Page 22 of Make Them Bleed

At 11:40 I send Arrow a quick text—Hope you made it home safe, thanks for tonight—and pocket the phone before it can vibrate back.

The city outside is sharp and glittering, full of secrets and terrible men. I’m about to meet one of the good ones wearing a dead president’s face. At least, I hope he’s good.

I lock the apartment, step into the night, and head for Riverside, every footfall echoing with a truth I’m terrified to speak:

I think I’m falling for Arrow Finn, and if this goes wrong, I might lose him.

10

Arrow

A sensible human would text:Juno Hey, remember to wear shoes you can sprint in, but I’m not that brand of sensible. I’m the brand currently sweating inside a seventy-year-old president’s rubber face while triple-checking the motion camera feeds for stray raccoons.

The abandoned Riverside print-shop office looks good—better than I dared hope. Knight’s extra monitors glow soft aquamarine, Gage’s sticky-note constellations drape the whiteboard, and ethernet cables snake everywhere like neon spaghetti. It’s equal parts murder board and LAN party—a shrine to my inner nerd—and seeing it like this makes me ready to catch some murderers.

Footsteps sound on the metal stairwell outside. Heart in my throat, I pull the mask on fully, modulator mic in place.Deep breath.I unlock the steel door, and my breath catches at the sight.

Juno steps in, wide-eyed. She wears black skinny jeans, a cropped denim jacket, and that knit beanie with cat ears thatmakes her look five seconds from starring in an indie romcom. Behind the wary determination in her eyes is awe, which tugs something warm in my chest.

“Whoa.” She spins slowly, taking in cable bundles, taped-up floorplans, corkboard maps connected by red string. “This is…intel Narnia.”

I modulate my voice down a notch. “War rooms are overrated. I prefer ‘creative problem-solving environment.’”

She laughs. It’s bright and genuine as it lights up the room. “It looks like something my best friend would design. He’s got a Pinterest board for ‘Vigilante Loft Aesthetic.’”

My throat tightens.Play it cool. “He’s got good taste.”

She roams, fingertips brushing a stack of old print rollers turned desk legs. Her gaze lands on the corkboard titledPOTENTIAL LEADS.I’ve made sure Kiwi-green sticky notes cover any handwriting she’d recognize, but one address—ELIJAH123—sits dead center with a big red circle.

“Who’s Elijah123?” she asks.

“Local handle flagged from Arby’s hate-comment dump.” I keep my posture relaxed, but my pulse spikes. “Rabid fan. Usually harmless, but he spammed her last livestream with skull emojis.”

Juno’s jaw tightens. “Skull emojis the night she died? That’s not harmless.”

“We don’t know he posted them that night. The account timestamp is spoofed.”

She studies the Post-it, then turns to me. “Is the address legit?”

“Appears to be.”

“We should go.”

Alarm bells clang in my head.Too fast, too risky, too everything.“Recon first,” I suggest. “Digital footprint, bank statements?—”

“I can’t sit behind screens anymore, Hoover. I need to look someone in the eye.” Her voice cracks oneyeand it guts me.

I pivot to strategy mode. “Fine. One pass-by drive. We don’t engage unless it’s safe.”

“Deal.” Determination ignites in her gaze.

Five minutes later we’re outside flagging a rideshare. I text Gage a silent SOS—just our shared emoji code fortail us on GPS; call if I go dark.He thumbs back an emoji and a taco. Because well, Gage.

The driver, Carlo, is playing lo-fi hip-hop at headache volume. Juno and I slide into the back seat; her knee bumps mine, sending static along my skin. I keep Hoover’s mask tucked high, hoodie hood pulled low. Carlo glances in the rearview and takes in Juno’s face and my mask and decides we’re either cosplayers or burglars. He doesn’t ask, and I silently thank him for that.

Juno eyes the houses rolling past. “Arrow once said this neighborhood had the fastest fiber in the city,” she mutters.

“He would know, huh?” I ask, heart trotting double-time.