I hurried behind Beck back out into the scorching summer heat. He continued through the town without stopping for even a moment. I kept close, but my legs were tired, and my adrenaline was wearing off.

“Wait up,” I huffed out.

He froze and turned, realizing he was leaving me in the dust. I caught up beside him, walking next to him.

“You know you could’ve been anything you wanted with a mind like yours, so why the museum?” he asked, and I was taken aback by the directness.

“I like the museum,” I defended, my lips turning downward.

“I know. I just meant, what calls you there? From what I can tell, you aren’t here just for family, and Francis treats you like nothing more than a helping hand. Why not see the world? Start your own research?”

I kept my eyes glued to the sidewalk. “I can’t leave yet.”

“Why not?” he pushed.

“Because I owe it to them,” I sighed.

I found the pockets of my midi skirt and stuck my hands in them, ashamed. I knew I could start over anywhere I wanted, but I just couldn’t convince myself to leave yet, not when there still was no justice. Not when I would spend every day looking over my own shoulder, terrified to be alive.

“To whom?” Beck asked softly.

I knew he already had the answer before even asking. His mind worked faster than anyone I knew.

“The other victims. The ones who weren’t so lucky,” I whispered.

I never spoke of myself as one of them. It was a piece of me I had shoved deep down for so long.

“I know the feeling,” Beck said gently, and I glanced up.

His eyes were distant, filled with a deep sorrow, but I didn’t push. Instead, I walked beside him in silence the rest of the way to his place.

My phone started vibrating in the purse I carried, breaking the long, drawn out silence.

I pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen. My worry got the better of me, and I answered, hoping it was not Francis searching for where I’d gone or retracting her agreement to let me help.

“This is Lenore,” I answered in a polite tone I barely recognized.

The voice that came through the phone was muffled and robotic. “Stop searching, or you will regret it.”

“Who is this?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

Agent Beck stopped in his tracks and watched me with careful precision. I saw the worry wash over his face, and he motioned for me to put it on speaker, which I quickly did.

“If you don’t quit now, the killing will start again,” the voiced answered, and the call cut short.

“Wait-”

It was too late. They’d already hung up.