Page 70 of Make Them Cry
She grabs a bag of popcorn and tosses it into the microwave.
Arrow closes his laptop and studies me. “You good?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I can get there.”
He nods. “We keep her breathing. We get the proof. And then we take Regent’s teeth.”
“And Tasha?” I ask, softer.
“Truth will handle her,” he says. “We just make sure it has a microphone.”
I sink back into the chair, energy finally ebbing. The cheetah on TV stretches in slow motion, sunlight striping its back. For a second, the room is just a room.
My phone buzzes.
RIVER:Made it to bed. Left the light on. Good night
A weight in my chest lifts an inch. I type:Good night. Sleep tight. I’ll be here in the morning
Three dots. Then: RIVER:Don’t disappear
Never, I send, and mean it.
Arrow stands and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Get some sleep, Romeo. Tomorrow we build a girls’ night and a trap.”
“Copy that,” I say, and for the first time in a long time, sleep feels like something I might actually catch.
I turn off the TV. The apartment dims. In the quiet, I let myself imagine the end: arrows on a whiteboard becoming handcuffs; a forum going dark; River laughing in my kitchen with my sister while Juno steals the good olives.
Lines in the sand, I think, as I crawl into bed. Don’t cross. Don’t bend.
But the line I drew years ago—the one that saidkeep your distance—didn’t survive tonight.
I don’t know if that makes me reckless or finally, mercifully, right.
Either way, I’m in.
TWENTY-THREE
RIVER
A girls’ night. Exactly what I need after everything—after the dreams, the kiss, the betrayal I haven’t fully processed. Mask is Gage. Gage is Mask. And somehow that doesn’t make it better. It makes it worse.
Because I want someone I shouldn't be with. Work complicates things.
But tonight, I’m pushing all that aside. I need to be around other women, sipping wine, laughing over dumb movies and snacks, pretending I’m not one coded post away from losing my sanity.
Juno opens the door barefoot, a silk wrap dress flowing around her legs. “You made it,” she grins, pulling me into a warm hug. “I made sangria, and Lark’s already trying to pick a fight about pineapple on pizza.”
Juno’s place is in a cozy converted loft on the edge of downtown—brick walls, velvet curtains, books stacked sideways on every surface. It smells like rose water and cinnamon, and I instantly relax the second I walk in.
“I’m pro-pineapple,” I tell her, stepping in and spotting the other guest on the couch.
Lark Dawson. Gage’s little sister. I’ve seen her around the NovaPlay holiday parties—a little younger than me, with the same dark eyes as Gage, and the same mischievous smile that can melt granite.
“You must be River,” she says, hopping up and offering her hand. Her nails are painted alternating shades of black and silver. “You’re way too cool to be coding for NovaPlay.”
“I… that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this week. Well, besides your brother.” However, I'm not going into specifics with his sister.
