Merlina paused, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Her arms stayed at her sides, tight, almost rigid. "I told you I wasn’t there for you," she said quietly.
Craig stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. His presence always came with a kind of pressure, like the air shifted when he got too close. "You were there for Conor?"
She turned, her gaze locking onto his, drawn to the green in his eyes even now, when she knew she shouldn’t be. But she didn’t let it sway her. "Yes. I want to know where to find him."
A muscle ticked in his cheek, just slightly, but she caught it. He wasn’t the type to show emotion so easily, which made it worse when he did.
He let out a slow breath and blinked back hard, like he was wrestling something silent. It made her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t ready to admit. "You’re going around asking everyone but me," he said.
She tilted her head, coolness lacing her words. "Would you tell me?"
He didn’t answer. Not a word. His eyes stayed locked on hers, unwavering, and in that silence, the distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly.
She exhaled sharply, a dry scoff escaping her. The sound was meant to deflect, but there was more to it...frustration, disappointment, and something deeper. "I thought so," she muttered, turning away.
But then his voice sliced through the air, sudden and sharp, halting her mid-step.
"You had your intentions from day one, didn’t you?"
"The bench, the handbook, the conversations—it was all calculated, wasn’t it?" His words weren’t just accusations; they were barbs, thrown with perfect aim.
The word lodged itself in her chest, a tight, painful thud. She’d never thought of it that way. She had never expected to care this much, let alone plan for it. But to hear him say it like that? It stung. And it made her question everything.
She turned slowly, her brow furrowed, trying to untangle the confusion twisting in her chest. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice a little quieter now, unsure.
For a fleeting moment she wished she was that clever. She had almost let herself feel something for him, and this was how he viewed it?
Craig stood motionless, watching her with an intensity that could burn through stone.
"You’re chasing shadows at this point," he said with a dry scoff. "You really think you know better than the police?"
Her pulse surged in her throat. Not from fear, but from a different kind of frustration. The kind that built up over weeks of sleepless nights and dead ends. The kind that made her feel like she was always running after something, never able to reach it.
"I think I do," she said, her words steady, but there was something underneath them now. A quiet defiance. A need to prove herself. "Especially if they live off your pockets."
His eyes flickered. Just for a second. But it was enough to know she’d hit a nerve.
Craig’s posture remained rigid, controlled, but his hands slipped into his pockets—not lazily, but deliberately. Always in control. Always holding something back.
"Be careful with your accusations," he warned, his voice lowering, becoming more steady. "That’s not a line you want to keep pushing."
The air between them grew thick, like a storm was brewing just beneath the surface, ready to burst.
"Do you always do this?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Get in the middle, defend your brother, back him up? Is that your entire existence?"
Craig didn’t flinch. If anything, his lips twitched, the slightest sign of amusement. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send a chill down her spine.
"Wow," he said, raising an eyebrow, his smirk just barely there. "That actually sounded like something Louis would say. Guess you’re picking things up faster than I thought."
The words hit her like a jolt. Was that a compliment? Or was it another barb? She couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.
Then, as though he hadn’t just unleashed a storm of words, he added—casually, almost carelessly, "Try aiming that fire at something useful. I don’t know, like your grades."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Merlina stood there, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted as if the words were still hanging in the air, waiting for her to respond. But there was nothing. Nothing she could say that would make any of this right.
Of all the things he could’ve said—of everything she had been expecting—it was that. And she wasn’t sure how to feel. She didn’t even know whether to laugh or feel insulted.
Her fists clenched at her sides, but it wasn’t anger. It was a quiet ache, the kind that came every time one of them walked away. Torn between wanting to chase after him or wishing he’d stayed.
As she turned to leave, her phone buzzed again, this time with a message that sent an icy shiver through her.
’Stay away from the Lesnars. This is your only warning.’
The words burned into her, each one sharper than the last. The threat was clear.
Her breath faltered, her eyes darting over the distance as she sought any sign, any detail that might slow the panic swelling in her chest.
Craig was still walking away, unaware. But she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Her heart pounded harder now, fear creeping up her spine. Whoever had sent that message was close. Too close. They had to be, to see her with Craig, to know what she’d been doing.
A shiver ran down her back as she realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just some random threat. This person knew her, knew where she was and it felt like they were right behind her, hidden in the shadows.
Panic surged through her veins. She needed help. But who could she trust?
The thought flickered in her mind, but a bitter realization followed. He’d pull her out, lock her away, away from everything. He’d never wanted her here in the first place. And she’d never find the truth.
"Louis," she said, voice breaking, "Please, I need your help."