Page 66 of Trapped Truth

“How did you know?”

“That she sneaks back in?” Jude asks brusquely.

My nod is reticent. “Yes.”

“Because there are days when I hear the monster I was made into clearer than my own voice. Keeping Jude Farlow living in the present is a full-time occupation.”

Nothing but sincerity shines through his golden stare, the liquid caramel irises seeming to churn with a darkness forever trying to claw its way back to the surface. I wonder if that’s what he sees when he looks at me.

“Thank you, Jude. I’ll consider it.”

“Would you take my business card?”

Head bobbing, I accept the embossed rectangle he hands over. “Off the record?”

“Always. You have my full discretion.”

“Can I ask how you did it?” I draw in a deep, cleansing inhale. “Clawed yourself back, I mean. The real you.”

Jude adjusts the cuffs on his shirt, grazing over the place where his hand should be. He doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. Just a mere glance of acknowledgement before he looks back up at me.

“I realised there is no such thing as the real me anymore, just the person who made it out the other side. This isn’t about reclaiming, Ember. It’s a rebuild. You get to choose what that looks like.”

“I guess I’m not sure who I want to be.”

“Last I checked, there wasn’t a deadline on this stuff.” He smiles patiently, rising from the desk. “Come on, they’ll be wondering where we ran off to. It’ll be time to eat soon.”

Trailing out of the office behind him, I let my attention graze over his desk again. I recognise a lot of the faces in the photographs. There are a fair few I don’t know, including some old graduation pics with a girl who bears a striking resemblance to Jude.

Maybe he couldn’t find that person again. Maybe reclaiming the old parts of ourselves isn’t possible after having them torn apart, bit by bit. But I think I’d like some framed photographs of my own. Some happy memories. Some warm, cookie-scented Christmas mornings.

We can build that future.

Together.

CHAPTER 12

EMBER

FREAKIN’ OUT - DEXTER AND THE MOONROCKS

To Nolan Madden’s credit, holding the purchase outside of London’s perimeter is a smart move.

Neutral ground. Anonymous. And unknown.

The location was enough to send Hyland into an overprotective tailspin while Warner attempted to mitigate the fallout, arguing it gives us an advantage. This isn’t our home turf, but it isn’t theirs either.

“Comms check.” Crouched at the back of the van, Warner adjusts his earpiece. “Team leader, check.”

The line crackles. “Blaine, check.”

“Hyland.”

“Ember.” Despite an attempt to calm my nerves, my voice ripples with tension.

“HQ, check.” Axel sounds downtrodden even while disembodied. “I hate being separated from you guys like this.”

“Be glad we didn’t leave you in London with your injuries.” Warner glances over his bulletproof vest, tightening a strap. “You’re our getaway driver, Ax. Very important task.”