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“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

I nod, but it's a lie.

I unzip his pants slowly, reverently, and his hips rise, allowing me to take him out. He’s already hard, warm and heavy in my hand. I don’t say anything as I bend forward, my head between his abdomen and the steering wheel. I lower my mouth onto him–not to suck or excite, just tohold. To keep. To soothe.

He hisses between his teeth but lets me take him. One hand tangled in my hair, the other on the steering wheel, already directing us back on our path.

“This what you need, sister?” he murmurs. “Just to hold me like this?”

I can’t speak. My mouth is too full, which may be the entire point. If I can’t talk, I can keep the pain and secrets buried inside, where it’s safe.

With the soft vibration of the car around us, Hunter’s voice threads through my ribs like a lullaby instead of a horror story. Resting my cheek against Damon’s thigh, his thumb runs along my neck, slow and steady, occasionally trailing down to my lip.I keep my mouth around him, not moving, just wrapped around him. Warmth radiates up through my belly, grounding me in ways nothing else can.

On the radio, Hunter’s voice reaches us.

“And now we’re taking another call. You’ve got something to say? Speak up, Forsyth. We’re listening.”

“Love your show,” the guy says.“I listen right when I get home from work. I make a cup of ramen, pack a bowl, and settle in.”

“I appreciate that,”Hunter says, tone slightly impatient.“Do you have anything relevant to add?”

“Yeah, right. F–(beep).”The word is censored out.“There’s this stretch of woods behind the freeway–near where that girl was found. Cops searched once, but not deep enough. I hunt out there. There’s shit in the trees. Scorch marks. Bone piles. Someone’s doing something out there.”

I jolt, drawing up and down. Damon tugs at my hair, hard.

“Don’t tease if you’re not gonna finish,” he warns.

I swallow and still, listening for Hunter’s voice again–quieter this time.

“If you’re out there… if you’ve seen something… if you know something… don’t let silence be your sin.”

By the timewe pull into the parking lot behind the station, I feel… emptier. Not in a bad way. Like something tight inside me finally uncoiled and slithered off into the night.

I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of Damon’s hoodie and unlatch from him, slow, quiet. My jaw aches, but it’s better than what I felt before. I spoke too much, allowing the secrets to spill from my tongue. Thankfully, now, we don’t say anything. Notabout what I did to make myself feel better. Not about how he let me. Not about how he went along with it, like he knew it wasn’t about him at all.

It’s a relief, honestly. I don’t think I could take being looked at too closely right now. I’m barely stitched together.

Hunter’s voice hums through the air like a phantom as we walk in. I follow Damon down a narrow hallway. The walls are covered in posters, imagery of old bands, protest flyers, schedules written in Sharpie and held up with peeling tape. We’re in a room outside the studio, a glass window and door separating us. Hunter’s leaned back in his chair, the fingers of one hand stroking Ares’ ears, a slim cigarette in the other.

Damon knocks, and Hunter looks up. Large headphones cover his ears, and his eyes dart between us. I pull the zipper up higher, as if the hoodie can hide the grime and truth of the forest. He rolls his chair over, opening the door with his finger pressed over his lips. We step inside. I take it all in. It’s warm. Smoky. Cluttered. Lived-in.

Ares pads up to me with his ears perked and his head low. He sniffs at my legs, then higher. I freeze, heart stammering, wondering if he can smell the secrets I can’t remember. But he just licks ice cream off my fingers and moves from me to Damon, where he takes a long, satisfied sniff of his crotch.

Oh God. He knows. He can smell what we did in the woods.

“Nose down, big guy,” Damon whispers, pushing him away. The dog obeys, pulling back.

“I’m fine,” I murmur to no one. Maybe myself. Either way it’s a lie.

The station feels like a church in a junkyard. Books and knobs and glowing equipment everywhere. There's a red light blinking above the door.

It’s funny to hear Hunter’s radio voice in person, without the distance through a speaker. “We’re not asking you to namenames. Just tell the truth. You’ve seen something, haven’t you? Say it out loud. Even if your voice shakes.”

Someone breathes into the phone. Then,“I heard screaming. A house out by the east orchard. Thought it was nothing. Just college kids screwing around. But it didn’t sound… right.”

My stomach knots. The orchard’s not far from the dance studio. Too close.

“Another night comes to a close for me at WXFU. A special thanks for everyone who had the courage to call, for the DM’s in my box, and whispered secrets around Forsyth tonight. We may just be one step closer to finding the person who did this, and even better, the missing. Remember, you’re not forgotten.” The strains of a new song build under his voice and he pauses to take a long, final drag of the cigarette. “As always and forever, wake up, Forsyth. Wake up, and smell that sweet decay…”