Page 97 of Firefly Effect

Jenkins, whom Evie and Lilith have trusted for years. A man they both considered to be a friend.

After he began complying with us, he plummeted to the bottom of our suspect list. With all the evidence gathered, we had no reason to suspect him, especially since his age didn’t match the pattern of the other victims. Jenkins is an older man but strong, seeing as he’s wrestling with me now and putting up a good fight. Still, I’m stronger.

“Let go of me, you idiot,” Jenkins sputters. “I’m not the bad guy here. She’s going to kill us both.”

A multitude of feelings come over me next—anger, confusion, shock. Then I turn to see Lilith slowly getting to her feet, an evil gleam in her eyes.

Blood runs down the side of her face, and a large rock is raised above her head.

I’ve had it all wrong.

In fact, I’m not sure I ever had it right.

The Firefly Man isn’t a man at all. It’s Lilith.

But the realization comes too late, and there’s no time to stop her before she’s bringing her arms down and smashing the rock onto Jenkins’s skull.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

EVELYN

“I think his phone is dead.”

An overwhelming sense of helplessness nearly knocks me to the ground, but Patrick is there with his hand holding mine, supporting me. In the five-minute ride to Deep Creek Campground, I filled him in as much as I possibly could, leaving out the bits and pieces I promised Lincoln I would keep confidential—like the fact that he’s a profiler for the FBaI.

Patrick winces, the worry lines on his face deepening as we pull in beside Lincoln’s car. “I have a bad feeling about this, Evie.”

I could laugh at that sentiment if I weren’t focused on finding Lucy. He was always the one who would encourage me to explore the woods, even late at night, as long as I followed his one rule. Stay on the path.

My stomach sinks when I replay the exact moment I decided to break that rule all those years ago. Foster had come back to get me. He didn’t want to stop searching for Carley, but he didn’t want to leave me behind, either. For years, I wondered if the reason he never tried to find me was because he hated me. I had been so stubborn about staying on the trail. Maybe if I had just gone with him the first time, we would have found Carley before she was killed.

Shaking off my dark thoughts, I head toward the entrance of the campground. We make it all the way to the same campsite that strangles me with nostalgia. It’s so easy to remember the first time I saw Foster Pruitt and his moody scowl as he was forced to listen to the same campfire tale over and over.

I’m almost lost in my memories when a voice calls my name.

“Evie!”

I snap my head to find the man in the black hoodie jogging toward me.

He speaks.

At least now, thanks to Lincoln’s confessions, I know the man is his partner, Dylan.

“What are you doing here?” Dylan demands. “You need to leave.”

Narrowing my eyes at the near-stranger, I shake my head. “I’m not leaving until I know Lucy is okay.”

Patrick is glaring at the man too. “Who the hell are you?”

Dylan sighs and pulls down his hoodie to reveal a head of shaggy strawberry-blonde curls and crystal-blue eyes. They must only hire Abercrombie models in the FBI. I guess that was the point of him keeping his features covered, considering he was hiding in plain sight from me, spying on me for Lincoln.

“This is Dylan,” I tell Patrick, trying to calm him so we can focus on the mission at hand. “He’s Lincoln’s friend.”

“You both should go,” Dylan says. “Lincoln wouldn’t want you anywhere near this place.”

“No offense,” I snap, “but I don’t really care what Lincoln wants. I’m staying.”

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