Page 128 of Creeping Lily
Bentley thinks he’s caged me, that down here I’m powerless. But power doesn’t always come from the ability to move or strike—it comes from the ability to wait, to watch, to choose the exact moment to cut.
And I will cut.
I lean my head back against the cold stone wall, letting the damp seep into my skin. My pulse slows. My breathing evens out. The grief still sits in my chest, heavy and hot, but now it’s being reshaped, reforged into something sharper.
Lincoln’s death isn’t just a wound—it’s a warning. A reminder of what happens when you underestimate the Walkers. But it’s also a reminder of something else: they bleed like anyone else.
Tom Walker hides behind his decades of influence. Bentley hides behind his campaign smile. But they both forget that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones—and I’ve been collecting rocks my whole life.
They want me broken. They want me begging. They want me quiet.
I can play quiet.
I’ll sit in this damp cage and I’ll let them think they’ve won.I’ll let them walk past me without a second glance, convinced the fight’s gone out of me. And when they stop looking over their shoulders—when they get comfortable—that’s when I’ll cut their throats. Figuratively. Literally. I haven’t decided yet.
Bentley thinks my silence is his shield.
He doesn’t know it’s already a noose.
And I’m the one holding the rope.
64
JUSTIN
My phone buzzes against the polished wood of the table, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness of my room. One glance at the screen is enough to freeze the air in my lungs:
Goliath Priority Alert.
My stomach drops. Goliath doesn’t reach out unless the situation is already circling the drain.
I snatch up the phone, thumb tapping the notification before my mind can catch up. The words spill across the screen, each one colder than the last:
Lily Snow missing. Goliath subject down. Immediate assistance required.
Lily. Missing.
The chair legs scream against the floor as I shoot to my feet. Adrenaline slams into my system, my pulse thundering in my ears. I swipe through to pull up the coordinates—an isolated cabin buried deep in the woods.
I don’t think. I move.
Keys. Jacket. The emergency medical kit I keep prepped for Goliath missions. My hands are already on them before the thought even fully forms. The rest of the world falls away; there’s only the target location and the clock already ticking down.
I pause just long enough to hit speed dial, connecting to a doctor I trust in the underground. My voice is clipped, all business, rattling off the coordinates and what little intel I have.
He doesn’t ask questions. People in our world never do.
Because when Goliath calls, it means someone’s bleeding. And the clock is ticking.
The driveto the cabin is nothing but a blur of headlights and clawing thoughts, each one uglier than the last. Every worst-case scenario plays out in my head, and all of them end with Lily.
The second notification still burns in my mind—Bentley Walker. Lily’s so-called family friend.Goliath’s number one persona non grata. His name alone is enough to tell me this isn’t random. If he’s involved, it’s deliberate, calculated, and dangerous.
That’s the thing about Goliath—explanations are rare, almost nonexistent. They deal in need-to-know, and what you don’t know is usually what kills you. The truth only ever comes in pieces, and only when the damage is already done. And now, there’s another layer: one of ours is down. Who? How bad?
I try to shove the questions aside, but they keep circling like vultures as I push through the streets. Night creeps in, shadows stretching long across the asphalt. I drop the windows, letting the icy wind slice against my face until my skin burns. It helps to keep me sharp.
When I finally pull onto the gravel road, the forest feelswrong. Still. Too still. The kind of quiet that’s listening. My tires crunch over the stones before I cut the engine.
