where's your car?" she asked, urgency sharp in her voice.

Sarah, seeming to grasp the situation immediately, nodded and gestured toward her Jeep, parked a few yards away. "This way!"

Without another word, Clara bolted, her heart pounding as she ran toward the Jeep and yanked open the passenger door, diving inside. Sarah jumped into the driver's seat, her fingers gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. Clara could feel the police closing in, every second feeling like a countdown.

"Please," Clara gasped, her voice shaky as she threw a look at Sarah. "Just take me somewhere. Anywhere. The cops are after me."

Sarah's eyes flicked to her, a mixture of concern and determination in her gaze. "Why are the cops after you?" she asked, her tone tense but not judgmental.

Clara swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. "They're trying to take me back to the group home," she said, her voice barely a whisper, the fear and desperation raw in her words. "They want to split me and John B up."

Something shifted in Sarah's expression, a flicker of sympathy mingling with her resolve. She gripped the wheel tighter, glancing at the rearview mirror where the flashing lights were just visible. "Alright," she said, her voice steely. "I got you."

The Jeep roared to life as Sarah hit the gas, peeling away from the curb and taking off down the street. Clara glanced behind them, watching the police car shrink into the distance. She let out a shaky breath, her heart still racing as the fear started to ebb, replaced by a cautious relief.

But as they turned down an empty road, Clara felt her pulse start to steady. She caught Sarah's eye, her expression softening. In that moment, she knew she was safe, if only for now. Sarah gave her a small, reassuring smile, and Clara managed a faint, grateful one in return, feeling a strange warmth fill her chest despite everything happening around them.

As Sarah pulled her Jeep up to the sprawling colonial estate, the house's grand facade loomed against the darkening sky, casting long, ominous shadows. The night was eerily quiet, broken only by the hum of the Jeep's engine as Sarah parked in the circular driveway. Clara finally felt herself release the breath she'd been holding, but her relief was cut short as a sharp, piercing pain shot through her side.

She sucked in a quick breath and looked down, her stomach lurching. Her hand came away sticky and red. Blood was pooling beneath her shirt, staining her skin and spreading fast. "Oh-oh my god," she whispered, barely able to process what she was seeing. Her voice was a breathless murmur, almost drowned out by the ringing in her ears as nausea began to churn in her stomach. She'd never been good with blood. The sight of it on her own skin-her own wound-made her head spin.

Sarah looked over, her eyes widening as she took in the growing stain on Clara's shirt. "Shit," she muttered, the words clipped with shock. "A rock did that to you?" Her voice sounded distant, like it was coming from far away, but Clara managed a slight nod, even as pain shot through her like shards of glass.

"Okay, okay, come on." Sarah didn't hesitate; she was out of the Jeep in seconds, her footsteps crunching over gravel as she circled around to Clara's side. Gently but firmly, she helped Clara out, slipping an arm around her shoulders to steady her as they made their way to the front door.

Clara was barely aware of her surroundings, her focus narrowing to the fiery ache radiating from her side and the steady weight of Sarah's arm around her. But just as Sarah opened the door, a sharp voice rang through the house, snapping Clara back to reality.

"Hey!" Ward Cameron's voice boomed, sounding preoccupied and impatient, like he was in the middle of a heated phone call. Clara tensed, glancing nervously in the direction of his voice, but Sarah kept moving, her expression set with determination. Without a word, she ushered Clara into the nearest room, a shadowy side parlor, and gently pushed her inside.

Clara stumbled, clutching her side as she struggled to stay upright. The room was dimly lit, with heavy drapes and the faint scent of cedar lingering in the air. She could hear the muffled murmur of Ward's voice outside, and she gulped, pressing her hand harder against the wound, feeling the warmth of the blood beneath her fingers. The door opened quietly, and Sarah slipped in, shutting it behind her with a soft click.

In one hand, Sarah held a glass of water and, in the other, a small first-aid kit she must've grabbed on the way in. She quickly made her way over to Clara, her expression softening as she knelt down beside her.

"Alright, I need to clean this wound," Sarah said gently, her tone calming but purposeful. She unscrewed the lid from the bottle of water and handed it to Clara. "It's going to be fine. Just focus on breathing, okay?"

Clara took the water with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the queasiness twisting in her stomach. "Sarah, I... I really don't do well with blood," she whispered, her voice barely above a tremor.

Sarah gave her a reassuring smile, brushing back a loose strand of Clara's hair. "I know, I know. You're doing great. Just keep breathing."

She opened the first-aid kit, grabbing a wad of gauze and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Clara watched, but as Sarah unscrewed the cap, a sharp, medicinal scent filled the air, making Clara wrinkle her nose. "Rubbing alcohol? You know that stuff is terrible for the environment, right?" she murmured, her voice weak but tinged with genuine concern.

A laugh escaped Sarah, light and unexpected. "Only you, Clara. You're bleeding, and you're still worried about the environment." Shaking her head, she leaned in, her voice softened by affection. "I love that about you."

Clara opened her mouth to protest, but just as she took a breath, Sarah pressed the alcohol-soaked gauze to her wound, and the pain flared up, sharp and searing. Clara let out a loud yelp, jerking backward. The sound echoed through the quiet room, too loud and too obvious.

"Clara!" Sarah hissed, glancing nervously at the door. She quickly clamped a hand over Clara's mouth, her eyes wide with worry. "Shh, do you want my dad coming in here?"

Clara groaned against her hand, the pain making her glare shoot daggers. She swatted Sarah's hand away, her voice low but fierce. "I hate blood! Just-just distract me, okay?"

Sarah smirked, clearly amused but sympathetic. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on an old portrait hanging on the far wall. "Fine. Look at that picture over there. That's Denmark Tanny, founder of Tannyhill."

Clara's eyes shifted to the portrait-a tall, stern-looking man with intense eyes, dressed in nineteenth-century clothing. She studied his face, curiosity momentarily overpowering the pain. "Who's he?" she asked, the question pulling her focus away from the ache in her side.

"Denmark Tanny," Sarah repeated, reaching for another piece of gauze. "He was... well, originally a slave, but he became a free man. Somehow, he bought up all this land and built Tannyhill. The whole place." She dabbed gently at Clara's wound, her movements careful.

Clara's brows shot up, her curiosity sparking even brighter. "How did a former slave own a cotton plantation?" she asked, disbelief coloring her tone.

Sarah smiled, her gaze flickering back to the portrait. "Like I said, he was a free man. Kind of a mystery, honestly. Legend has it he paid for everything in gold."

"In gold?" Clara echoed, her eyes widening. Her mind raced, trying to connect the dots as she glanced back at Sarah, but before she could ask more, Sarah pressed another alcohol-soaked gauze to the wound, and Clara yelped again, instinctively pulling away.

"Clara, hold still!" Sarah said, exasperated but still smiling. "I'm almost done, but I can't bandage you up if you're squirming."

Ignoring her instructions, Clara leaned closer to the portrait, her eyes narrowing as she studied it intently. A realization seemed to dawn on her, and she muttered, more to herself than to Sarah, "Holy crap. He was on the Royal Merchant."

Sarah's face scrunched up in confusion, her fingers frozen mid-motion. "Huh?"

Clara turned to her, excitement flashing in her eyes despite the pain. "What else do you know about this guy?"

Sarah sighed, finally grabbing the roll of bandages from the first-aid kit. "When we moved in, we found all this old stuff in the attic-a diary, some papers, an almanac. My dad ended up donating most of it to the state archives at Chapel Hill."

Clara's heart skipped a beat. The archives. Her mind raced, imagining all the secrets and clues that could be buried there, pieces of history that could help her, help John B, maybe even uncover more about her dad. She took a shaky breath, her voice quiet but determined. "Can I... can I go see it?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow, her gaze searching Clara's face. "See what?"

"The archives," Clara stammered, the urgency in her voice palpable. "I need to see them."

Sarah hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to piece together Clara's sudden intensity. "I mean, I could probably get you in. My dad has a trustee pass."

Clara's face lit up, her heart pounding with hope. "Yes! That. I need that."

Sarah tilted her head, her expression shifting into one of suspicion. "You need me to get you into Chapel Hill? Right now?"

"Yes!" Clara nodded, barely able to contain her eagerness. "I need to do this for my dad."

A smirk played at the corner of Sarah's lips, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Why now? And why for your dad?"

Clara's gaze dropped, her fingers clenching around the strap of her backpack. "I... I can't say," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah arched a brow, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "So, Clara Liu-Routledge has secrets?" She stepped closer, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to tease her normally-reserved friend.

Clara felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her voice stammering. "I mean... I-I..."

Sarah leaned in, her face inches from Clara's, the smirk still tugging at her lips. "Mmm," she murmured, dragging out the sound as she let the silence linger between them.

Clara's face turned an even deeper shade of red, her voice barely a squeak. "Please, Sarah. I need this. The less you know, the better. Just trust me."

Sarah's expression softened, her teasing fading as she looked at Clara, the urgency in her eyes. "You're cute, you know that?" she said, her tone sincere.

Clara blinked, her face growing even warmer, but she couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto her face.

"But," Sarah continued, her smile fading into something more serious, "I don't trust anyone. Especially not with my dad's stuff."

Clara's heart sank, the hope she'd felt moments ago slipping through her fingers like sand.

Clara sighed, feeling the urgency in her bones. "I need to go now," she insisted.

Sarah held her ground, eyeing Clara. "Then I'm coming with you."

Clara hesitated, taken aback by the offer. "I don't know..."

Sarah stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Yes. One last mission, and then I'm out of this dirty, dirty game."

They stood there, faces inches apart, the weight of the moment thickening the air between them. Clara swallowed, her heart racing, and Sarah smirked, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from Clara's face.

"Let's go," Sarah said, her voice low, a hint of excitement sparking in her gaze.

Clara took a shaky breath, nodding. Whatever came next, she had a feeling that Sarah Cameron was going to make this adventure even more unforgettable than she'd anticipated.

ASH SPEAKS!

ITS HAPPEENNNNING!! NEXT CHAPTER! virginia and val go undercover (their code names) 🤭

please check out some of my other books!! bed chem, matching scars, cinnamon girl, jealousy jealousy and some more :)

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)