Page 32 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

I drop my gaze, my fingers curling into my lap.

I feel exposed, vulnerable, even though Quinn already knows about my dad’s conviction.

The firm uncovered it during my background check, but we’ve never actually talked about it.

Not out loud. I’ve always suspected my past is a big part of why Quinn took me under his wing.

I think part of him felt bad for me, basically becoming an orphan at sixteen.

“Woodsen.” Quinn’s voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “Your dad had a psychotic breakdown and murdered your mother. There’s nothing in the files to indicate anyone else was involved.”

I glance up, surprised. “You’ve seen my dad’s case files?”

He nods. “I wanted to know about your family. To see if I could help you—help your father.” He hesitates, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off a weight.

“I went through the case, searched for anything that could justify reopening it or filing an appeal. There’s nothing.

” His voice hardens. “I’m telling you. You’re chasing shadows. ”

I feel myself getting defensive.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I disagree. There’s something here.”

“Come back with me,” he says. “You can work on other cases. Safer cases. This isn’t the only path to success.” His voice is gentle but resolute as he reaches for my hand. “We’ll figure this out— together .”

“Quinn, I can’t… I can’t just walk away.” I pull away and his face shifts to something like disappointment.

“So that’s it, then? You’re saying no to us too?”

My heart twists as I see the hurt in his eyes, raw and unguarded.

“Quinn, this… us… it’s complicated. What about my career?

Everything I’ve worked for?” My voice wavers, the walls I’ve kept up against him cracking.

“Even if I admit that, yes, there are feelings, what good does that do? If something happens between us, it changes how everyone at work sees me. Maybe you don’t have to worry about that, but I do. ”

“I know it’s complicated,” he says, his gaze steady. “But life’s messy, Woodsen. You can’t always keep everything in neat, professional boxes.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his stare. “I need more time to figure out what I feel, Quinn. But please—don’t ask me to choose between you and this case.”

He nods, his expression hardening as he leans back, distancing himself physically and emotionally.

“The firm’s been asking questions, you know,” he says, his voice low, measured.

“The partners are worried. They don’t like the way this looks—a young junior female associate still wet behind the ears, running around Salem’s Fall, working outside the firm’s oversight and getting tangled up in whatever the hell is going on here. ”

I freeze.

“What does that mean?”

Quinn hesitates. “It means they want you back in Boston. If you stay, you could lose more than just this case—you could lose everything.”

Anger flares in my chest. “So what, you’re here to strong-arm me into leaving? Are you going to fire me if I refuse?”

“Of course not.” Hurt flickers in his eyes. “You know I’ll always have your back, no matter what you choose. If you won’t leave with me, I’ll go back alone and try to cover for you for a few more days… it just might not be enough.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my decision settle over me. Quinn. Boston. Back to the city, to stability, to the career I’ve sacrificed so much for with a good man I know I can trust and rely on.

And yet, something is keeping me here. Maybe it’s Damien, maybe it’s the mystery, maybe it’s the need to avenge my mother’s death and my father’s conviction. Whatever it is, I can’t ignore it.

“I need to see this through, Quinn,” I say. “If I walk away now, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“All right.” He presses his lips together. “If that’s your choice, I don’t like it, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

The disappointment and sadness in his voice stings more than I want to admit. It’s almost enough to make me change my mind, but the resolve inside me hardens.

He stands, a heaviness in his posture as he straightens and pulls out his wallet to leave enough cash to cover our breakfast. I feel the words catch in my throat. I don’t want you to go, I want to cry out.

But I don’t.

I’ve made my choice to stay, and I’ve got to live by it, no matter how hard it might be.

“Take care of yourself, Woodsen,” he says and hugs me lightly, as if he’s afraid he may break me. It feels like a goodbye, and the weight of my decision crashes down on me. The feeling of being alone—utterly, wholly alone—hits me hard .

But then, a familiar figure slips into the corner of my vision. Leaning casually against the doorframe of the dining room is Damien. He watches Quinn and me with an expression that hovers between boredom and annoyance.

The sinking feeling in my stomach tightens into something sharper, prickling at the edges as he strolls over. His eyes flicker from Quinn’s face to mine. There’s a glimmer of amusement there, the kind that’s impossible to miss.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” he asks, a mocking lilt to his voice.

Quinn’s body goes rigid beside me.

“Blackhollow.”

Damien’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Kensington.”

I arch a brow at Damien. “Nice of you to finally return.”

Damien’s gaze slides to me fully now, taking me in like he’s assessing whether I’m pissed, hurt, or just being difficult for sport.

“Did you miss me, Counselor?”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Hardly.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

Quinn, radiating tension, cuts in sharply. “What can we do for you, Blackhollow?”

“Nothing needed on your end, Kensington, unless you can squeeze into a size 2 haute couture gown?” Damien grins smoothly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Bennett’s waiting outside with the car. I assume she’s coming back with me to the Gala today like we discussed?”

Quinn stiffens beside me. “You really think I can just demand she attend?”

“If you care about this case, then yes,” Damien says.

Quinn huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “The firm doesn’t own her, Blackhollow. I can’t tell her where to go.”

“And yet, you were just trying to do exactly that, weren’t you?” Damien lifts a brow. “Or did I mishear? It sounded like you were quite determined to pull her back to Boston yourself.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists. I’ve never seen Quinn look this angry before. For a second, I worry these two might actually go to real blows.

I glance between them, incredulous. “Um, hello? Standing right here,” I say, feeling like a doll they’re fighting over, a prop in some testosterone-fueled power struggle. “Maybe, I don’t know, ask me what I want?”

They both turn to me.

Watching.

Waiting.

I let out a slow breath, my pulse thrumming. I should say no. This is insane.

“Well, for one thing, this is a terrible idea,” I say. “And second, I don’t have anything to wear.”

Damien tilts his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s all been taken care of.”

“Excuse me?”

His lips curl toward me in a knowing smirk. “Do you really think I’d take you to a gala without making sure you have the perfect gown?” His voice drops, velvet smooth. “It’s waiting for you back in Boston, along with a full glam team at your disposal.”

Quinn watches me closely, almost desperately, his eyes searching mine for something—anything—that proves he still has control over what I do.

But something defiant sparks in my chest. If my career—and possibly my life—are already hanging by a thread, I might as well enjoy one damn night of fun.

I turn to Damien, flashing him my sweetest, most saccharine smile.

“I’d love to go to the Gala with you.”