The paper wouldn't stop shaking.
Ava sat on the floor of her bedroom, fingers clutched tightly around the note Eli gave her—"She won't let me go."
Five words.
Five detonations.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything. Her mother told her he left of his own will. That he simply broke. But now… everything bent in a different direction.
The silence in the house pressed down like fog. Her mother was out—book club, or whatever lie she used tonight. It didn't matter.
The truth lived here now.
And it refused to sleep.
Ava rose and opened the closet door. Behind old jackets, she pulled down the same worn shoebox she hadn't opened in years.
Her father's things.
Only a few pieces remained—most had been "donated" or "thrown away," decisions made when Ava was too young to argue. But what little she salvaged… she kept hidden.
A postcard from Paris. A lighter engraved with To J from A. A Polaroid of them on the porch swing. Smiling. Younger. Before.
And a key.
A small, unmarked key she found tucked behind a frame one week after he disappeared.
She held it now, weighed it in her palm.
It had never matched anything in the house.
Not drawers. Not safes. Not his car.
It had never made sense.
Until tonight.
She stood, breath hitching, and whispered into the quiet:
"Whatever you locked, I'm going to find it."
---
The next morning, the fog outside matched the one in her head.
School was a blur—background noise, hallway chatter, teachers talking like machines. She didn't hear a word. Her mind was inside shadows. Inside locks.
She waited until lunch, then slipped into the library.
Not to study. But to think.
Eli was already there, slouched in a corner booth, earbuds in. She dropped the note on the table in front of him.
He pulled out a bud. "You okay?"
"I need your help."
His eyes flicked from her to the note.
"Alright," he said. "We're doing this."
---
An hour later, they were back at the old store.
The rooftop wasn't the destination this time. It was what was beneath.
Ava led them down into the back storage room. Dust danced in beams of light from broken windows. The air smelled like rust and old glue.
"Why here?" Eli asked, ducking under a pipe.
"My dad used to bring me here after closing," she said. "He said it was our hideout. There was always something… secretive about it."
Eli scanned the room. "Looks like the last place someone would hide anything."
"Exactly."
She moved to the far wall, pushed aside a loose panel she remembered from years ago. Behind it—nothing at first.
But then she crouched.
There it was.
A small trapdoor, metal edge barely visible in the floor.
She looked up at Eli. "Help me."
Together, they pried it open.
Darkness yawned beneath them.
---
The basement wasn't listed on any blueprint Ava had found. The house above had been converted, remodeled, flipped—yet this space had no electricity, no connection to the main house. It was cold. Dry. Isolated.
Her flashlight cut through the dark.
A table. A shelf. A filing cabinet.
The key shook in her hand.
She moved to the cabinet and tried it.
Click.
It opened.
Inside were stacks of manila folders, all labeled in her dad's handwriting. Most were mundane: bills, receipts, notes. But one folder was different.
It was labeled simply: VALLEY.
She opened it.
Photos. News clippings. Handwritten notes.
At the top: a picture of a man with a cigarette, looking directly at the camera, like he knew he'd be seen.
Ava's skin prickled.
Eli leaned over her shoulder. "That's not your dad."
"I know," she whispered.
At the bottom of the file: a document sealed in plastic.
Her dad's handwriting again.
And at the top… a name she'd never seen before.
The Valley Project.
---
They didn't speak until they were outside again.
The clouds had cleared, but neither noticed.
Ava clutched the folder like it might disappear.
Eli leaned against the wall, silent for once.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's the Valley Project?"
Eli didn't answer right away. Then: "My uncle mentioned it once. Said it was a land deal. Something that went bad. Covered up. Buried."
Ava looked down at the faded document.
There were signatures.
Dates.
One name stood out.
Annabelle K. Ward.
Her mother.
Her throat closed.
"You said your mom wasn't involved," Eli said gently.
"I said I thought she wasn't," Ava replied, voice flat. "Looks like I was wrong."
Eli shifted uncomfortably. "If she's in this… it's big."
Ava nodded. "Bigger than I thought."
She looked up, determination settling behind her eyes.
"If my dad was killed to keep this quiet," she said, "then I'm going to make it loud."
---
Ava didn't go home.
She wandered the streets, the folder still clutched against her chest like armor. Her feet carried her aimlessly—past the bakery where her father used to buy lemon bread, past the bookstore where she once saw him reading in the corner like the world didn't exist. Every place now felt like a ghost.
Every shadow could've held a lie.
Her phone buzzed.
MOM: Where are you? Dinner's getting cold.
Ava stared at the message.
Then she turned her phone off.
---
She met Eli at the bridge just before sunset. The golden hour painted the town in soft light, but Ava only felt the cold settling under her skin.
"She knows I found something," she muttered.
"Did she say anything?" Eli asked.
"No. But she was watching me. Like she wanted to ask, but didn't know how."
"Or maybe she knows exactly what you found and is waiting for you to bring it up."
Ava bit her lip. "You think she had something to do with it?"
"With your dad's disappearance?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Ava looked down at the folder again, her fingers trembling over the top page. "I keep thinking… maybe there's another explanation. Maybe it's not what it looks like."
"Ava," Eli said quietly, "do you really believe that?"
She looked away.
"No," she whispered.
---
Back home, the silence greeted her louder than any shout.
Her mother was in the kitchen, back turned, stirring a pot on the stove like nothing had changed. Like dinner could undo a decade of secrets.
"You're late," she said without turning around.
"I was with Eli."
"I figured. He's a nice boy. I always liked him."
Ava dropped her bag by the door. "Did you know about the Valley Project?"
The spoon stopped moving.
Her mother didn't turn.
"I asked you something."
Slowly, she set the spoon down and faced her.
Her expression was calm. Too calm.
"Where did you hear that?"
"I found it," Ava said. "Dad kept files. Documents. Your name was on them."
A flicker of something—shock? Pain? Guilt?—passed across her mother's face. Then it was gone.
"That was a long time ago."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Her mother stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "It was a development plan. The town council wanted to sell a strip of land to an outside investor. There were concerns. Protests. Your father didn't agree with how it was handled."
"He was investigating it."
"Yes."
"He disappeared after that."
Silence.
"Was it you?" Ava's voice cracked. "Did you make him leave?"
Her mother's jaw tightened. "No."
"Did you know what happened to him?"
"No."
Ava stared into her eyes, searching. Looking for something—remorse, fear, anything.
But her mother gave her nothing.
"Sometimes," she finally said, "the truth does more damage than lies. And your father… he couldn't live with either."
---
That night, Ava lay awake.
The folder was on her lap again, every word now lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp. She re-read her father's notes, each line hinting at more than it said.
"There's money missing."
"Too many signatures don't match."
"Ward isn't just a supporter—she's a gatekeeper."
Her mother's maiden name was Kingsley.
But "Ward"... was her name after the marriage. After she'd built the clinic. After she had connections.
Ava flipped to the back of the file.
A torn photograph, folded once.
She opened it carefully.
It was her father. Not smiling. Sitting across from a man in a black coat. The same man from the earlier picture. This time, he wasn't looking at the camera.
This time, his face was turned just enough that Ava saw the small scar beneath his eye.
Eli's words echoed in her head.
"Looks like someone who knew he'd be seen."
She turned the photo over.
A name was written in smudged pen: C. Doyle.
---
The next day, Ava skipped first period and went straight to the public records office.
Eli met her outside, holding two coffees and a folder of his own.
"I did some digging," he said. "The Valley Project wasn't just a land deal. It was a front."
"A front for what?"
"For laundering. Fake environmental studies, inflated development costs, shady backers. Your dad was right to be suspicious."
Ava's stomach twisted. "And my mom was in on it."
Eli didn't say yes. But he didn't say no either.
They stepped inside, walking past rows of metal cabinets and blinking computers. The air smelled like paper and dust.
"C. Doyle," Ava told the clerk. "Any city records. Employment. Contracts."
The clerk frowned, typed for a while, then handed her a printout.
Ava scanned it.
Her eyes widened.
"He worked for the planning commission. For ten years. Then he just… disappeared."
Eli leaned over. "Year he vanished matches your dad's."
She flipped the page.
A second name appeared at the bottom.
Jeremy Ward.
Her father.
On the same project.
Same month.
Same disappearance.
She felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.
This wasn't just a case of "he left."
This was a cover-up.
---
They sat in Eli's car afterward, not talking for a long time.
The folder lay between them like a loaded weapon.
"What do we do now?" Eli finally asked.
Ava stared out the window, past the quiet houses and clean lawns.
"We find C. Doyle," she said.
Eli blinked. "You just said he disappeared."
"People don't vanish. Not completely. There's always a trace."
Her fingers drummed against her leg. Her voice steadied.
"If my dad died trying to find the truth, then I'll finish what he started."
Eli looked at her, then nodded slowly.
"Then I guess we're all in now."
Ava turned to him.
"No," she said. "I've always been in."
---
But as they drove off, neither of them noticed the car that pulled away two blocks behind.
Engine idling.
Tinted windows.
Watching.
Waiting.
And inside, a voice on a burner phone whispered,
"She's digging again."