Ryder
Several hours later
Delete security footage from Walmart cameras
Run the license plate from Kylie’s car
Handle truck driver’s disloyalty
Figure out how the hell I missed Autumn’s past
My mental to-do list is usually addressed in order, but I’m making an exception today.
I can count the number of times that someone has surprised me on one hand, and Autumn is responsible for all three occurrences.
Any other employee would be dealt with harshly for even thinking to request time off, but I can’t help shielding her from some of the darkness. For now.
Pressing play on her detainment from Canada, I watch as two guards escort her into a cold interrogation room.
The walls are painted cinderblock grey, the only light a buzzing fluorescent that casts a harsh strobe across her face. A single plastic chair waits for her under its spotlight, and the air feels sterile—even through the screen.
She walks in slowly, staring blankly at the wall, her expression unreadable.
“It is best if you sit here and say nothing,” the lead guard says in French. “Our detectives will be with you shortly.”
“Please, wait,” she says, her voice soft but precise in perfect French. “Can’t you at least tell me what I’ve done?”
“Shut up.” He glares at her. “Just shut up.”
The brunette guard sets a plastic bag on the metal table in front of her—wads of U.S. and Canadian currency crammed inside like trash.
“This is all fake,” she says. “And we know you were the one who created these. It’s best if you shut the fuck up until your representative arrives.”
The guards abandon her without another word.
Autumn leans forward and picks up the bag. Slowly, she pulls out the bills one by one, inspecting them—not with guilt, but curiosity. She runs her thumb across the ink like she’s testing its authenticity herself.
Then, she sets the bills down and wipes her eyes—but no tears fall. Her posture straightens, spine rigid, fingers still.
And then she does it.
She lifts her gaze directly to the security camera.
Not a glance. Not a twitch.
A long, unwavering stare that lasts far too long to be accidental. Her lips part, just slightly, like she’s daring the watcher—me—to flinch.
My pulse kicks.
I rewind it, watching it again, slower this time, and my phone buzzes on the desk.
My Heart
Where are you? :-(
In my office.
I don’t want to practice with Miss Hannah this morning… Why did you ask her to come here?
