Page 62 of Ruthless Regret

“Crime scene details. The kind of shit cops keep quiet.” His eyes narrow. “The kind of things only someone who was there would know.”

A chill runs down my spine, the dream that woke me earlier coming back to me. “Could someone else have been there?”

“Maybe. But we need to figure it out before whoever is behind it decides to tie up those loose ends.”

“Loose ends? Is that a threat?” Scott interjects again.

“It’s a fucking warning, you idiot. Or did you miss the part where someone already tried to grab her once?”

“She wouldn’t have been grabbed if you hadn’t forced her to stay with you.”

“Stop it!” I take a step forward so I’m in between them. “Both of you. Just stop!”

The room falls silent.

“Zain, even if I believe you, what makes you think I can help? I’ve told you everything I remember.”

He moves closer. “Have you? If you don’t remember the first part of your police interview, then you could have repressed other things.”

“You want to find a way to draw those memories out.” It’s not a question.

“It might be our only shot. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I think you have it locked inside your head.”

“Ash,” Jessa-Mae’s voice is soft. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

I look at my friends, then at Scott. Matching concern is etched on all of their faces. When I turn back to face Zain, his eyes are hard, intense, but there’s something else there too. A hint of desperation that mirrors the growing pit in my stomach.

“I need time to think.”

A muscle pops in his jaw, but he doesn’t immediately shut my request down.

“I need to think, to process everything you’ve told me.”

“I’ll be back tonight.”

“Tonight?” Scott protests. “No way. You’re trying to bulldoze her into doing what you want.”

“Tonight.” Zain ignores him. “I’ll be back at eight for your answer.”

“And if she decides she doesn’t want to go back to Whitstone?” Jessa-Mae asks.

Zain’s gaze doesn’t move from me. “Then we’re both fucked.”

“Eight. I’ll have an answer for you then.”

He nods, turns, and walks out without another word. Peter glances at me, then follows him.

Once the front door has closed behind them, the room erupts into chaos. Scott, Jessa-Mae, and Karla are all talking at once, their voices a jumble of concern, anger, and disbelief. But I’m not listening to them.

My mind is reeling with everything Zain has told me.

A fingerprint. A mysterious man asking questions. The possibility that my memories might be hiding information.

For years, I’ve been living a lie. Convinced that what I saw was the truth. But now, I’m discovering that there’s so much more to the story than what I remember. And what I remember is not necessarily what happened.

The idea of digging into those buried memories is terrifying, but the thought of never knowing the truth is even worse.

The noise around me fades as the weight of Zain’s words sink in. My heart is pounding, my hands shaking, as I reach out to grip the back of a chair for support.