The leather seats were cold, smelling of stale coffee and old paper.

Liam gripped my hand in the backseat, his fingers squeezing mine so hard it hurt.

“I don’t know how they got that recording, Audrey,” he whispered as the car sped through the empty coastal streets. “You have to believe me.”

“I want to,” I said, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

The city fell away, replaced by the dark, winding roads that led to the cliffs.

Ahead of us, the skeletal frame of the charred charity hall rose against the black sky.

It was the place where my family’s legacy had burned to the ground ten years ago.

The air here always smelled of salt and dead pine.

Holt turned off the headlights and let the car coast to a stop on the dirt path.

A single luxury SUV was parked near the collapsed entrance, its doors wide open.

“Stay behind me,” Holt ordered, drawing her service weapon as she stepped out.

The wind howled through the ruined timber of the hall, making the loose metal sheets on the roof shriek.