Chapter 21 #2

“The hiding spot is up there,” Clover says, pointing to where the tree splits. “In the hollow between the branches. We’d climb up—well, you’d boost me first, then pull yourself up—and there’s a gap in the trunk. Like a natural pocket.”

“You want me to check it?” Chief offers.

I snort. Right. Like I’m going to let this seventy-year-old man climb a tree.

“I’ll do it,” I say. This is personal. This is me and Clover.

I grab the lowest branch and haul myself up, and my left foot naturally finds the hitch in the bark that acts as a step.

It’s been fourteen years, but my body remembers this.

The angle of the branches, the rough texture of the bark, the way you have to twist your torso to get by that one spot where the branches grew close together.

I reach the Y split and look down into the hollow, then push away the piece of plywood I recall stealing from the shed, hoping it would be enough to protect our belongings. But when I lift the weathered piece of wood out, the hole is empty.

Not just empty. Wrong.

I flip over the plywood, ready to replace it when I see it. Red writing.

Fourteen years too late.

“Valen?” Clover calls up. “Did you find it?”

“No, it’s gone. Someone took it.” And they left a message in its place.

“Shit,” Chief curses.

Tucking the piece of plywood under my arm, I climb down and hold out the message so they can both see it.

Clover’s face pales. “Fourteen years too late.”

No one dares look away from the message, the implications settling over us like a shroud.

Someone has been here. Recently because the red writing isn’t faded with age, and they know how long ago we left ROS.

Someone who knew where to look.

Someone who knew we’d come.

Someone who knew when we’d come.

Someone is fucking with us.

“We need to check all the buildings again,” Chief says sternly. “Terra’s private quarters, and yours, Clover. If someone’s been here, there might be more signs that Roman wouldn’t know to look for.”

Clover nods even as her entire body trembles. I pull her into my side, and she clings to me as though she’s trying to disappear.

“Hey,” I murmur into her hair. “We’re okay. We’ll figure this out.”

“I’m…I’m just so confused, Valen. Nothing makes sense,” she whispers. “We’re missing something—something big, and I’m afraid if we don’t find it soon, someone will get hurt. They knew, Valen. This person knew we’d come here.”

She’s putting a voice to all my fears, and I don’t know how to ease hers when they mirror my own.

“Let’s head back to the main building. Roman and Rip are on their way here from town. They’ll watch the property while we search it for anything they may have missed.”

Her wet lashes lift so she can look up at our tree one more time before she nods. “My childhood was hell, Valen. But it wasn’t all bad. You. This tree. They’re the things I cling to when the darkness seeps in.”

“You can cling to me anytime, baby.” I take her hand in mine, my gaze taking in the magnificent tree—it’s still standing, and so are we.

The joyful innocence Clover exuded at the inn has been replaced with something darker, something edgier. Something that comes from a place of prolonged fear, and I’ll do whatever it takes to find her sweet innocence again.

We walk back to the compound with thoughts so loud they cause a riot in my mind.

The main building looms large and imposing as we approach. Its broken windows remind me of sad, empty eyes, watching our every move. The front door hangs open, creaking in the wind.

“Terra’s quarters took up the third floor,” Clover says. “Her office and bedroom. She called it her sanctuary.” The bitterness in her voice could cut glass.

When we step inside, a chill coats my skin, but it’s Clover who audibly shudders against it.

My hand gravitates toward hers, and this time, I don’t let her go.

The entry hall is enormous—with high ceilings, water-stained wallpaper peeling in large strips, and a staircase leading to the second floor. There’s old furniture in here still, covered in dust and bird droppings. There’s a pulpit at one end, facing rows of pews, some tipped over, some broken.

On the wall behind the pulpit, barely visible beneath water damage and peeling paint, is a symbol. A tree with roots that spiral into infinity, and at the top, it splits into a Y shape, like open arms welcoming you home.

I’ve seen it somewhere before.

“This is where she preached,” Clover whispers. “Every morning. Every evening. She’d tell us how lucky we were to be here. How the outside world would only hurt us. How she was saving us. How thankful we must be for her guidance.”

“What a fucking nutbag,” Chief mutters.

A portrait hangs on the wall, faded but still visible. A woman with dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. She has sharp cheekbones and cold eyes. The plaque below it reads, Mother Terra Stone, Founder and Prophet.

Jesus Christ.

My fucking egg donor.

Clover follows my gaze. “She commissioned that when the compound was at its peak. Children had to bow to it before leaving the building.”

Wrecks growls, low and vicious, before nudging Clover toward the front door.

I glare at the portrait, searching for any resemblance to myself. There’s something in the eyes, maybe. The shape of the jaw. But the expression—that cold, calculating cruelty—that’s all hers.

“This is some real messed-up shit,” Chief says, already heading for the staircase. “Let’s see what we find upstairs.”

The stairs creak ominously under our weight, and if Roman hadn’t already been through here, I’d worry they were about to collapse. The second-floor hallway is long and dark. Doors line both sides like something straight out of The Shining.

Most doors are open, revealing empty rooms with stained mattresses and broken furniture. The waning light filters into the hallway, casting dark, broken shadows that fuel the anxiety bubbling in my gut.

It’s as though everyone left this place in a hurry, and the life that once filled these halls is all but forgotten.

Perhaps that’s the way it should be.

“She saved these rooms for guests and…donors,” Clover says.