Page 60 of Make Them Cry
He exhales hard and then… softens. He steps closer. Not angry anymore—justthere.
“I know,” he murmurs. “We’ll fix it. You’re not alone, okay?”
The words sink into me like sunlight through fog. Like I've heard them before but from a different voice. A modulated one.
I push away… and stare at him.
He makes a quick call—quiet, clipped, technical words I don’t understand. His voice is steady again, but his hand is trembling around his phone. When he hangs up, he looks at me like he’s about to ask something he knows I’ll hate.
“I need to take it,” he says, nodding toward my pocket.
I hesitate. “Why?”
“So I can find out who touched it before you did.”
He holds out his hand. I hand it over. His fingers brush mine, lingering just long enough to send a confusing flutter through my chest.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “I promise I’ll keep it safe.”
I nod, unable to speak.
He pockets it and adds, “Let’s get out of here.”
I send a quick text to Mask telling him everything, and he sends back a simple, “working on it.”
We end up at a park,same as yesterday. Except this time, there’s no laughter. No coffee. Just silence and a gentle wind that smells like rain.
I sit on the bench and stare at the lake. My reflection looks like someone else’s face. Someone tired. Someone lost.
“How bad is it?” I finally ask.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “Bad. Whoever did this wanted you to find it. Psalm88 isn’t just a tag—it’s a signature. A taunt.”
“From Mason?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “We don’t know that yet.”
“But you think it’s someone at NovaPlay.”
“I think it’s someone who knowsyou.Someone with access.”
I press my palms against my knees, trying to stop them from shaking. “It’s like they’re in my head, Gage.”
He looks at me, eyes softening. “No. They’re in your network. That’s different.”
I huff a shaky laugh. “You sound like my therapist.”
“I sound like a guy who doesn’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Something breaks in me at that. I look at him, really look at him—his messy hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the tension carved deep into his shoulders.
AndI know.I know he’s Mask, but I’m not sure what to do with the information just yet.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For today. For…everything.”
He gives me a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me, Quinn.”
But I do. Because no one else is showing up like he does. No one else has helped me like he has.
