The sky was turning a pale, unforgiving gray when we got into the car.
Serafin's hands shook as he turned the key—just once, barely noticeable, but enough that I saw it. The engine coughed—ch-chk—then roared to life—VROOOOM—too loud in the quiet aftermath.
I hugged myself, staring out the windshield as flashing lights faded behind us—WEE-OO… WEE-OO—the sound stretching thin, then disappearing entirely.
"They're really taking him," I said, more to convince myself than anyone else.
"For questioning," Serafin replied. "That's not the same thing."
My stomach sank. "You think they'll let him go."
"I think," he said carefully, "that this town knows how to protect itself."
The road curved away from the harbor, wet pavement reflecting the weak morning light—hiss—tires cutting through shallow puddles. I watched the buildings blur past: the bakery, the closed pub, the corner store where I'd once spent hours pretending nothing was wrong.
"Everyone looked at me like I was already guilty," I murmured.
Serafin glanced at me. "They've been doing that for years."
I laughed softly. "Yeah. Guess I just finally noticed."
A police cruiser pulled out from a side street behind us—vroooom—lights off, but close enough to make my chest tighten.
Serafin's jaw set. "Don't panic."
"I'm not," I lied.
The cruiser followed us for two blocks. Three.
My pulse thudded—thump, thump—loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
Then it sped past us suddenly—WHOOSH—turning down another road.
I exhaled shakily. "Jesus."
Serafin nodded. "They're watching. Not stopping us. Yet."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's better than the alternative."
Silence settled in the car, thick and uncomfortable. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind exhaustion that sank into my bones.
"I don't feel brave," I admitted. "I feel sick."
"You're allowed to," he said. "You detonated a lie that's been sitting there for nearly a decade."
"I didn't do it to be heroic," I said. "I did it because I couldn't carry it anymore."
Serafin looked at me then, really looked. "That's usually why people tell the truth."
My phone buzzed softly—bzzzzt—and I nearly jumped out of my seat.
No caller ID. No message preview.
I didn't answer.
Serafin noticed. "You don't have to."
"I know," I said. "But it feels like if I stop listening, something worse will happen."
The road opened up ahead, stretching toward the cliffs and then inland. The town's welcome sign loomed briefly before disappearing in the rearview mirror.
I stared at it until it was gone.
"That's it?" I whispered. "I just leave again?"
"For now," Serafin said. "You need distance. Space."
"And then what?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Another car appeared ahead, parked awkwardly on the shoulder. A familiar figure stood beside it.
"Slow down," I said sharply.
Serafin cursed under his breath. "Shit."
It was her—the woman who'd tried to usher me into the car earlier. She raised a hand as we approached, palm out.
Serafin slowed but didn't stop.
I rolled the window down just enough. "What do you want?"
Her eyes flicked nervously up and down the road. "You shouldn't have said anything."
"I'm tired of being told that."
"You don't understand the damage you've done," she hissed.
"No," I said quietly. "I understand exactly what you did."
She flinched. "You think one arrest changes anything?"
"No," I replied. "But it cracks the foundation."
She leaned closer. "If this town collapses, people will die."
I met her gaze. "That blood isn't on me."
She straightened, eyes cold. "You'll regret this."
Serafin accelerated—VROOOOM—leaving her standing alone on the roadside.
My hands trembled in my lap. "They're not done."
"No," he agreed. "Neither are you."
The highway sign appeared ahead, pointing away from the coast. Away from everything I'd known.
I swallowed hard. "What if they discredit me?"
"They'll try."
"What if they say I made it up?"
"They will."
"What if no one believes me?" My voice cracked.
Serafin reached over, covering my hand with his. "I do."
That almost broke me.
My phone buzzed again—bzzzzt—this time with a message.
You left before. You'll leave again.
I stared at the words. "They think this ends if I disappear."
Serafin's grip tightened. "It doesn't."
"Then why do I feel like I just started something I can't finish?"
He glanced at the road ahead, expression grim. "Because you did."
The highway stretched endlessly forward, empty and unforgiving. Behind us, the town faded into fog and memory—but not silence.
I leaned back against the seat, heart heavy, mind racing.
I'd spoken the truth.
Now I had to survive it.