Page 46 of Undone

“You don’t have to do this, Noah.”

I sighed. “I know… But I need to.”

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night—questioning whether I’d done enough, if there was something else I could do to help bring justice to his victims or reclaim some semblance of my own peace.

He studied me for a moment before nodding. Then he leaned in, his hand resting on my thigh.

“If it’s too much, do this.” I couldn’t think—only feel the pressure of his fingers, the slow rhythm of his taps—once, twice, three times.

“Okay…” I replied.

I exhaled as the tension eased—not entirely, but enough. His hand stayed there for a moment longer, solid and unmoving, before pulling back.

I finally nodded. “I’m ready.”

I still didn’t feel ready, but I wasn’t sure I ever would be thinking about all the ways my life had changed lately.

There was now this shadow that haunted every second, every decision I made. Dorian didn’t say anything for a long moment, letting the silence sit.

But then reality crashed back in, with the knock at the door shattering the fragile quiet. I pulled my leg away, but Dorian’s hand lingered in the air for a moment before he stood.

The absence of his touch left a void, a stark reminder of how much I’d been leaning on him without realizing it. Our eyes met, and his gaze threatened to crumble the walls I put up after John.

Colt appeared in the doorway, his features pulled tight with worry. “They’re here.”

I nodded, swallowing hard and trying to control my breathing.

“You’ve got this,” Dorian said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

I stood, my legs unsteady beneath me, and trailed Colt to the front door. When he opened it, Lilah stood on the porch with two FBI agents behind her—the same ones I’d spoken to right after John disappeared.

I’d first met Lilah months ago, after Trent was shot. The details of that day blurred together now, but I remembered her steady presence in the chaos.

Standing on the porch, her copper hair framed her face. Her sharp features showed a glimmer of empathy breaking through the professional mask she wore.

“Noah,” she said, her tone measured in a way that hinted at both care and caution.

“Hi,” I replied. I swallowed, trying to clear the sudden dryness in my throat. Walker padded over, sniffing at the agents before offering a few snuffles and a wag of his tail. He retreated to his bed in the corner, curling up with a heavy sigh.

The man, whose hair was even more gray since the last time I saw him, stepped forward.

“Agent Roberts,” he reminded me, offering a small nod, his voice measured, carrying a note of authority.

Next to him, the brunette woman spoke. “Agent Garcia,” she said as a reminder, her tone softer yet still professional.

“Thank you for your time,” Agent Roberts said.

Lilah stepped forward, her movements deliberate. “The FBI is leading this case,” she explained, “but I wanted to be here since this is my jurisdiction.”

She entered the room, the agents trailing behind her. I sank onto the couch but forced myself to sit straighter, my hands restless against my lap.

Dorian sat beside me, his presence anchoring me with the support I needed. Colt stood behind the couch, his shoulders squared and his stance rigid, prepared for whatever this moment might bring.

The agents positioned themselves in the seats across from me, while Lilah stood off to the side of them.

Agent Garcia placed a thick file on the coffee table. The pages made a crisp sound as she flipped through them, her dark eyes darting briefly to mine, sharp and calculating.

“We’re hoping you can help us clarify a few things,” Agent Garcia said, stopping on a page and glancing up. “Colt mentioned you have a tattoo near your pinky toe. Is that correct?”

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