The rain had stopped, but the ground was still soft.
Perfect for digging.
Lena stood ankle-deep in the wet sand at the edge of the woods, staring at the shoebox they'd buried just days after Viktor's murder. The one holding his phone, his keys, and the last untraceable piece of evidence they hadn't dared keep.
She crouched low and clawed at the dirt with her bare hands.
Jaxon watched in silence, cigarette glowing in the dark.
"You said we wouldn't touch it," he muttered.
"That was before someone sent us a death threat in cursive," Lena shot back, digging faster.
"You think we missed something?" he asked.
"I think we were scared," Lena said. "And scared people hide things."
She yanked the box from the earth, nails cracked, breath shaking.
Inside: Viktor's burner phone.
Dead.
But not broken.
Jaxon took it from her, brushing off sand. "We plug it in, we find out who he was calling before he died."
Lena nodded. "And maybe who else was in that room."
At Ivy's House
Ivy sat on the floor of her bedroom, the only light coming from her desk lamp and the pale moon outside. Her sketchpad was open beside her, pages filled with tangled outlines of faces, hands, and blood.
She couldn't sleep.
Not with the image still burned into her brain: the exact angle of the muzzle flash from the video.
It came from behind the velvet curtain.
Someone hiding. Waiting.
Not Mira.
Not Jaxon.
Someone else.
Her phone buzzed.
Lena.
"Meet me. Midnight. The Vault."
Back at Cameron's House
Cameron sat in the massive bathroom, fully clothed in the dry tub, staring at the photo that had nearly shattered his life.
He could still feel the other boy's lips on his.
Still remember the heat. The rush. The guilt.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything.
But someone had taken that moment—his moment—and twisted it into a threat.
His father could never find out.
He looked down at the burner phone he'd stolen from Viktor the night of the murder.
It had a single unsent message on it.
Addressed to someone labeled only as: "Sparrow."
And the message?
"I have what you want. The girl is yours if the price is right."
Cameron's stomach turned.
The girl.
Lena.
At The Crimson Vault – Midnight
The club still smelled like blood and vodka.
Ivy arrived first, hood up, sketchpad in her backpack.
Lena met her inside, flanked by Jaxon, who didn't say much—he never did when he was this tense.
"Thanks for coming," Lena said, her voice low.
"What did you find?" Ivy asked.
Lena handed her Viktor's burner phone.
"Jaxon powered it up. There's a message on it. From the night he died."
Ivy read it. Her brows pulled together.
"He was selling you?"
Lena's jaw clenched. "To someone called Sparrow."
Ivy looked at Jaxon.
"You ever heard that name?"
He nodded once. "Whispers. One of Viktor's buyers. Elite clientele. Not mafia, not street—something worse."
"Worse than the mafia?" Ivy asked.
"People who collect people," Jaxon said coldly. "And burn anyone who gets in the way."
Lena's stomach churned. "You think Viktor was going to traffic me?"
"I think he already did," Jaxon said. "We just got to him first."
Outside, a figure watched the Vault from the shadows.
Black hoodie. Gloves. Camera in hand.
He raised the lens. Snapped another photo.
Three teens.
One gun.
And a secret that was no longer safe.