Chapter 32

The call disconnected thirty-seven seconds later.

Not with a click.

With static.

The same soft electrical distortion that had haunted nearly every memory tied to Black Hollow.

Evelyn sat frozen at the recording desk long after the line died.

The livestream comments moved too fast to read now, exploding upward in frantic waves across the monitor.

IS THAT REALLY HER

CALL THE POLICE

THIS IS FAKE

OH MY GOD

TRACE THE NUMBER

LENA IS ALIVE

Mara muted the stream immediately.

The apartment fell silent except for rain against the windows and Evelyn’s uneven breathing.

“She sent coordinates,” Mara whispered.

Evelyn looked down.

A text notification blinked on-screen beneath the disconnected call.

No name.

No message.

Just GPS coordinates.

And one photograph attached below them.

A lakeside cabin.

Dark water.

Pine trees.

Rain on the windows.

Something inside Evelyn twisted painfully.

Because the image looked recent.

Too recent.

Mara grabbed the phone first.

“No.”

Evelyn blinked. “What?”

“You are absolutely not driving into the woods alone because a mystery woman whispered your name through static like a haunted podcast ad.”

“It was Lena.”

“You don’t know that.”

Evelyn stood abruptly.

“Yes, I do.”

Mara looked at her carefully then.

Not arguing anymore.

Worried.

Because Evelyn sounded certain in a way that frightened people lately.

The apartment lights flickered softly with distant thunder while rain streaked silver down the windows behind them.

“Call Mercer first,” Mara said carefully.

“If police get there before me, whoever’s hiding her disappears.”

“That sentence alone should concern you.”

But Evelyn was already grabbing her coat.

The livestream still ran silently on the monitor behind them, tens of thousands of viewers watching empty chairs and unresolved panic.

Mara cursed softly under her breath.

“You’re choosing hope over common sense again.”

The problem was that Mara said it like hope and danger had become interchangeable.

Maybe they had.

Adrian arrived twelve minutes later.

Evelyn knew because she checked the clock twice while pacing near the apartment windows, rainlight flickering across the room every time headlights moved below the building.

The moment he stepped inside and saw the coordinates on her screen, his expression changed instantly.

“No.”

Evelyn folded her arms tightly across herself.

“You haven’t even looked yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

“She called me.”

“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous.”

Rain hammered hard against the windows.

Mara stood silently near the kitchen now, wisely choosing not to stand between them.

Adrian crossed toward the desk and studied the photograph carefully.

Then his jaw tightened slightly.

“What?”

“That cabin belongs to one of Victor’s former donors.”

Cold spread instantly through Evelyn’s chest.

“You recognize it.”

“Yes.”

“That means Lena might actually be there.”

“No,” Adrian said sharply. “It means somebody wants you to believe she is.”

The certainty in his voice ignited anger immediately.

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know this isn’t another trap.”

“It sounded like her.”

Adrian looked at her then.

Really looked.

And for one unbearable second she saw fear beneath all the restraint.

Not fear of the cabin.

Fear of losing her again.

“She used the exact same audio distortion from Black Hollow,” he said quietly. “Someone is recreating psychological triggers deliberately.”

“Or she’s hiding.”

“Evelyn.”

“No.” She stepped closer before she realized she was moving. “You don’t get to tell me what’s real every time something becomes emotionally inconvenient.”

The words landed hard.

Mara quietly backed farther into the kitchen.

Rain crashed violently outside.

Adrian stayed still for several seconds before speaking again.

“If Lena’s alive,” he said carefully, “why contact you publicly during a livestream viewed by fifty thousand people?”

Evelyn opened her mouth immediately.

Then stopped.

Because part of her already knew the answer.

Pressure.

Manipulation.

Exposure.

Still—

Hope burned harder.

“She knew I’d come,” Evelyn whispered.

“That’s what worries me.”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Then Adrian looked down briefly toward the coordinates again.

When he finally spoke, exhaustion roughened his voice.

“You’re going anyway.”

Not a question.

Evelyn grabbed her keys from the counter.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then Adrian reached for his coat.

“Then I’m driving.”

The cabin sat nearly three hours north of the city.

By the time they reached the lake road, midnight had passed and the storm had deepened again into cold mountain rain and heavy fog drifting through pine trees.

Evelyn stared silently through the passenger window while Adrian drove.

Neither of them had spoken much after leaving Manhattan.

The tension inside the car no longer felt romantic.

It felt fragile.

Every truth between them had become sharp enough to cut now.

“You still think it’s a trap,” Evelyn said quietly.

“Yes.”

“But you came anyway.”

Adrian kept his eyes on the road.

“I always come anyway.”

The answer settled painfully inside her chest.

Rain hissed softly across the windshield while fog swallowed most of the road ahead.

Finally the trees opened.

The cabin emerged beside dark lake water beneath weak porch light.

Exactly like the photograph.

Evelyn’s pulse accelerated instantly.

No visible cars.

No movement.

Just the sound of rain against the roof and lake water moving quietly through darkness.

Adrian killed the engine immediately.

“Wait here.”

“No chance.”

“Evelyn.”

“She called me.”

“She also knew you’d ignore danger to hear her voice again.”

The sentence hurt because it was true.

Still, she stepped out of the car anyway.

Cold rain soaked instantly through her coat while they crossed toward the cabin together, flashlights cutting pale beams through drifting fog.

The front door stood unlocked.

That alone felt wrong.

Evelyn pushed it open slowly.

Warm air drifted outward.

The inside lights were on.

And for one terrible second, the cabin looked normal.

Not abandoned.

Not violent.

Domestic.

A fire crackled softly in the stone fireplace.

Two wine glasses sat beside an open bottle.

A cardigan hung over the couch arm.

Music played faintly somewhere upstairs.

The intimacy of it unsettled Evelyn immediately.

Not because it looked staged.

Because it looked lived in.

Adrian moved carefully through the living room, flashlight lowered but ready.

“Someone wants us comfortable,” he murmured.

Evelyn’s gaze drifted toward framed photographs near the fireplace.

Not family photos.

Nature shots.

Lake water.

Trees.

Storm clouds.

Then she noticed something else.

A mug sitting beside the couch.

Lipstick stain.

Recent.

Still wet.

Her pulse jumped violently.

“Adrian.”

He turned immediately.

Evelyn pointed toward the mug.

Neither of them spoke.

Because for the first time tonight, the possibility that Lena had actually been here no longer felt impossible.

Then—

A woman’s laughter echoed softly from upstairs.