The footage didn't lie.
There had been someone else in that room. Not part of the five. Not a face they recognized.
A silhouette in the upper balcony. Perfectly still. Watching.
And recording.
Lena stared at the frozen frame on the screen, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, like she could hold her fear in if she just squeezed hard enough.
"What kind of monster just watches?" she whispered.
Jaxon leaned against the wall, cigarette long forgotten between his fingers. "The kind that never has to get their hands dirty."
"The kind that sends pictures and riddles," Ivy added, voice sharp.
They all looked at each other.
One name whispered through the silence:
"Sparrow."
Back at Cameron's house, the air reeked of smoke and bourbon.
He stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring down at the photo he'd burned.
Ash fluttered in the sink.
Gone, but not forgotten.
He knew the threat wasn't over. That photo wasn't the only copy. That video — of him with someone he was never supposed to touch — could ruin everything.
But what scared him more than exposure…
Was the certainty that Sparrow knew it all.
The secrets. The shame.
His betrayal.
His lust.
2:34 AM — A New Message Arrives
All five phones buzzed in unison.
Jaxon. Ivy. Lena. Cameron. Mira.
Unknown Number
Encrypted. No traceable source.
"Birds who bury their truth soon drown in it.
But don't worry.
The tide is rising."
— 🕊️ Sparrow
Attached was a video clip.
Less than ten seconds.
In it, the five of them stood on Hawthorn Beach.
From above.
From a drone.
Jaxon zoomed in.
Ivy was kissing Mira.
Lena was digging up the box.
Cameron, lighting a cigarette.
Mira, watching them all.
And Jaxon — looking directly at the drone.
Because he had seen it.
"Shit," he whispered. "They were right here. Watching."
"Not just watching," Lena muttered, her voice shaking. "They want us to know."
"This is war," Ivy said.
"No," Cameron said, storming in. "This is blackmail."
"They already have what they need to destroy us," Mira added. "We're just playing along now."
"Then we stop playing," Jaxon growled. "We burn the footage. We find who's behind this. And we end it."
"No," Lena said, her voice low. "We do one better."
They looked at her.
"We hunt them."
Later That Morning — 4:11 AM
Lena sat in the back seat of Jaxon's truck, Viktor's burner phone in hand.
Scrolling through the contacts list.
Most were blank. Code names. Initials. Number strings.
Then she found it:
"Sparrow"
Her fingers hovered.
"No call log?" she asked.
"Nothing," Jaxon said. "But try texting. Something casual. Pretend you're Viktor."
Lena's heart pounded.
She opened a message thread.
Typed:
"The girl is under control. Location change. Will update."
She hit Send.
The three dots popped up almost instantly.
Sparrow was typing.
Then:
"Don't lie, darling.
The girl runs wild.
But every wild thing… eventually cages itself."
Tick. Tock."
Then a second message.
📍 Location ping attached.
Jaxon's jaw tightened.
They traced the pin.
It wasn't a known address.
It was a warehouse.
Just outside Hawthorn.
A dead zone.
No cameras.
No signal.
The kind of place you hide secrets in.
Or bodies.
"Let's go," Lena said.
"Not tonight," Jaxon replied. "We go in like this, we're dead."
"I'm not scared," she said.
"You should be," Ivy said softly. "We all should."
Cameron stood near the door, arms crossed.
"We need a plan."
"And trust," Mira added.
That word—trust—fell like poison in the air.
Because in this group, trust was dead.
And buried.
Right next to Viktor D'Angelo.