Chapter 4
Alec Vale didn’t believe in fate.
Fate was the kind of story people told themselves to survive grief or guilt. Or maybe both.
He believed in patterns.
The way wounds echoed across generations, the way the same kind of girl went missing from the same kind of town every five years, but no one ever seemed to connect the dots.
He believed in silence because in silence, you heard the cracks.
And right now, he was listening.
The diner smelled like scorched coffee and burnt bacon grease, the kind of place that didn’t pretend to be more than it was. The waitress—Jen, maybe Jenna—had stopped asking if he wanted anything else after he said no twice.
He hadn’t touched the toast, and the coffee was half cold. However, the paper in front of him? That was what he came for.
The girl, seventeen, had vanished last fall.
He had found her picture tucked away in the back of a missing persons file while combing through archived foster system records in another county. She was blonde with a soft smile, but had the same eyes. Wide, half-wary, like she was waiting for something to go wrong.
She had the same look Siena used to have, but Alec hadn’t seen his sister since she was five.
Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be his sister. The records said he was born to a different mother, in a different state. His birth certificate was forged, his first few years were a blur of names and lies and foster homes that reeked of sweat and unspoken things.
But when he was ten, he found an old caseworker’s notebook. The name scribbled in the margin of a closed file: Siena Vale, possible sibling.
It had stuck in his head like glass under skin and by the time he turned eighteen, he was already chasing ghosts. Siena was the brightest one.
And now, she was almost eighteen. Which meant if she disappeared now, nobody would notice. Not legally. She was about to age out, about to vanish into adulthood like so many others.
The same pattern, the same timing.
The problem was, he was always two steps behind.
He left a tip at the counter even though he didn’t eat, then walked out into the cold with his jacket zipped and his thoughts moving too fast to hold.
His rental car was parked just off the main road. A secondhand sedan with too many dents and a heater that only worked if you kicked the dashboard. He climbed in, slammed the door shut, and took a slow breath.
Then he pulled up the GPS feed he had installed two days ago. Siena's phone had pinged just after sunset, near the cliffs.
Then it stopped.
No battery warning, no data drop, just… silence.
That was the first red flag.
He tapped the screen again, refreshed the data, and nothing new still.
Something clenched low in his stomach but he told himself not to panic. She could have turned it off or dropped it or fallen asleep.
But he knew better.
Alec started the engine.
Fifty miles away
In a room that didn’t exist on any blueprint, Leona Hale watched Damien through a half-open door, he was painting again. Shirt sleeves rolled, brow furrowed in that quiet intensity that used to pull her in. Now, it irritated her.
“Another masterpiece?” she asked, her voice too light.
He didn’t look up. “Go home, Leona.”
“You never invite me to Eden anymore.”
“That’s because you’re not supposed to be here.”
She crossed the room, slowly, heels clicking against the marble floor like a threat. “And yet, here I am.”
He didn’t stop painting.
She stopped behind him, staring at the unfinished portrait. A girl with a choker and storm-colored eyes.
“Is that her?”
Damien paused.
Leona’s fingers trailed along the back of his neck, soft and venomous. “She’s a child.”
“She’s mine.”
Leona pulled away, her smile cold. “You keep forgetting what I know about you, Damien.”
He set the brush down, finally looking at her. “And you keep forgetting who saved you from yourself.”
They stared at each other like two knives drawn too close.
Leona smiled again, but this one didn’t reach her eyes.
Then she walked away.
Back on the highway
Alec drove without music, the only sound was the road and the wind slipping through the cracked window.
He pulled onto the dirt shoulder just before the cliff trail and killed the engine. The wind had picked up—sharp, impatient.
He walked fast, boots crunching over gravel and dry leaves.
No one was out here, no voices, no flashlights, just the cliffs and the cold and a silence that felt… staged.
Then he saw it, a shoe.
Small, worn-out canvas.
Next to it, scuffed dirt, drag marks.
And then… a ribbon.
Silk. Black.
Alec bent down and picked it up, his fingers clenched around it.
This was not just a pattern anymore.
This was Siena.
He looked out over the cliff’s edge, his heart hammering in his chest.
And behind him, somewhere deeper in the trees, something snapped.
A branch.
A footstep.
Not an animal, but someone watching.
Alec straightened slowly and turned.
But the trail was empty.
Still—he knew.
He was not alone.
And whoever had taken Siena?
They were already watching him too.