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His breathing shifts, a shallow rasp punctuated by a wheeze, but I pull back before it betrays me. My lips curve into a soft smile, one designed for the nurse who just came back into the room. “I’m so glad you’re still with us,” I say sweetly, smoothing the thin blanket over his lap. My fingers tremble slightly, but I curl them into my palm before anyone notices. “I’ve missed you.”

I straighten, my eyes scanning his face for any cracks in his expression. The nurse watches from the doorway, oblivious to the war waging beneath my skin. I allow myself one final look as I head for the door, turning back with a small, deliberate smile. “I’ll be back soon,” I say for their ears, nodding at one of the nurses. “Thank you for everything.”

As I leave, my pulse thrums in my neck, hot and erratic. Behind me, his faint, wheezing breaths follow, clinging to me like a shadow. With that, I turn on my heel, walking away, hoping my presence presses against his fragile, hollowed chest.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

The diner buzzes with the familiar lull of small-town morning chatter. Plates clatter in the kitchen, the smell of bacon grease and coffee thick in the air. The vinyl of the booth groans as I shift, stirring a swirl of creamer into my cup. It’s one of the few places in town that doesn’t hold a memory like a loaded gun against my temple.

But even here, I can’t escape.

“Lydia?”

I glance up, and Mrs. Olsen stands beside my table, her worn leather purse clutched tightly in her hands. Her face is lined with age and worry, the latter sharper today.

“Good morning, Mrs. Olsen,” I say, forcing a polite smile.

She doesn’t sit. She looms, her presence heavy with something unsaid. “I heard about your father,” she begins, her voice dropping low as if the whole diner isn’t already eavesdropping. “It’s a true miracle. After all these years. Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?”

The coffee turns sour on my tongue. My fingers curl around the mug to keep from trembling. “Yes, mysterious indeed.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping even lower. “I know it’s sudden, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. The newest pastor’s arrival, your father’s improvement, it’s like God is breathing life back into our congregation.”

I nod stiffly, my jaw tight. The image of his sunken eyes flickers in my mind, the way they’d widened when I whispered that I was no longer the girl he once controlled. A miracle? If only she knew.

“You’ll be at the town meeting tonight, won’t you?” she presses. “The new pastor will be speaking. Oh, and Mrs. Wolfe’s hired someone to look into her husband’s disappearance. Everyone’s talking about it.”

My chest tightens. Of course she has. The walls are closing in faster than I expected. “I’ll try to make it,” I say, my voice smooth despite the storm building inside.

Mrs. Olsen reaches out, her cool, papery fingers wrapping gently around mine. “You’re a good girl, Lydia. God has His eye on you, just like He did your father.”

I force a smile, polite and practiced. Just like I did when I was a child. She nods in approval as she moves away. But her words settle heavy on my skin, lingering long after she’s gone, like a shadow I can’t quite shake.

By the time I get to the community center, the air is thick with nervous energy. Chairs line the room in perfect rows, most are already filled with familiar faces, people I’ve known my whole life, their eyes flicking up as I pass.

Near the front, the new pastor stands with his family, shaking hands, smiling wide. He’s younger than I imagined. Mid-thirties, with sharp, watchful eyes and a suit so crisp it could cut glass. Beside him, his wife is the picture of modesty, her pale blue dress perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. Their two young children cling to her sides, small and silent, like matching bookends framing a picture-perfect family.

“Lydia!”

I turn at the sound of my name and see Mrs. Olsen waving me over to an empty chair near the front. I suppress the urge to retreat and force myself to move forward.

The buzz of conversation dims as Clyde Lewis steps up to the podium. He fidgets, his fingers tapping against the wood before he clears his throat. “Uh, good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” His voice wavers at first but steadies as he continues. “We’re here tonight to support one of our own, Mrs. Wolfe, as she searches for answers about her husband’s disappearance.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, a restless wave of voices, but Clyde lifts a hand and the room settles.

“Mrs. Wolfe has taken the next step and hired a private investigator to help,” he announces, his voice carrying easily over the quiet. “We all know Hurricane is a tight-knit town, and we’re hoping you’ll extend that same warmth to Mr. Gerald Grayson.”

All eyes shift as a man steps forward.

Gerald Grayson is tall and lean, his weathered face etched with the kind of lines you earn from years of watching and seeing too much. His gray suit is plain, nothing flashy, but there’s something about him that sharpens the air. His gaze sweeps the room, steady and piercing, landing on each face like he’s measuring, cataloging, peeling back layers we’d rather keep hidden.

The fine hairs on my arms lift as his eyes pass over me, and for just a moment, it feels like he sees everything.

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” Gerald says, his voice calm and measured. “I’m here to help uncover the truth about Virgil Wolfe’s disappearance, but I can’t do it alone. If anyone has information, anything that might seem small or insignificant, it could be the key to solving this. I am in full cooperation with the sheriff’s department. They’ve given me permission to use Detective Davis if I so choose to. The town has been a tremendous help with the beginning stages of this case. Again, I’m not law enforcement, but I am here to help.”

The room shifts uncomfortably, whispers flickering like fireflies.