Chapter Title: "The Mark of Shadows"
The next morning, Greyson seemed unusually still – as if the town itself was holding its breath. The sky hung low and grey, and the air was thick with something Rose couldn't name. She sat near her window, legs tucked beneath her as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over her sketchbook, flipping past burned and charred pages – haunted memories she couldn't erase.
Mr. Crane had left early. Aunt Marian mentioned it with a forced casualness, claiming he had to "gather more resources" and "build a stronger case." But Rose knew better. She'd watched him step into his car with a heavy look in his eyes, and the way he scanned the street before leaving made her chest tighten. He hadn't said goodbye to her, only sent Jake in with a message: Stay close, stay safe. She hadn't slept since.
Now, only silence filled the house. Aunt Marian was downstairs humming to herself – a tune that sounded oddly mechanical, like it wasn't really coming from her soul. Everything felt wrong.
Then, her door creaked open.
Jake stepped in.
His voice was soft. "Hey... he's going to get him, Rose. Crane's putting a team together. They'll catch Whitlock this time, I know it."
Rose looked up, her face pale, tired eyes locking with Jake's. She didn't speak—couldn't. But something in her gaze asked the question: How do you know for sure?
Jake sat on the edge of her bed, leaning slightly forward. "He told me this morning. He's spoken to authorities outside Greyson. They're finally listening. No more doubts. Whitlock's done."
She should've felt relief. But a cold unease slithered through her.
As Jake leaned down to pick up the sketchbook she'd dropped by the floor, the sleeve of his shirt slipped up slightly. That's when she saw it.
A tattoo.
A small, inked mark just above his wrist.
It was faint, barely visible – but Rose's heart stilled.
She had seen that tattoo before. Recently. Somewhere that had made her stomach twist. But her mind scrambled – where?
Jake noticed her staring and pulled the sleeve down with an awkward laugh. "Oh... that? Had it for ages. Dumb teenage decision."
But Rose wasn't laughing.
The design was specific – a curled serpent biting its tail, forming a circle. Her sketchbook. She'd drawn it. Weeks ago.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the sketchbook toward her, flipping feverishly through pages. Past the drawings of Aunt Marian staring blankly at her, past the images of dark hallways and shadowy figures – there it was.
She had drawn the tattoo.
Not from memory.
But from something – or someone – she'd seen that night.
The night Ms. Moore disappeared.
In the chaos of her memories, the images blurred – but this one remained. She had seen a man dragging something – someone – into the woods near the edge of Whitlock's property. It was dark, raining. But one thing had stood out, illuminated in a flash of lightning: that tattoo.
She looked up at Jake, her breathing shallow.
He was watching her.
His smile was gone.
"What's wrong, Rose?" he asked, voice suddenly hollow.
She shook her head, slowly. Her fingers closed the sketchbook. Her heart was thudding so loud she feared he could hear it. Something was off. Very off.
Jake stood now. "You don't believe me?"
Rose blinked once. Then twice.
Was this the same Jake who had saved her from Whitlock?
Or was it all a game?
He stepped closer.
"Crane left, you know. For real. You probably won't see him again. Maybe he'll come back when it's too late," he said, tone strange. "But I'm here, right? I always am."
Rose backed up slightly until her shoulders hit the headboard.
Jake's eyes darkened, and then—he smiled again. But it wasn't the warm, familiar smile she'd grown to trust. This one was different.
Colder.
She glanced at his arm again. That tattoo. The serpent eating itself.
A symbol of something ancient. Cyclical. Endless.
Suddenly, a noise echoed from downstairs. A sharp knock – no, a bang. Then voices. Muffled. Urgent.
Jake froze.
His expression flickered.
Rose slid her hand under the pillow slowly – gripping the edge of a folded sketch.
Another bang.
Then a voice – clear, strong, cutting through the silence.
"Jake Carter! Step away from the girl!"
Mr. Crane.
Jake moved before Rose could react – rushing toward the window like a cornered animal. But two figures burst through the doorway just as he reached for the curtain. Officers.
Jake was on the floor in seconds, shouting and thrashing. Rose stood frozen, watching it all unravel like a nightmare she'd already seen.
Mr. Crane entered last. His coat soaked from rain, eyes fierce as fire.
He walked to Rose, kneeling down beside her. "I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't know... not until this morning. The Whitlock connection was a trap. He was the decoy."
she didn't understand.
Crane glanced at Jake, now being dragged out of the room, still yelling curses.
"He was never trying to protect you," he said softly. "He was trying to make sure you didn't remember."
Rose looked at the sketchbook in her lap.
The tattoo.
The night.
the shadow in the rain.
Everything was beginning to make sense.
But one question remained, tightening her throat like a noose.
If Jake was the one that night… then where was Mr. Whitlock really?
And more importantly…
Was someone else still watching?