Page 8 of The Sentinel

“Yeah, well, too bad for them.”

“That’s the attitude.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

I hesitated for half a second, then added, “I met Marcus, too.”

Silence.

Then Diego let out a low whistle. “Already? Damn, girl, you don’t waste time.”

I exhaled, tipping my head back against the sofa. “It wasn’t exactly planned. He found me at the pier.”

Diego’s voice sharpened. “And?”

“And he’s exactly what I expected,” I said. “Arrogant. Intense. Full of threats wrapped in Southern charm. Oh, and apparently, he already knew my name.”

Diego cursed under his breath. “Not ideal.”

“No shit.” I stared up at the ceiling, replaying the encounter in my mind—the way Marcus had moved, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. The way his voice had curled around my name, dark and knowing. The way my pulse had spiked, heat pooling low in my stomach, because, of course, my body had to betray me.

“Careful with that one,” Diego warned. “If healready knows who you are, he’s probably keeping tabs on you.”

“Let him,” I said, stretching my legs out, forcing my tone to stay light. “If he’s watching me, that means I’m getting under his skin.”

“That’s not always a good thing.”

I smirked. “It is for the story. Look, we both know the media landscape isn’t what it used to be. People don’t want long-form investigations anymore—they want ten-second sound bites and conspiracy theories they can scroll past between TikTok videos and cat memes.”

I sighed. We’d had this conversation too many times already.

“ButThe Unseenis different,” Diego pressed. “We’re one of the last podcasts actually breaking real stories, not just rehashing old cases for entertainment. And if we want to stay at the top, we need a story that matters—something that’ll shake people awake.”

“I know.”

“Then do what you do best.” His voice dropped lower. “Get close. Get answers. And don’t stop until you have something that’ll make people put down their damn phones and actually listen.”

I swallowed, nodding even though he couldn’t see me.

“Do whatever it takes,” Diego said.

I stared out at the Charleston skyline, at the way the moonlight turned the city into something out of a painting.

Whatever it takes. I could do that. I always did.

I leaned my head back against the sofa, my fingers tightening around my phone. I knew Diego was right. My heart was still pounding as I yanked my blonde hair into a ponytail, grabbed my phone, and left the room.

I needed food. A walk. A distraction. And I needed to figure out exactly whose toes I’d already stepped on.

The lobby was quieter now, the rush having died down.

I approached the front desk, keeping my tone casual. “Hey. Any recommendations for food?”

The curly-haired woman from before—Sasha—was still there, flipping through a guest book. She glanced up, her expression unreadable.

“What are you in the mood for?” she asked.

Before I could answer, the air in the room shifted.

A presence. A weight.

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