Page 183 of The Silent Note

I’m on the verge of freaking out until I hear the shower running in the bathroom. Relief makes my shoulders sag.

“Grey.” I knock on the door. “It’s me.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time,” I tell her.

The shower resumes.

As I walk toward the bed, I pass by Grey’s desk and see something on her sketchpad. Curious about what she’s unearthed from the video, I pick up the notebook.

The writings on the page make my blood run cold.

Yakuza.

Nagasaki

Sloane’s death.

She’s got it all laid out in black and white. The only thing missing is Finn’s connection, not that anyone would have expected that. But everything else is accounted for. There’s a freakingflowchart, with arrows pointing to all the events that have happened to and around us.

Terror clogs the back of my throat. My limbs automatically lock up, anxiety mounting with my internal alarm bells.

If you don’t get rid of that evidence, the next time I see you will be in hell.

Dad’s warning peals like a bell.

My father wants to meet me, but I haven’t had the courage. If he’s really the one behind The Grateful Project, I’m afraid he’ll kill you guys if I’m not around.

Finn’s confession is just as damning.

So far, everyone in our family has been spared because of Finn, but Grey will die if she knows too much.

And it seems like she already does.

“Hey.” I hear her sweet voice and turn, noticing that she’s exiting the bathroom wearing my T-shirt and a plastic bag over her head.

I stare at it. “What’s that?”

“I’m deep-conditioning.”

At that moment, I spy a few objects on the TV stand that weren’t there before. They’re all colorful containers with labels marked by images of coconuts and oil. She must have asked someone from the hotel to deliver them.

“What’s deep conditioning?”

“It’s something that’s really good for natural hair.”

I don’t really know what ‘natural hair’ is either—isn’t all hair ‘natural’? But I keep quiet because I don’t want to look stupid.

“My curls have beenscreamingfor moisture lately, but I haven’t had time to properly wash my hair and,” she chuckles self-consciously, “… not that you’re interested.”

I frown. “I am interested. I want to know everything about you.”

Her eyes snap over to me and then to the ground. There’s something heavy in her expression. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

“Did you find any clues from the video?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I’m not ready to tell you yet.” She walks over to the desk and flips the notebook closed. “Maybe tomorrow.”

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