Page 97 of Betray Me
“I use my position and resources to support federal investigations, provide safe harbor for other witnesses who come forward, and slowly but methodically dismantle the infrastructure that’s allowed this corruption to flourish for over a century.” She pauses, her expression growing solemn. “It won’t be easy. There will be setbacks, dangers, moments when you question whether the fight is worth the cost. But Belle, Luna—you’ve already proven that survivors can become morethan their trauma. Now let’s prove they can become agents of change.”
The weight of that possibility settles over me like a mantle I’m not sure I’m ready to wear. But looking at Max’s encouraging expression, at Luna’s fierce determination, at the evidence spread across this table suggesting justice might indeed be achievable, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months: genuine hope for a future worth fighting toward.
Chapter 35: The Cliff’s Edge
Now
The message arrives after dinner, slipped under our door on the same cream paper Mrs. Harpsons used for this morning’s breakfast invitation. But the handwriting is different—more hurried, less controlled:Come to the eastern cliffs. Where Luna and Erik used to meet. Come alone. All of you. Urgent. – S.H.
“It’s not her handwriting,” Max observes, studying the note under our desk lamp. “Too shaky, too rushed. Mrs. Harpsons writes like she’s addressing wedding invitations.”
I nod, but we all know we’re going anyway. After this morning’s revelations about the network’s reach, about her family’s connection to decades of exploitation, we need more answers than any single breakfast conversation could provide. And if it’s a trap—well, we’ve been walking into traps for months now. At least this time we’re walking into one together.
The eastern cliffs overlook the most treacherous part of Shark Bay’s coastline, where jagged rocks rise from churning water like broken teeth. It’s where Luna and Erik used to meet during their courtship, where they found privacy away from the carefully orchestrated social performances that defined campus life. The irony isn’t lost on me that we’re returning to a place associated with genuine love to potentially face the forces that have been manipulating our relationships from the shadows.
We dress carefully—dark clothes that won’t catch moonlight, shoes with good grip for potentially treacherous terrain. If this is an ambush, we won’t go down easily.
The familiar campus becomes alien in darkness, its manicured beauty twisted into something that sets my teeth on edge. Shadows writhe beneath the canopy of old-growth trees, and every breath of wind through the leaves sounds like urgent murmurs just beyond comprehension. The enhanced security Mrs. Harpsons mentioned is invisible but omnipresent—motion sensors that track our progress, cameras that catalog our faces, systems designed to protect or trap depending on who’s watching the feeds.
“Remember when sneaking out was about parties and hookups instead of potentially mortal danger?” Luna murmurs as we navigate the winding path toward the cliffs. Her voice carries dark humor, but underneath it lurks the same tension that coils through all of us.
“I don’t think any of us ever got to be normal teenagers,” Erik replies. “Even before we knew about the network, our lives were too controlled, too orchestrated for genuine rebellion.”
He’s right. Despite our troubled nature, we were raised to be perfect children, molded for purposes we didn’t understand until it was almost too late. The irony is that our training in deception and surveillance might be the only thing keeping us alive now.
We’re forced single-file as the trail narrows toward the drop-off, and I instinctively take the lead. Years of Dominic’s paranoid training kick in as I scan for threats lurking in the black spaces between moonbeams. The sound of Max’s footsteps behind mebecomes a lifeline—proof that in a world built on lies and manipulation, his loyalty remains the one truth I can trust.
The thunder of waves battering stone amplifies with every stride, while salt-laden wind slices through our clothing with surgical precision. Here, the island drops its carefully constructed mask—revealing not the polished elegance of sculpted grounds and soaring spires, but something primal and hungry that could erase us as easily as breathing.
“There,” Erik breathes, pointing toward a figure silhouetted against the moonlight near the cliff’s edge.
But as we approach, something feels wrong. The silhouette is too tall, too broad-shouldered to be Mrs. Harpsons. And there’s something in the figure’s stance—predatory stillness that makes my skin crawl with recognition.
“That’s not her,” Luna whispers, but we all already know.
The figure turns as we approach, moonlight revealing features I hoped never to see again. Dominic Griffiths stands at the cliff’s edge like he owns it, his expensive suit immaculate despite everything he’s endured since escaping federal custody. And in his right hand, the gun that’s pointed directly at our hearts.
“Hello, children,” he says, his voice carrying the same silky menace I remember from childhood gatherings. “I’ve missed you.”
My blood turns to arctic water, but training takes over. I position myself slightly in front of Max, calculating angles and escape routes while keeping my expression neutral. Behind me,I can feel Luna and Erik shifting into defensive positions—subtle movements that speak to shared understanding of danger.
“Dominic,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding?”
His laugh is like breaking glass. “That’s for people who don’t have friends in interesting places. Did you really think your little wire would end this? That bringing down the Queens and your parents would somehow make you safe?”
“We hoped,” Erik says carefully, his protective instincts radiating tension. “People like you were supposed to be finished.”
“People like me?” Dominic’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “Boy, I’m not 'people like me.’ I’m exactly me—the one who’s been cleaning up network messes for twenty years, the one who’s been tasked with resolving the particular problem you four represent.”
The gun never wavers as he speaks, held with the casual competence of someone who’s used it many times before. There’s nowhere to run—the cliff drops into churning water forty feet below, the path back to campus is narrow and exposed, and Dominic has positioned himself perfectly to control our options.
“You know what I find fascinating?” he continues, beginning to pace along the cliff’s edge like a professor delivering a lecture. “How thoroughly you’ve all been played. Every choice you thought you made independently, every ally you believed you’d found, every safe house you discovered—all of it orchestrated by The Architect’s grand design.”
“Bullshit,” Luna snaps, but I can hear uncertainty creeping into her voice.
“Is it? Tell me, Luna—when you decided to return to Shark Bay after your parents’ trial, was that your idea? Or did someone suggest it might be therapeutic to face your past?” His pale eyes glitter with malicious amusement. “And Belle, when you chose to go after The Architect instead of simply disappearing with your grandmother’s inheritance, what made you think fighting was better than running?”
The questions hit like physical blows because they echo doubts I’ve been carrying for months. How much of our rebellion has been genuine, and how much has been carefully guided by invisible hands?
