“I bought you a ticket already,” she says, ignoring my question. “I got it with my emergency pre-paid card, and I already arranged a pickup and a hotel for you, too.”
I pause, stunned for a second. She’s only eight years old, but sometimes it’s easy to forget. The way she thinks, plans, handles things… it’s like she was raised to solve problems most adults would still be stumbling through.
“My dad won’t know anything about this,” she says. “I mean, not until two days from now, but… Please, Miss Jane.Pleaseee.”
“What piece are you playing?”
“TheSarabandefrom Bach’sPartita No. 2.”
“Are you going to do all the vibratos properly?”
“I promise.”
“Okay, Adeline.” I look at all the suitcases that are still packed from Seattle. “I’ll make it to the airport tonight.”
End of Episode 4
Looming Threats
EPISODE 5
Ryder
“My client posted bond within two hours of his arrest, and he has fully complied with your list of demands, Miss Poole.” My lawyer looks as annoyed as I feel.
We’re seated in a sterile government interview room—four concrete walls, one metal table, and a mirror that doesn’t reflect anything back.
There are no blackout curtains here, no flickering bulbs to dramatize the interrogation. Just a quiet, humming tension and the knowledge that behind that glass, men are watching. Men who thought they caught the devil himself, only to realize too late that the fire still burns beneath his skin. They’re not pleased that the big fish is wriggling free.
Not pleased at all…
“You’ll soon see that these charges are baseless,” my lawyer says, “but we’re playing along while you spin your wheels.”
“I’m willing to drop some of the charges if Mr. Rochester confesses to other crimes.”
“What other crimes?”
“The fire.” She clicks her pen. “Can we start there?”
My lawyer shoots me a look, but I don’t blink.
“Mr. Rochester says no.”
“Okay, then…” She flips through her binder. “How about we discuss banking and counterfeit? Have you ever lured private citizens into your web for help with any counterfeit schemes?”
I blink again. “No.”
“Let me press on that one again…” She narrows her eyes, voice too casual. “Do you know who Autumn Jane is?”
“Never heard of her.”
“I thought you might say that…”
She fans the photos across the table like they’re nothing, but the moment they come into view, I clench my fist under the table.
The first photo is from the masquerade ball.
We’re deep in the shadows—her body pressed to mine, the gown that stopped time brushing against my leg. The lighting’s soft, but not soft enough to save me. Her mask is tilted just enough to show the curve of her mouth. Her head’s tipped back like she’s waiting for me to take the next step. Like she’d let me do anything.
