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“It’s not,” he snaps, his voice curt.

I rise slowly, slipping the notepad back into my bag. “Of course. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

As I move toward the door, my eyes linger on the photo again. A memory claws its way to the surface. Kerr’s voice, low and mocking, echoing in the dark.

“She’s got her mother’s spirit,” he’d said to my father, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “Too wild for her own good. Needs taming.”

I swallow hard, the bile rising in my throat as I step outside. The door closes behind me with a sharp click, but his presence lingers, pressing down on me like a shroud.

In the truck, the rage simmers just beneath the surface, but I force myself to breathe, to focus. Kerr doesn’t know who I am. Not yet.

But he will.

I’ll make sure of it.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

The wind shakes the cabin, sneaking cold fingers through every crack, making the floorboards groan softly. Inside, the air feels close, heavy, like the whole room is holding its breath.

My thoughts won’t settle. Kerr’s face keeps flashing through my mind, that smug look, that quiet arrogance. And underneath it all, there’s a darker feeling rising in me, a sharp satisfaction, knowing his time is nearly up.

The fire snaps in the fireplace, tossing jittery shadows across the walls. I sit at the table, staring at the black burner phone in front of me. The blank screen feels like it’s waiting, like it’s pushing me, whispering, What’s next?

I tap my fingers against the tabletop, a quiet, steady rhythm. Every nerve in me is alive, dancing with the restless energy of what’s about to come.

Nathan Kerr.

Even thinking his name twists something deep in my gut, a slow burning. It’s a feeling that I can’t and won’t ignore.

I think back to the first time his name came up, years before I ever had the nerve to act on these urges. Back when I was still a scared, angry girl who only dreamed of vengeance. Kerr, with his sly smile and silver tongue. Kerr, who always lingered too long in the background of my father’s sermons. Just like the rest of them. The man who laughed at me once when I tried to keep my tears quiet. The man who shoved me forward when I tripped, saying, “God doesn’t need weaklings in His flock.”

I can still hear my mother’s voice, low and trembling as though she were afraid even the walls might carry her words back to him…

It was late, and the dim glow of the kitchen light cast long shadows as she crouched in front of me, her hands gripping my shoulders like her life depended on it.

“Lydia, listen to me,” she whispered, her breath warm and urgent against my face. “You stay away from Nathan Kerr. You understand me? Don’t let him get too close. Don’t let him touch you.”

I didn’t understand, not really, but the fear in her eyes was enough to root me to the spot. She glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line when she heard the murmur of voices from the other room, my father and his Covenant brothers, as he liked to call them. Men who preached scripture with fervor but carried a darkness in their eyes I didn’t yet have the words to name.

“He’s not a good man, Lydia. He’s not… safe,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “Your father doesn’t see it. Won’t see it. But you need to. You need to promise me you’ll be careful. If he…” Her voice faltered, and her fingers dug into my arms. “If he ever says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. You come to me. Promise me.”

I nodded, too frightened to ask why. She pulled me into a tight hug, her hands smoothing over my hair, and for a moment, it felt like she was shielding me from the very air around us. But when she pulled back, her expression was haunted, her eyes clouded with something that looked like regret.

“You’re a smart girl, Lydia,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t trust everything they tell you about faith. Sometimes the devil hides where you least expect him...”

The memory burned itself into my mind, even if I didn’t fully understand its weight until much later, until Nathan Kerr’s smile lingered too long, his hand brushed my shoulder too often, his words dripped with a sweetness that curdled the air.

By then, my mother was gone, and there was no one left to pull me aside and say, “I told you so.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Kerr’s time is up.

The door swings open, spilling Kerr into the night. I sit up in my seat, watching him. He stumbles, his shoulders hunched against the cold, and the shadows of his movements stretch like ghosts on the pavement.