The Darkness I Carry

Chapter 32: The Unbroken Silence

Leah didn't fight the cuffs.

Avery's fingers trembled as he snapped them on, the cold metal digging into her wrists, but Leah showed no reaction. Her eyes remained fixed, staring past him into the trees, as if she already knew what came next, as though the cuffs were merely a formality.

Caleb stood off to the side, his bloodstained shirt clinging to his chest, his hands shaking. He hadn't spoken since he tackled her to the ground. The silence between them felt heavier than the blood that stained his skin. His gaze remained locked on her, somewhere between guilt and disbelief, as though he could still find a way to make sense of what was happening.

Avery broke the silence first, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Leah's lips twitched into a cold smile.

"That would've been mercy," she replied, her voice flat, as though she were reciting something she had rehearsed a thousand times.

Avery stepped back, eyeing her warily. He had seen violence, but this was different. It wasn't fear that emanated from her. It was something more unsettling: the peace of someone who had long ago given up the illusion of escape.

Evidence in the Silence

By the time dawn cracked over the horizon, the cabin had become a crime scene.

Yellow tape snaked its way around trees, encircling the ruin like an ominous warning. The forensics team moved through the wreckage, snapping photos, collecting blood samples, and documenting every detail of the chaos. They didn't understand. None of them did.

The real evidence wasn't in the Polaroids. It wasn't in the blood-stained floors or the old, crumpled pages they were combing through. It was in the silence Leah carried with her. It was in how she sat in the back of the cruiser, watching the sun rise like it was nothing more than a dead thing something she had seen long ago and had learned not to mourn.

Caleb wasn't in cuffs, but he might as well have been.

They separated them after the arrest, as was procedure. They took his statement repeatedly, forcing him to recall every moment he had spent with Leah. Every answer he gave only dug him deeper. Every version of the truth sounded more like a confession he hadn't intended to make.

"She saved me."

"No, I mean she warned me."

"No, I mean I followed her. I chose to."

The detective nodded at his responses, as though they confirmed something dark about Caleb's soul. As though that was the worst confession of all.

Avery kept his distance. He hadn't even said a word to Caleb. He didn't need to.

A Woman in a Suit

Leah sat alone in the holding cell, her legs crossed beneath her.

There were no tears. No anger. Just stillness. She had long since become accustomed to the void inside her, and now it felt like the only thing keeping her from collapsing into herself. She had learned to exist in a world without the noise of emotion, but now, surrounded by the silence, it felt suffocating.

Then, a figure appeared beyond the glass.

Not Avery. Not Caleb.

A woman.

Mid-forties. Neatly pressed pantsuit. Hair pulled tight into a bun. Cold, unreadable eyes that never blinked when they locked onto Leah's. She wasn't there to comfort or to offer answers. She stepped inside without introducing herself and sat across from Leah, her posture rigid and purposeful.

"You're not what I expected," the woman said, her voice cool and controlled, yet tinged with something calculating.

Leah didn't respond immediately. She simply studied the woman, weighing the situation in her head.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The woman slid a thick file across the table, the edges stiff and sealed, as though it held something far more dangerous than paper. Leah already knew what it contained. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, the same way she had always known when something dangerous was coming. She didn't need to open it to understand the weight of the files. The familiar cold feeling told her all she needed to know.

"What do you want?" Leah asked, her voice low, but steady. She wasn't afraid, though she didn't trust the woman either.

The woman's lips barely moved as she responded, the offer hanging between them like a secret.

"Your choice," she said. "Chains. Or something else."

Leah didn't flinch.

"Define 'else,'" she said, her eyes narrowing.

The woman's lips curled slightly, as if she had been waiting for that response.

"We make you useful. Controlled. Targeted."

Leah leaned forward, her eyes never leaving the woman's face.

"I'm not a weapon," she said firmly.

The woman's smile was thin, almost pitying.

"No, you're not. You're proof of one."

Leah froze. The name. Eleanor.

It hit her like glass breaking in her chest, the sound of it echoing through her mind, sharp and insistent. For the first time, she felt something close to panic rise up, something she hadn't allowed herself to feel for years. She fought it down, but it lingered, heavy and threatening.

The woman stood and placed a business card on the table, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper, careful, calculated.

"No pressure. You've got 48 hours before you're federal property," she said before turning and walking out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway like a warning.

Leah sat there for a moment, her breath shallow. She didn't know what was worse: the woman's offer or the quiet promise that her future was already being written for her.

The Truth She Didn't Want

In the hallway, Avery stood against the wall, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the woman as she walked away. He didn't ask her anything. He didn't need to.

"What did you offer her?" he asked quietly.

The woman paused for a moment, her heels clicking on the tile before she answered.

"The truth."

Avery's jaw tightened. He was no stranger to truth, especially the kind that people tried to avoid.

"She doesn't want the truth," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman stopped, turning her head slightly to look at him. Her smile was thin, cold.

"No," she said. "But she's addicted to it."