Page 36 of Heresy (The Lost Gospels #1)

Each fact is a separate, more devastating blow than the last. Cain is alive.

Not a ghost, but a man of flesh and blood.

And he's hiding in plain sight, a detective in the NYPD.

The final piece of the puzzle, the one that connects his world to mine, is her.

He was the one who personally buried the report on the incident that made Katarina Volkov disappear.

The pieces of the puzzle are all there, sharp and jagged.

She is not a plant. She is not a spy. Rook was right.

I was right. The war with Cain, the needs of my club…

they are distant noise. The only thing that feels real is the silent, psychological war being waged between me and the woman in that cell.

I walk to the bedroom where she's locked away.

A loyal patched member, a brother I've known for ten years, Wraith, stands guard outside her door, his face a grim mask. He was sent by Zero to assist with Rook’s recovery .

I dismiss him with a jerk of my head. He gives a single, sharp nod and melts back down the hallway, leaving me alone with the silence

She is sitting on the edge of the bed, her body rigid, her face pale with exhaustion and fear. She flinches when she sees me, expecting a continuation of the violence from the ride back.

I don't move toward her. I don't speak. I just stand in the doorway, the burner phone in my hand. I pull up the file Glitch sent me.

"We need to talk about the police report," I say, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion. "The one from the night you disappeared."

Her eyes widen, a flicker of pure, animal terror in their depths.

I hold up the phone, turning the screen so she can see it. "Do you know this man?" I ask, my voice a low, dangerous thing. "The detective who buried your case?"

I watch her face as she stares at the screen.

I watch the color drain from her cheeks.

I watch her breath catch in her throat. I see her recognize the face—not as Cain, my ghost, but as the man from her own nightmare, the one who came to the penthouse that night, the one who smiled at Dmitri and made her suffering disappear into a file.

Her entire body begins to tremble, a single, silent tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek.

"His name," I say, the words sealing our shared damnation, "is Cain."

I see exactly what I’m looking for. Her shattered, silent, horrified recognition.

To be continued…