Chapter 8
The last time my mother was taken away, she had spent three years.
behind bars.
But she walked through the door this time as if nothing had happened.
Under my sharp, unblinking gaze, she moved with unsettling ease, calmly cooking a bowl of noodles and eating leisurely.
Not once did her composure waver. She scrolled through her phone between bites, even chuckling at something on the screen, as though she had just come back from work instead of escaping the weight of two deaths.
The sight of her, indifferent and unfazed, clawed at my mind.
How? How could she sit there, utterly at ease, after causing the gruesome deaths of my father and Lincoln?
A cold shudder rippled down my spine.
Without another word, I spun on my heels, stormed back to my room, and
slammed the door shut behind me.
Grabbing my phone with trembling fingers, I dialed Merric Parker.
“Captain Parker, what the hell is going on with my mother? Why was she released?”
Merrick had been chasing my mother’s case for years, obsessed, relentless. He had personally led the team that arrested her after Lincoln’s death.
And yet now, she was here. Free.
On the other end of the line, Merrick let out a long, weary sigh.
“Your mother claims she only gave a wedding blessing and did nothing else.” His voice carried a weight of frustration.
“As much as I want to uncover the truth and bring her to justice, I must follow the law. And right now, there’s no evidence linking her to Lincoln’s death. We had no choice but to let her go.”
A beat of silence stretched between us before his tone hardened.
“Listen to me. You’re living under the same roof as her. Be careful.”
The call ended, but his warning lingered.
From that moment on, I never let my guard down.
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I remained on edge even in sleep, never sinking into true rest. The faintest noise would jolt me awake, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Days passed in uneasy quiet.
Aside from the villagers knocking on our door each day, prying for answers about that cryptic sentence, nothing seemed out of place.
As always, my mother refused to speak.
She moved through life with eerie detachment, cooking, cleaning, and existing in silence. The only words she ever spared me were to call me for meals.
The house stood still, wrapped in a fragile calm.
Seven days later, I was home, idly scrolling through my phone, when suddenly, the internet cut out.
My mother had been watching a video when the screen abruptly froze.
For a split second, she sat motionless. Then, her expression twisted.
Panic flashed across her face, a look I had never seen before.
She seized my arm without hesitation and dragged me toward the storage
room.
She moved fast, her grip unyielding. My pulse pounded in confusion.
Reaching a dusty desk lamp, she twisted it sharply, revealing a hidden underground passage I never knew existed.
A passage that had been beneath our feet all along.
“Run! Don’t look back!”
