Page 33 of Begin Again

A groan slips out. “Yuck. Of course, you’d like spicy pickled vegetables on pizza. That sounds disgusting.”

He feigns offense. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“I’ll pass.” Another bite of my own slice, then, “Alright, what else? Favorite movie?”

“Heat.”

Not a bad choice. “Respectable.”

Bennett tips his beer toward me. “What about you?”

“Movie?The Dark Knight.”

A nod of approval. “Solid choice.”

“Band?” I ask.

“Changes too much to say.”

I lift a brow. “Cop-out answer.”

A smirk. “Fine. If I had to pick? Sevendust.”

Respectable. “Good taste.”

He eyes me over his beer. “And you?”

I consider it. “I don’t know, I’m all over the place. Depends on my mood.”

The smirk returns. “So, a cop-out answer?”

A roll of my eyes. “Shut up.”

For the first time since we met, it doesn’t feel like we’re circling each other, waiting for the other to throw the first punch. It feels… normal. Like maybe this whole cousin thing doesn’t have to be so complicated after all. That all changes when my phone rings.

* * *

Morgan

The sheriff’s department is quieter than usual, an ominous quiet that presses down on my chest. The early morning stillness wraps around me like a weight, thick and suffocating. It feels wrong to be in Gabe’s office without him, even though I’ve been here more times than I can count. His absence is still raw, an ache I’m not sure will ever go away.

Stacks of boxes surround his desk, each filled with the remnants of his life: case files, books, photos, and personal knickknacks. The department has been kind enough to let us clear out his office at our own pace, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Every item I touch is a ghost of him, lingering in the space he used to command with quiet authority.

Gabe was always meticulous, his desk unnaturally organized. Now, it’s a chaotic mix of paperwork and unfinished business, a stark contrast to the man I knew. I sigh, picking up a small framed photo. It’s him, Aubrey, and Theo at the Bear & Brew’s grand reopening after Theo’s parents died. Their grins are wide, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. It feels like a lifetime ago.

I set the photo aside and turn my attention to his computer. I hesitate before pressing the power button. It feels intrusive, like opening a door I have no right to enter. But if there’s an important clue left behind that could help us figure out what happened to him, I need to look.

The monitor hums to life, casting long shadows in the dim room. I log in using the password Gabe gave me months ago, just in case of emergencies. His desktop is neat, with only a few icons scattered across the screen.

A folder labeled “Pending Cases” catches my eye, but before I can click on it, a soft ding breaks the silence.

My heart skips a beat. The notification is subtle, just a small box in the corner of the screen.

“Security Alert: New Activity Detected.”

I frown and click on the alert. It opens a program I don’t recognize—a tracking system of some sort. A list of names appears on the screen, each linked to a series of IP addresses and timestamps.

“Activity Source: 153.31.100.95”