Page 140 of Into the Dark, We Go

And that was what I feared most. Something I had been bracing myself to hear. He, like Robert, cared about the book more than anything else. Drawn to the idea of such power. He might not realize it yet or simply wasn’t willing to admit it, but at its core, that’s what it was all about.

I suddenly felt awakened, resolute, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. After the initial shock of accepting the truth, I was ready to take the necessary steps.

"Please don’t leave," Nick pleaded. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Then you should’ve thought ahead," I seethed, and in that moment, I noticed a haunting resemblance to Robert. The same hairline. The same height. Perhaps Nick’s mother and Robert had shared more than just coven ties.

I forced myself to walk around him, down the stairs, and out the front door to the Dodge, fighting the urge to look back, to see if he was watching. Leaving was the only right decision.

Tears threatened as I drove away, but it wasn’t until his house vanished from the rearview mirror that I let myself cry. I still managed to pull out the SIM card and toss it so he couldn’t reach me. Now, I had to focus on my own disappearance. In case he came for me.

I didn’t doubt he could let me go. But I was certain he’d still come for the grimoire—safely tucked under layers of clothes in my blue Ikea bag.

Epilogue

August, 2021

My fingers were drumminga staccato beat on the table when Mitchell finally walked into the coffee shop. I’d only been waiting for five minutes, but I kept mistaking every blonde man for him, afraid I’d forgotten what he looked like. I hadn’t seen him since we left Black Water.

He gave me a long hug, and we exchanged warm greetings. It felt surreal to see him in Brooklyn, still sporting the same haircut and wide smile I remembered.

It had been nearly six months since I left Duluth, and I had only recently told him the truth and asked for his help. Instead of answering, he changed the subject and shared some surprising news: his sister was moving to the city too.

We settled in, and I clutched my iced latte, afraid the glass might start rattling in my nervous hands. He glanced around the cozy coffee shop in Cobble Hill, taking in the mismatched chairs, the plants, and the worn-out bookshelves. I could tell from the look on his face that he was a Starbucks guy.

"How’s June?" I asked.

"Fine. Excited," he replied. "Dropped her off at her place. She’s unpacking still. Told her I needed some fresh air and to stretch my legs."

August was sweltering and oppressive, so his excuse for preferring the scorching streets to the comfort of an air-conditioned apartment felt flimsy, but if his sister didn’t object, it wasn’t my place to judge. We had agreed to meet without her.

"I’m still shocked she’s actually doing this. And you’re helping her!"

"Yeah, well," Mitch rubbed the back of his neck, "time for her to fly solo, make her own mistakes."

In the Winter, Mitch had been skeptical about June moving, and neither of us thought she was serious. But shortly after I left Minnesota, she applied to an RN training program and got accepted. Her fall semester was about to start. She hadn’t said anything to either of us until she received the official news, and though Mitch had his reservations—we’d talked about it a few times—he was proud of her. I was, too.

"Anyway, I’m glad to see you. And thrilled about June’s move. Maybe you’ll be around more, too?" I said, trying to keep my nerves from showing.

"Nah, East Coast ain’t my style. Too much chaos. Besides, I gotta get back home by Monday."

"When’s your training over? Can you officially call yourself a firefighter now?" I asked, shifting the subject.

"Already done. Been working for a month now. Just here for the weekend," he said, looking down with a modest smile.

"Congrats! Too bad you have to leave so soon. But if June needs anything, I’ll be around."

"Thanks for looking out for her," he said.

"Sure thing. Alcohol, weed, and sex dungeon passes. Whatever she needs!" I teased.

Mitchell gave a wry laugh, shaking his head in mock disapproval. Then his face turned serious.

"So, you hear from—" he started to ask.

I cut him off. "No."

"That’s good, I suppose." Mitchell rubbed the back of his neck again.