Paper Trail

I didn't turn on the headlights.

I didn't need them. The streetlights of Sablewood Heights were fake gas lamps, casting a sickly yellow glow over the snow. Enough to see the road. Enough to see the security guard in the booth lift his head as I blew past.

He grabbed his phone.

Calling the police?

Or calling Leo?

I didn't care. The Audi S5 had a V6 engine and I had nothing left to lose. I merged onto Route 9, the tires fighting for grip on the black ice.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

*Leo Calling.*

I let it buzz.

It buzzed again.

*Aris Thorne Calling.*

I stared at the screen. The name. The man who had been watching me sleep.

I picked it up.

"Hello, Elena," his voice purred through the car speakers. Smooth. Unflustered. "Leo tells me you're having an episode."

"I know," I said. My voice was calm. Scary calm. "I have the drive, Aris. I have the files. I have the contract."

A pause. Just the sound of his breathing. Slow. Rhythmic.

"You have a stolen piece of hardware," he corrected gently. "And you have a history of delusions. Who are they going to believe? The grieving mother who shot a teenager? Or the pillar of the community who has dedicated his life to helping kids like Ethan?"

"They'll believe the video," I said. "The one of you walking into my house two hours before he died."

"Do you have that video?" he asked. "Or did Leo delete it?"

"I have the backup."

"Ah. The backup." He chuckled. A low, wet sound. "Elena. You really are resourceful. Leo said you were... pliable. I told him he underestimated you."

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the Institute," he said. "Waiting for you. Bring the drive, Elena. Let's talk. We can fix this. We can get you the help you need."

"I'm coming," I said. "But not to talk."

I hung up.

I threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

The Thorne Institute was five miles away. A brutalist concrete fortress nestled in the woods. Glass and steel and secrets.

I looked in the rearview mirror.

No headlights behind me. Yet.

But they would come. Leo would come. Mercer would come.

I reached into my purse. My fingers brushed the cold steel of the hammer. The murder weapon that wasn't a murder weapon. The tool of my trade.

I wasn't a killer. I was a preservationist. I saved things. I fixed broken structures.

But sometimes, to save a structure, you have to tear it down to the studs.

The Institute loomed ahead. It looked like a spaceship that had crashed into the forest. Illuminated by floodlights. Surrounded by a high fence.

The gate was closed.

I didn't slow down.

I had already crashed one gate tonight. What was one more?

I braced myself.

*CRUNCH.*

The Audi slammed into the chain link. Metal screamed. The windshield spiderwebbed.

I kept going. Through the parking lot. Up the ramp.

I skidded to a halt in front of the main entrance.

I grabbed the purse. I grabbed the drive.

I kicked the door open.

The glass doors of the lobby slid open automatically. Welcoming me.

"Mrs. Rostova."

The receptionist didn't look up from her screen. She was young. Bored. Wearing headphones.

"I'm here to see Dr. Thorne," I said.

She looked up then. Saw the blood on my robe. The wild hair. The hammer in my hand.

Her eyes went wide.

"He's... he's in his office. Top floor."

She reached for the phone.

I swung the hammer. Not at her. At the phone base.

*CRACK.*

Plastic shattered.

"Don't," I said.

She nodded, terrified.

I walked to the elevator. I hit the button for the 4th floor.

The doors closed. The music started. Soft jazz.

I leaned against the mirrored wall. I looked at myself.

I looked like a nightmare.

Good.

The doors opened.

The 4th floor was different. Darker. Quieter.

The hallway was lined with doors. *Observation Room 1. Observation Room 2.*

And at the end of the hall, double doors. *Director.*

I walked toward them.

The floor was polished concrete. My bare feet made a slapping sound. *Slap. Slap. Slap.*

I pushed the doors open.

Aris was sitting behind a massive desk. The room was glass on three sides, overlooking the dark forest.

He wasn't alone.

Chloe was there.

She was sitting in a chair opposite him. She looked small. Terrified.

Aris looked up. He smiled.

"Elena," he said. "You made it."

He stood up. He was wearing a suit. Immaculate. Not a hair out of place.

"And you brought a toy," he said, looking at the hammer.

"Let her go," I said.

"Chloe?" He looked down at the girl. "Chloe is my patient. She's here voluntarily. Aren't you, Chloe?"

Chloe didn't speak. She was shaking.

"She saw the video," I said. "She knows."

"She knows what her trauma tells her," Aris said smoothly. "Just like you."

He walked around the desk.

"Give me the drive, Elena."

I held it up. "You want it? Come get it."

He stopped. He looked at the hammer. Then at me.

"You won't use that," he said. "You're not violent. You're a builder. A nurturer."

"I shot a boy in the chest," I said. "Try me."

His smile faltered. Just for a second.

"That was an accident," he said. "A reflex. This... this would be murder."

"Self-defense," I corrected. "I feared for my life."

I took a step forward.

"You ruined my life, Aris. You gaslit me. You drugged me. You turned my husband against me."

"Leo didn't need much turning," Aris said with a sneer. "Leo is a weak man. He likes nice things. He likes being the hero. I just gave him a stage."

He took a step closer.

"And you... you were the perfect project. The broken girl in the big house. So much potential. So much... cracks."

"I'm not broken," I said.

I raised the hammer.

"I'm structural."

I swung.

I didn't aim for him.

I aimed for the glass wall behind him.

*SMASH.*

The tempered glass exploded. A thousand diamonds raining down.

The wind roared in. Freezing. Violent.

Aris stumbled back, shielding his face.

"You crazy bitch!" he screamed.

I didn't stop. I swung again. At the display case full of awards. At the computer monitor. At the lamp.

I was dismantling his office. His sanctuary. His fortress.

"Chloe, run!" I yelled.

Chloe scrambled out of the chair. She ran for the door.

Aris lunged for her.

I threw the hammer.

It hit him in the shoulder. A dull thud.

He grunted, spinning around. He fell to one knee.

He looked at me. His eyes were pure hate.

"You think this is over?" he hissed. "You think you can just break a few windows and walk away? I own this town, Elena. I own the police. I own the narrative."

He stood up. He pulled something from his pocket.

A gun.

Small. Silver.

"And now," he said, aiming it at my chest. "I own you."

I froze.

The wind whipped my robe around my legs.

"Goodbye, Elena," he said.

He pulled the trigger.

*Click.*

Nothing happened.

He frowned. He pulled it again.

*Click.*

I started to laugh.

It was a low, bubbling sound that rose up from my chest.

"What?" he demanded. "What is it?"

"Leo," I said.

"What about him?"

"He wiped my gun," I said. "He cleaned it. He took the magazine out."

Aris stared at the gun.

"He gave you my gun," I said. "The one from the scene. The empty one."

Leo hadn't just been cleaning up the crime scene. He had been disarming me.

But he had also disarmed Aris.

Whether he meant to or not.

Aris looked at the gun. Then at me.

He threw the gun at my head.

I ducked. It shattered the window behind me.

He charged.

I didn't have the hammer. I didn't have a gun.

But I had the chisel. The one from the basement. Still in my pocket.

He tackled me. We hit the floor. Hard. Glass bit into my back.

He was strong. Stronger than me. His hands found my throat.

"I'm going to squeeze the life out of you," he grunted, his face inches from mine. "Just like I did to Ethan's father."

I couldn't breathe. Black spots danced in my vision.

I reached into my pocket. My fingers closed around the wooden handle.

I pulled it out.

I didn't think. I didn't aim.

I just struck.

Upward. Hard.

The chisel sank into his side. Between the ribs.

He screamed. A high, animal sound.

His grip loosened.

I pushed him off. I scrambled back, gasping for air.

He was on his knees, clutching his side. Blood—dark, arterial blood—was seeping through his fingers.

He looked at me. Shocked.

"You..." he wheezed.

"I told you," I rasped, standing up. "I'm a preservationist."

I looked down at him.

"And some things... aren't worth saving."

I turned and walked out of the office.

Chloe was waiting by the elevator. She was holding the hammer.

"Did you kill him?" she whispered.

"No," I said. "But I broke his structure."

The elevator dinged.

We got in.

As the doors closed, I heard sirens. Not in the distance. Here. In the parking lot.

Mercer.

I looked at the hammer in Chloe's hand. I looked at the blood on my robe.

"Give me the hammer," I said.

She handed it to me.

I wiped it on my robe.

"When the doors open," I said, "you say nothing. I'll do the talking."

"What are you going to say?"

I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall.

I didn't look like a victim anymore.

I looked like an architect.

"I'm going to tell them the truth," I said.

The doors opened.

Mercer was standing there. Gun drawn. Leo was beside him, looking pale and terrified.

"Elena!" Leo cried. "Thank god!"

He rushed toward me.

I held up a hand.

"Stop," I said.

He froze.

I looked at Mercer. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the SD card.

"Detective," I said. "I'd like to report a crime."

I pointed at Leo.

"And I'd like to report an accomplice."

Leo's face crumbled.

Mercer looked at me. Then at Leo. Then at the hammer in my other hand.

He holstered his gun.

"Talk," he said.

And for the first time in twelve years...

I opened the door.