Page 153 of Lady and the Hitman

Couldn’t unknow what I knew now.

And I had no idea what the hell to do with that.

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling, breath still ragged from the nightmare. Four missed calls. A stream of unread messages from Ronan, each one a silent echo of a life I wasn’t sure I belonged in anymore.

I didn’t open them.

Instead, I went to my contacts and tapped a different name.

Trevor.

He picked up on the second ring. “Zara?”

His voice was groggy. Concerned. Familiar in a way that made my throat close up.

“Hi,” I whispered. “Sorry—it’s late. I know.”

“Are you okay?” He was fully awake now. “What happened?”

I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I just … I needed to talk to someone. Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Where are you?”

“My parents’ house.”

Another pause, heavier this time. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thanks.”

I ended the call before I could second-guess it. Then I climbed out of bed, my body aching like I’d actually lived the nightmare.

The bathroom light was too bright. I squinted at myself in the mirror, startled by the reflection—red eyes, pale skin, hair sticking to my temples with sweat. I splashed cold water on my face, scrubbed my teeth like it might erase the taste of fear, and pulled yesterday’s clothes back on.

I wrote a note to my parents on the back of a grocery list, the words short and vague—just enough to keep them from worrying.

Then I slipped out the back door.

The air outside was thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the world was holding its breath. I stood at the end of the gravel drive, arms wrapped tightaround myself, staring out at the dark rows of the nursery I used to know.

My mother had said they were losing everything. She hadn’t told me they already had.

The porch light flicked on behind me, but I didn’t turn back.

When Trevor’s headlights finally cut through the dark, I blinked hard and straightened.

The car rolled to a stop. The passenger door clicked open.

I climbed in.

Trevor didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled back onto the road, hands steady on the wheel. He smelled like clean laundry and old coffee. The dashboard glowed soft blue, casting shadows across his face.

“You look like hell,” he said quietly.

“I feel worse.”

He nodded. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

I stared out the window at the marsh slipping past in streaks of silver and black.