Chloe barges into my bedroom, face furious. "You told Dad?"

"Damn right, I did!"

She huffs. "You're an interfering bitch!"

"And you're a stubborn asshole!"

There's a moment of tense silence as we stare off, interrupted by the sound of our sudden laugher.

"I fucking hate you," she giggles, joining me on my bed.

"I know," I reply, kissing her cheek. "And since you hate me so much, will you do me a huge favor?"

"That depends," she says, rummaging through a pile of clothing I have on my bed. "If it involves helping to pack for college, you can fuck off."

I laugh and throw a pillow at her head. "It's not that."

"Okay."

"It does involve breaking into a house though," I warn.

She doesn't even seem surprised. "Of course it does."

"Is that a yes?"

"Whose house?"

"Sarah's."

"Why?"

I quickly tell her what Elliot told me at the prison.

"You can't be serious? Drugs! He killed his sister over drugs?"

I shrug. "Who knows? Maybe he was on them at the time?"

She kicks off her sandals and crosses her legs; today's outfit a combination of denim shorts and an off the shoulder flowery top. I, myself, am in my usual black attire, though I am in a dress—so there's that.

"What's the plan?"

"Break in. Find the drugs. Take pictures."

"Does Harry know?"

"I've tried calling him," I inform. "I've left a message."

"Don't you think we should wait for him?"

It's the logical thing to do but I'm too impatient. "He's a busy man. I'd rather get it over and done with."

"What about Perrie and Dad?"

"They're both in some crisis meeting about Shaun," I say. "We can tell them after."

She nods, gets up and throws a pair of converse at me. "Come on then. Let's go!"

I shove on my shoes and grab one of Elliot's flannel shirts. He left it here one day, and something about the idea of wearing it offers me comfort.

"Wait!" I say, stopping her from leaving. "Something's missing."

I walk over to my vanity mirror and pick up my favorite shade of lipstick—roses are red—and apply a healthy amount onto my lips. It's a stark contrast against my pale skin and dark hair, but I like it. Chloe too, if her huge grin is anything to go by.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announces, twisting the door handle. "Helena Gallagher is back!"

I nudge her hip as we exit my bedroom. "You bet your ass she's back."

****

We enter through Sarah's back gate, keen to go unnoticed and can barely believe our luck when we spot a spare key under the doormat. The kitchen is a little cluttered when we enter and the living room, exactly how I remember it. Bleak. Dust collects on every available surface and a smell that can only be described as death is forming.

"Where's the basement?" asks Chloe, no doubt wanting to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

"No idea. Let's look."

We pass the kitchen once again and I make a stop by the cupboard underneath the sink, pulling out two pairs of rubber gloves. I start by shoving mine on and gesture for Chloe to do the same.

"We don't want to contaminate any evidence," I explain.

She happily obliges and follows me towards a door I hadn't noticed until today. It's a little stubborn at first but eventually opens once I shove it with my hip. I flick on the switch and delve deeper into what I hope is Carl Hudson's drug den. If not, I have no idea what we'll do next.

"What's that smell?" questions Chloe, scowling.

I shake my head, reluctant to find out.

We turn a corner and I flick on yet another switch, illuminating a narrow space ahead. Boxes upon boxes of white power stare back at us, almost glowing under the basement lights.

"Holy shit!"

This is more than a small drugs operation. This is a fucking empire.

"Hold my gloves while I take pictures," I say, reaching for my phone.

I snap a few photos from varying angles and carefully weave in between each box, on the lookout for anything worthwhile.

"There has to be over a hundred boxes here," states Chloe, using the torch on her phone to look deep into the shadowy corners.

I capture another image, just as Chloe calls me over.

"You're gonna wanna see this," she insists, sounding both excited and terrified.

I head over to her and immediately spot what she's looking at.

"Is that—"

"Cyanide."

My legs turn to jelly as I snap a picture.

"When d'ya think he'll come back for it all?" she asks, taking in our surroundings.

"I dunno. But it's no small job. He'll need help, for sure," I say, noticing something to my right.

I angle my phone towards it, needing better light.

"What is that?" asks Chloe, following closely behind.

As I get closer, I recognize it instantly. "It's another note."

I gesture for her to hold up her torch as I slip on my gloves and unpin the note from the wall. There, I read it out loud.

NEVER HAVE I EVER KILLED SOMEONE.

Once again, some letters are printed in red. The S, the O, the N and the M in someone.

"Why is he leaving these notes for us?" asks Chloe. "It's like he wants us to know he's the one who killed her."

The way the light casts over her face distorts her features. Her nose appears longer and her eyes, black.

"Mom said he used to taunt Sarah with the game. And yesterday, Elliot told me that's how he'd get him to do stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

I physically push down the bile clawing up my throat. "Sexual acts."

Her cheeks lose all remaining color. "Fuck."

"Take a picture," I instruct, holding up the note.

Chloe obeys and as she does, presents a question that's been on my mind since discovering this place. "How come the police never found this? I mean, it's hardly discreet."

"Maybe they're the ones trying to hide it," I suggest.

She looks at the floor, then suddenly snaps her head up.

"That's why they arrested Elliot!" she declares. "To stop anyone searching the premises and finding this."

Holy shit—she's right.

"Carl isn't blackmailing Connor Fraser and Samuel Blunt," I add. "They're freaking business partners!"

I sigh, taking one last look at the basement and pin the note back where it was. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Are you gonna tell Harry?" she asks, following me up the steps.

My brain rattles with endless possibilities. "As soon as he picks up his phone!"

We reach the kitchen and close the door behind us, glad to be breathing in fresh air again. Well—as fresh as it gets inside here.

"I'll be back in a sec," I say, heading towards the stairs. "I just need to grab something from Elliot's bedroom."

I tiptoe my way up and enter the final door on the right, squinting to see through the darkness. His curtains are drawn and his bed, unmade. I walk over to his tiny closet and pull out a hoodie, draping the soft material over my shoulders. His scent surrounds me and I bask in its familiarity. It's warmth. His stuffed bear lies on top of his bed and I scoop it up, squeezing it to my chest. I don't know exactly how long I stay there or when I even started crying, but Chloe finds me in the fetal position, clinging onto Elliot's stuffed bear for dear life.

"Oh, honey—come here," she soothes, pulling my head onto her lap.

"I don't want to go," I sob. "To Penn."

She nods.

"This drugs thing. It's huge," I say. "Linking it to Sarah's murder could take months. Maybe even years."

"Or maybe not," she counters, wiping my tears on her sleeve. "Proving Elliot's innocence might take less time now that Carl has an actual motive other than being a creep."

I slowly sit up, feeling lightheaded from all the crying. "D'ya really think so?"

She nods.

"And if—for whatever reason—it takes longer, don't go."

"You don't think I'm being an idiot for giving up on my dream college for some boy?"

"I don't think Elliot is just some boy," she argues. "Besides, you're not giving up your dream college. You can always go next year."

It's the first time since Elliot's arrest I've not felt sick thinking about college.

"One thing I will say, though," she begins. "Don't make this decision on your own. Talk to people. Me, Dad, your mom. Hell—I think you should even include Elliot in this decision."

"He'll be pissed," I reply.

"Maybe. But he'll understand."

I suddenly shrink into Elliot's hoodie, ashamed. "Now I get why you don't want to go to Paris."

"Exactly!"

"I shouldn't have interfered. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she insists. "I should've included you in my plans. Keeping it a secret was dumb."

We sit in silence for a moment; both of us on Elliot's small bed.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I might love you."

She laughs. "You think?"

"Yeah."

She nudges my foot with her own. "I think I might love you too."

She links her pinkie with mine and looks up towards the ceiling. "Everything is going to be alright, Lena. I promise."

For the first time in days, I feel it.

I feel hopeful.

****

Who's leaving these notes?

Carl or someone else?