“So do you,” he breathed.
His voice was barely there, but clearer than before.
I sat up quickly. “Should I call Anna?”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“Please.”
The word stopped me.
Not because it was weak.
Because it was human.
I leaned closer.
“What do you remember?”
His eyes closed, then opened again.
“Rain. Road. Jason called. Said Claire was alive.”
“The first Claire?”
A faint nod.
“Said he had proof. Told me to come alone.”
My pulse quickened.
“You went?”
“Stupid.”
“You were hopeful.”
His eyes shifted to mine.
For a moment, the room felt less like a mystery and more like two people sitting beside the wreckage of choices made from love.
“What happened?”
“Car… brakes wrong.” His breathing hitched. “Not crash. Before.”
“Before?”
“Drugged.”
I went still.
“At event,” he whispered. “Drink.”
My heart thudded.
“Jason?”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Don’t know.”
“Who, then?”
He swallowed with effort.
“Woman.”
I leaned closer. “What woman?”
His eyes filled with frustration. His hand moved weakly toward the folder.
“File.”
I opened it quickly. “This?”
He shook his head.
“No. Bennett file.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“Your mother did.”
A chill moved over my skin.
“She’s dead.”
His gaze held mine.
“Is she?”
The question froze the room.
My breath stopped.
“What did you say?”
Before he could answer, a phone buzzed.
Not mine.
Ethan’s.
I didn’t even know he had one in the room until the sound came from the bedside drawer.
He looked toward it, panic flickering in his eyes.
I opened the drawer.
Inside was an old phone in a clear evidence sleeve, powered somehow, screen glowing with an incoming message from an unknown number.
My hands went cold as I read it.
Welcome back, Ethan.
Then another message appeared.
Claire Bennett is in the house again.
A third followed before I could speak.
Tell your wife to ask her father why Margaret Bennett’s grave is empty.
Ethan’s eyes found mine in the dim blue light.
Outside, rain struck the windows harder.
And somewhere deep inside the Thornton estate, a door quietly closed.