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‘Another few years and we can get away from here, Darien,’ she’d told him. ‘Life will be better one day. I promise.’ As much as he knew she was saying the words for him, he also knew they were partially voiced for her own benefit. A promise that one day she wouldn’t feel pain anymore.

The next morning, when Darien woke up to get ready for school, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table. She was covered in bruises, one of her eyes swollen almost completely shut, her lip crusted with blood. She was nursing a cup of tea in her hands, fingers trembling as much as the fake smile she put on as she saw Darien walking into the room.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked him. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

Darien’s breaths were coming hard, his hands clenched so tightly that it felt like his knuckles would split through the skin. “He can’t keep getting away with this, Mom.”

“Darien, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay!” His voice broke. He waved a hand at her. “Look at you! You’re nothing but his goddamn punching bag.”

“Another few years—”

“Another few years and you could be dead.”

She ducked her head, throat bobbing.

Darien’s vision blurred with tears. “I hate him,” he said through clenched teeth. “I hate him, Mom. He can’t do this to you—”

Boots pounded outside the front door. Keys jingled.

His mom lurched to her feet and came around the table, taking both of his hands into her own. “Promise me you won’t say anything to him.”

“Mom—”

“Promise me.”

Darien tried to swallow, but he was choking. “I promise,” he said. For her, he wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t be the reason that prick put his filthy hands on her again.

“Darien, please,” she whispered as the lock clicked open.

“Mom, I promise. I promise.”

Darien blinked away the memory. His reality returned, the trees of ACC swaying in a breeze. He didn’t look at the farthest corner of the cemetery. Maybe that made him a coward, but he couldn’t do it.

The ringing of the phone he was still holding to his ear pushed the last of the memory out of his mind. The call was about to go to voicemail when Finn finally picked up, muffled voices and the patter of isolated showers drifting through the speaker.

Darien looked up at the sky, peering through the tangle of jacaranda branches, most of the petals torn off by wind. He didn’t see any threat of another rainstorm, though the weather had been so unpredictable lately that he wouldn’t be surprised if one randomly blew in at any second.

“Solace,” Finn said.

“I’ve got some photographs for you to look into.” A quick run-through of criminal files should help Finn narrow down who the men were and add their names to his ever-growing list of people to arrest.

But the detective said, “This isn’t really a good time.” It sounded like he was walking. Walking somewhere wet, judging from his squelching footsteps.

Darien rolled his eyes. “You asked for my help, man.”

“I know, I know. I’ve just got my hands full at the minute.”

“More dead animals?”

“A person, actually.” A sigh rattled the phone. “Three of them.”

Immediately, the faces of everyone Darien cared about flashed through his mind. “Anyone we know?”

Howling wind and the squish of mud underfoot filled the silence before Finn spoke. “We can’t find their identifications, and the faces are…unrecognizable. The car’s a rental.”

Darien started the engine. “Where are you?”