Page 106 of Fool Moon First Aid

“A coincidence?” Tyler suggests, his tone laced with skepticism.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I counter, dropping to the floor to inspect the underside of the desk for any sign of initials. “Martinez,” I murmur, sinking back on my heels, the realization hitting me. “I have a matching desk at my apartment. Well, your house now,” I correct myself, a twinge of pain in my voice.

“Are you certain?” Tyler asks, sounding concerned.

“My grandfather’s last name is branded on the underside of the desk,” I respond, glancing over at Tyler, who now holds a folder in his hands. “It’s his desk.”

“And this is your father’s house,” he concludes, handing me the folder with a real estate label on it.

I snatch it from him, not needing to look inside to know its contents. My father’s name, which is emblazoned on the front, is proof enough. I toss it aside, frustration boiling inside me. It confirms my dad owned this house when my mom died, but it offers no closure.

“How did the police miss this?” I ponder aloud, the question echoing off the bare walls.

“Easy,” Tyler replies. “If your father is the head of Puritas, then he could easily influence the police. It’s not unheard of.”

“Speculation,” I retort, though doubt gnaws at me. “I need concrete evidence.”

“The guys are a few minutes out,” Tyler tells me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Let’s keep looking until they arrive, okay?”

Grateful for his support, I nod and return to the desk, my determination renewed. I discover a drawer but find it empty, but then I remember my own desk has a secret compartment. Perhaps this one does as well. Fumbling inside for a secret latch, I cut my finger on something sharp. Ignoring the pain, I press down, and with a satisfying pop, the bottom of the drawer releases, revealing a hidden space.

“Tyler,” I whisper, excitement coursing through me. “I found something.”

“What?” He leans over, his interest piqued as he catches sight of what I discovered. “Is that the Puritas symbol?”

“I didn’t even know they had one,” I admit.

“The luminous blade,” he muses, a note of awe in his voice. “A sword gleaming with light, set against a backdrop of shadows. This is…” His voice trails off as he glances around the small, confined office. “The guys are here.”

Clutching the stack of papers to my chest, I stand, ready to flee this place that holds too many dark memories. “Go,” I urge.

“You can’t take those with you,” Tyler protests.

“Like hell I can’t,” I retort, determination fueling my steps as I maneuver past him and race down the stairs, desperate to escape the row home. This unassuming, seemingly normal place hides a grim history—one where my mom likely died, where many shifters met their end, all hidden in plain sight.

That, I realize, is precisely the point.

I push through the breezeway door and pause. Tyler closes it with a soft click, just as we hear voices.

Eyes wide, I glance back at him. “Someone is here.”

“They came in through the backdoor,” he whispers, gently pulling me toward the slowly opening door. Driven by a surge of recklessness, I crouch and press my ear against the cold wood.

“What do you mean you haven’t found her yet?” a voice snarls, so familiar yet so foreign. It takes a moment for recognition to dawn—it belongs to my father. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest.

“She’s on clan lands.” Elijah’s calm retort sends chills down my spine. “Unless you’re willing to start an all-out war, sir, I can’t simply trespass and retrieve her.”

“She’s your wife!” My father’s roar is thunderous. “Legally, you have every right to get her.”

Bullshit. It wasn’t even a shotgun wedding, and I have no papers.

“Not without consequences,” Elijah counters calmly, “but we will find her, I promise.”

“You have to kill her spirit,” my father demands, echoing the sinister plan I overheard Wednesday night. The mention of my spiritkin fills me with an indescribable horror.

Panic grips me as I stumble backward into Tyler, who catches me and swiftly ushers me out of the house, bare as the day I was born. Thankfully, we slip into a car unnoticed, and Ethan secures me into the passenger seat without a word. The car then races down the road, the world outside blurring into obscurity.

“It’s my dad,” I whisper, the realization cold and heavy. “I’ll find proof, I swear it.” My voice is a mix of determination and dread. The papers in my lap feel heavier than they are. “Ethan, take me to Ellie’s.”

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