Page 48 of The Rookie's Second Chance

The dots were starting to connect, forming an ugly picture. "And what about you, Ethan? Where do you fit into all of this?"

"I was an initiate, like I said. With Garrett and Lexi."

I eyed him skeptically. "You expect me to believe you were just totally innocent in all this?"

Ethan's eyes were hard, his voice edged with steel. "Believe what you want. But I didn't sign up to be part of a goddamn cover-up, and you won’t find anyone else who took the time to gather all the evidence."

There was an honesty in his tone that was hard to dispute. He slid the documents toward me, a silent offering of proof.

"You can keep those," he said, standing up abruptly. "Just... don't say you got them from me. And Jake, be careful. This shit... it's bigger than us."

I gathered the papers, my mind racing. Garrett, a student who vanished into thin air. Lexi, bound by the secretive rules of The Vault. A body, unclaimed and unidentified, except for a set of clothes. The silence of an institution. And now Kayla, lying in a hospital bed, connected to all this by a thread I was just starting to see.

As Ethan started to walk away, I found my voice, raw from the churn of information. "Hold on. Why the hell would anyone cover this up? What's the point?"

Ethan stopped, half-turned toward me, his face shadowed. "That, Officer Barrows, is a damn good question," he said, voice low. "But it's not one you heard from me. Okay? You didn't hear any of this from me." There was an earnest plea in his eyes, a silent bid for anonymity.

I grunted, frustrated. "And what do you get out of this, Ethan? Why spill now?"

He glanced back with a hollow laugh. "Get out of it?" He shook his head. "Nothing. I don't get shit out of this except maybe a clear conscience." His gaze held mine. "And for the record, I might've held a torch for Lexi once, but it was never what people thought. I fell hard for someone else. Lexi... she was just a friend who tried to help."

A pang of something—sympathy, maybe—twisted in my chest. "You’re really not our guy?" I didn’t expect him to say yes—who would?—but I still felt compelled to ask.

Ethan's nod was solemn. "I'm many things, but not a stalker, not a threat. I just hope you find who is. I hope Lexi's okay." And with that, he turned, walking away with his past lingering in the air between us.

I sat there for a long moment, the files in front of me. Garrett, Lexi, The Vault—it was all a web of secrets and silence. I was a officer, used to chasing down leads and shaking out the truth, but this? This was a different kind of darkness.

Shoving the papers into my bag, I pushed out of the booth, the vinyl seat squeaking in protest. The diner continued its hustle and bustle around me, oblivious to the conspiracies being unearthed at a corner table. Outside, the air was cooling as the evening started to creep in, a reminder that the day was ending, but my work was just getting started.

I drove back to the station, my mind on Ethan's words, on Kayla's still form in that hospital bed, on Lexi, who was caught up in something far bigger than any of us realized. Anger bubbled up, fierce and protective, and a newfound determination set in. I'd find this stalker, dig into The Vault's secrets, and I'd be damned if I let anyone else get hurt.

Back at my desk, I spread out the files, the pieces of Garrett's life and disappearance laid out before me. I needed to make sense of it, find the thread that connected it all to the here and now—to Lexi, to Kayla. I pored over every word, every date and signature, looking for something, anything, that could be a lead.

The station clock ticked, marking time in a steady rhythm. I’d look up at it every now and then, the night wearing on, the second hand ticking away moments I felt slipping through my fingers. There were more questions than answers, but I was used to that. Answers were earned, and I was ready to put in the work.

As the clock neared midnight, I needed rest, a clear head, but the thought of sleep seemed like a distant luxury. Instead, I turned back to the documents, to Garrett's faded smile in a picture clipped from a school newspaper, to the cold, bureaucratic language that tried to erase him. It was personal now. It was about justice.

Chapter Twenty-Three

KAYLA

The sound was the first thing that came back, a sort of distant, watery echo. Then, the light—a harsh, bleary fluorescence that made my eyelids flutter in protest. Pain throbbed at the base of my skull, a pulsing drumbeat that surged with every beat of my heart.

Voices murmured around me, their words indistinct and muffled, as if I were underwater. I tried to lift my head, but it was like trying to move through molasses, heavy and resistant. My eyes cracked open, a slit of vision that blurred white coats and clipboards into ghostly shapes before my gaze.

"Ms. Green? Can you hear me?" The voice was closer now, a beacon through the fog. I managed a groan, my throat raw, as if I’d swallowed a handful of sand.

A figure leaned over, a mask and cap obscuring their face. "You're in the hospital," they explained, their voice clinical but not unkind. "You've been in and out. Try not to speak."

I obeyed, not that I had much choice. My body felt like it was encased in lead, heavy and unresponsive. The pain ebbed and flowed, a tide that pulled at my consciousness, dragging me back down into darkness.

Each time I woke, it was like breaking through ice. My brain would kick on, muddled and slow, only to shut down as the pain spiked and sleep reclaimed me.

Once, I caught a snippet of conversation—doctors discussing medication and concussions. Another time, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor played a steady, unyielding soundtrack to my disjointed thoughts.

The cycles of wakefulness were exhausting, each a little battle I fought and lost, until the moment I opened my eyes to a different presence.

"Kayla?" The voice was thick with an emotion I couldn't place. My eyes dragged open, and this time, they focused on a familiar face.

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