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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ the hand that      feeds you. . . ❜
─── chapter six! ❫

006.  ╱    ❝ and the 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 makes sense
━━  behind a 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖓-𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖐 fence.  ━━
if i could 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊, i would've already 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙. ❞

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﹙ 𝕿HURSDAY ━ 𝕱EBRUARY 5TH, 2015 ﹚

     THE AROMA OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE AND WARM PASTRIES WAFTED THROUGH THE AIR OF THE SMALL CAFÉ NESTLED IN THE HEART OF NEW YORK CITY. Carson Crest sat at a corner table, her slender fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the polished wood surface. Her tailored black suit's sharp lines stood out against the soft waves of her chestnut brown hair falling past her shoulders.

     She checked her watch—7:02 AM. Stephen was late, but only by two minutes. Carson scanned the entrance and took a sip of coffee. The bitter taste grounded her. It was a welcome distraction from the tumult of emotions threatening to break through her carefully constructed composure. The cup she ordered for Stephen was positioned across from her.

     Two minutes late, she thought. That's not like Stephen. Then again, what do I truly know about him now?

     The weight of the letter in her bag grew heavier with each passing second, a tangible reminder of the unfinished business Jason left behind.

     The bell above the glass door chimed, cutting through the low hum of morning conversation. Carson's gaze snapped to the entrance, her keen stare immediately spotting Stephen Gideon. He looked older than she remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper and his shoulders were slightly hunched as if carrying an invisible weight. His brown hair was damp from the outside rain.

     It only took a second for him to spot her and begin weaving his way through the people in line at the register.

     As Stephen approached, Carson stood, offering a somber smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Stephen," she greeted, upturning her chin. Instinctively, she held out her hand for a professional handshake, the lawyer in her defaulting to formality even in this personal moment.

     Stephen, however, moved in for a hug, his arms already outstretched. The result was an awkward collision—Carson's extended hand caught between them while Stephen's arms encircled her stiffly.

     "Carson," he murmured, his voice muffled against her suit. The scent of his aftershave brought back a memory—that summer at Jason's cabin when they were seniors in high school. They stayed up all night talking with Jason about baseball, birds, psychology, and law.

     For a moment, they stood frozen in an uncomfortable embrace, neither quite sure how to extract themselves gracefully. Carson could feel the curious glances from nearby tables yet ignored them.

     Finally, they separated and sat across from each other. The screech of chair legs against the floor felt unnaturally loud following their clumsy greeting. Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows, highlighting the fine lines of stress etched on Stephen's face.

     A moment of heavy silence stretched between them, filled only by the ambient chatter of the café and the clink of cutlery against plates. Neither spoke.

     Carson was the first to break the air. "I'm so sorry about Jason, Stephen. I can't imagine what you're going through." The words felt inadequate, but what else could she say?

     Stephen's eyes, so much like his father's, met hers. For a moment, Carson saw a flash of the boy she once knew, vulnerable and seeking comfort. "I should be the one apologizing," he said roughly. "I didn't call you. You were important to my dad, and I should have..."

     "It's okay," Carson interrupted gently. "We're here now."

     They lapsed into silence again, both staring into their coffee cups as if they held the answers to unasked questions. Carson's mind raced, considering and discarding different ways to broach the subject of the envelope and letter. The café bustled around them, oblivious to the weight of history and grief hanging over their small table.

     In unplanned unison, they said:

     "Thank you for the coffee."

     "Agent Hotchner visited me at my office."

     Immediately, Stephen's head snapped up. "Hotch? Why? Was Rossi with him?" Surprise was evident in his countenance.

     Carson shook her head, a strand of hair falling across her face. She tucked it behind her ear with a practiced motion. "No, Rossi wasn't there. Hotch came to deliver an envelope Jason left for me."

     Stephen leaned forward, his coffee forgotten. This wasn't mentioned to him when he arrived at his father's cabin a week ago. "An envelope? What was in it?"

     Instead of answering, Carson reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. With deliberate slowness, she slid it across the table to Stephen. Then, she watched his face intently and noted every micro-expression that appeared. Confusion, shock, disbelief—each emotion was visible as Stephen's eyes widened with each line he read.

     Eventually, he looked up, his face pale. "So, he—"

     "I'm not sure," Carson cut him off, her voice barely above a whisper. "Allegedly."

     Stephen swallowed hard. "Do you—"

     "Believe him?" she finished, her gaze meeting his. "Yes, I do." She glanced around the café, acutely aware of the other patrons around them.

     "I thought..."

     Carson nodded, understanding the unfinished thought. "Me, too."

     Stephen ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "What're we going to do?"

     Instantly, her expression hardened. It was her lawyer's mask slipping firmly into place. "There is no we. You are going to prioritize your wife and son. I will deal with this." She swiftly took the letter.

     "Carson, you can't be—"

     "Serious?" she interrupted, arching a brow. "Well, I am. I only confided in you in case something happens."

     Stephen paled. "Something like what?"

     Carson's gaze didn't waver. "I don't know yet."

     A mirthless chuckle escaped him. "You're amazing at instilling confidence."

     "Thank you."

     "That wasn't a compliment."

     "I know."

     Stephen inched forward, his voice urgent. "Just tell me you aren't going to—"

     "—go looking in the dark for monsters that don't exist with a knife sharpened by anger?" Carson finished, tilting her head. There was a pause, heavy with tacit tension. "I have a case to win in court in an hour and meetings back to back. Thank you for coming here and speaking with me."

     She stood, gathering her things with efficient movements. When she moved to leave, Stephen reached out and grasped her hands. "Carson..." his tone was pleading. "Be smart about this."

     Carson looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Stephen's worried face. Her expression softened slightly, a ghost of the girl she once was flickering across her features. "I always am."

     With that, she gently extracted her hands from his grip and strode out of the café, her heels clicking purposefully on the tiled floor. The weight of Jason's letter burned in her bag, torching the new road that now lay before her.

     Stephen watched her go, the untouched coffee growing cold between his hands. The bustling café carried on around him, oblivious to the storm brewing in their midst.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS OF THE BAU HUMMED SOFTLY, CASTING A HARSH FLOW OVER THE BUSTLING BULLPEN. Through the blinds of his office, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner could see his team hard at work, their heads bent over case files and computer screens. The mid-morning sun struggled to penetrate the perpetual cloud cover hanging over Quantico that day.

     Hotch sat at his desk, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows with his tie loosened just a fraction. His dark eyes were fixed on his computer screen, brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the latest case reports. The entire team had just finished submitting theirs that morning.

     A soft knock at his door broke his focus. Without looking up, Hotch called out, "Come in."

     The door opened, and David Rossi stepped in, closing it behind him with a soft click. Hotch glanced up, noting the thoughtful expression on his friend and colleague's face.

     "Dave," he greeted, leaning back in his chair. "Everything all right?"

     Rossi nodded and walked closer to the desk, taking a seat across from him. "Yeah, just wanted to check in. I realized I forgot to ask yesterday—how did it go on Tuesday? With Carson Crest?"

     Hotch's brows raised slightly at the question. He studied Rossi for a moment, noting the careful neutrality in his approach. "It went... interestingly," he said finally, choosing his words with precision. "She's not what I expected."

     "Oh?" Rossi leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "How so?"

     "Well, for one, she's a highly successful corporate lawyer. Junior partner at Gallagher & Lang, New York. Corner office, view of Manhattan—the works." Hotch's fingers drummed lightly on his desk. "But there was something else. A tension, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop."

     Rossi nodded, his stare distant. "And the envelope? How did she react?"

     "Controlled. Almost too controlled." Hotch's gaze sharpened. "Dave, she knew about the BAU. Used our terminology. She even asked about you."

     At this, he stiffened almost imperceptibly. If Hotch hadn't been watching closely, he might've missed it. "What did she ask?"

     "She wanted to know if you'd been notified about Gideon." Hotch's line of sight never left the man's face. "Dave, how do you know Carson Crest? Who was she to you and Gideon?"

     Rossi's chuckle seemed forced, just a touch too casual. "I wouldn't say I know her. She was a kid when Gideon and I worked a case, what, thirty years ago?"

     "And yet she asked about you specifically," Hotch pressed gently. "Not the team, not the Bureau. You."

     Rossi shifted in the chair, the leather creaking softly. His fingers absently traced the edge of his goatee, a tell Hotch recognized from years of working together. "What did she say about me, Aaron?"

     Narrowing his stare, Hotch easily caught the deflection. "She asked if you'd been notified. Her exact words were, 'Has David Rossi been notified?'" He paused, waiting for a reaction. "Not Agent Rossi. Not Dave. David."

     A flicker of something—recognition? concern?—passed over Rossi's face before it settled back into a facade of professional curiosity. "And what did you tell her?"

     "That you had been notified," Hotch replied, his tone measured. "Dave, what aren't you telling me? There's clearly more to your connection with Carson Crest than just an old case. A case we don't have in our system, by the way. I had Garcia check."

     Rossi stood abruptly, moving to the window. He looked out at the bullpen with his back to Hotch. The morning light threw long palls on him, heightening the stripes of age and experience. "It was a complicated case and goes too far back that the F.B.I. didn't bother cataloging it, Aaron. Gideon... he got involved in ways he shouldn't have. We both did, in different ways."

     Hotch remained silent, waiting. Years of interrogations taught him the power of a well-placed pause.

     Eventually, Rossi turned back and met his gaze. "What did you make of her, Aaron? Your impression?"

     Considering the question, Hotch recalled the steely determination in Carson's eyes, the carefully controlled responses. "She's intelligent, that much is clear. Guarded. There's a sharpness to her that goes beyond legal acumen." He chose his next words carefully. "And there's pain there. Old pain, well-hidden but still raw."

     Rossi nodded, a sad smile touching his lips. "Sounds about right." He moved back to the chair but didn't sit, his hands gripping the back of it. "Listen, Aaron, there are things about that case... it's not my story to tell."

    Leaning forward, Hotch rested his elbows on his desk. "Dave, do you know what was in that envelope? Is there anything I should know?"

     Rossi's expression tightened almost unnoticeably. He shook his head, his voice low and measured. "No, I don't know what was in the envelope. Gideon... he kept his own counsel, especially toward the end."

     Hotch studied his friend, years of profiling experience kicking in. There was something there, just beneath the surface. Not a lie, perhaps, but not the whole truth either.

     "But you suspect something," he pressed. "You're concerned."

     Sighing, Rossi sunk into the chair. He suddenly looked tired, the weight of unsolved mysteries evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I'm always concerned when it comes to that case, Aaron. Too many loose ends, too many questions left unanswered."

     "And Carson Crest? Where does she fit into all this?"

     A long moment passed before there was a response. When it came, it was quiet, almost reflective. "She was just a kid when it all went down. A kid who lost everything in one night. Gideon... he never could let it go. Never could stop trying to make it right. Never cut communication. You saw the pictures of her in his cabin."

     Hotch nodded, recalling the two photographs he'd found scattered among Gideon's belongings. Images of a young girl growing into a woman—snapshots of a life intertwined with their former colleague in ways he hadn't fully understood until now.

     "So he stayed in touch with her all these years," he mused, brow furrowing. "Why didn't he ever mention her to the team?"

     Rossi shrugged, and a sad smile touched his lips again. "Gideon was always protective of her. Maybe he thought keeping her separate from our world was the best way to keep her safe. Maybe it was at the request of her. I don't know."

     "And now he's left her an envelope. Why?" Hotch asked, leaning back in his chair. "After all these years, why now?"

     Rossi spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "Your guess is as good as mine. But Aaron," he paused, his countenance intense, "whatever's in that envelope, whatever Gideon was trying to do... it's opened old wounds. And old wounds have a way of festering if you're not careful."

     The warning was clear and plain. Hotch nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken message. "I'll keep that in mind. But Dave, if there's anything else, anything at all..."

     "You'll be the first to know," Rossi finished, standing up. He walked to the door and lingered with his hand on the handle. "Just... be careful, Aaron. Some stories aren't ours to unravel."

     Once he was gone, Hotch let out a breath. The mystery of Carson Crest, the envelope, and Gideon's note at the cabin—'Find Carson Crest. Deliver this.'—hung in the air like an unfinished symphony, its final notes yet to be played.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE TWINKLING LIGHTS OF NEW YORK CITY BURNED BRIGHT OUTSIDE THE FLOOR-TO-CEILING WINDOWS. The warm glow of the setting sun painted Carson and Parker's penthouse apartment in hues of gold and amber. Situated in a sleek high-rise, the apartment boasted an open-concept living area that exuded sophistication and modern elegance.

     The space was a study in monochromatic luxury, with charcoal gray walls serving as a backdrop for carefully curated artwork. A plush area rug in a slightly lighter shade of gray softened the gleaming hardwood floors. The furniture was a mix of clean lines and subtle curves—a large L-shaped leather sofa in deep charcoal faced the windows, while two ergonomic armchairs in contrasting white leather provided additional seating.

     A glass coffee table, its surface reflecting the glow of strategically placed lighting, anchored the seating area. In one corner of the living room, a sleek grand piano stood as both a musical instrument and a piece of art. Carson bought it a few Christmases ago for Parker. Nearby, built-in shelves housed an impressive collection of Parker's Manga books, classic books, and modern literature, interspersed with framed photographs and small sculptures.

     Despite the apartment's overall air of sophistication, some touches spoke of the warmth of home—a throw blanket casually draped over the arm of the sofa, a few of Parker's tennis and field hockey trophies displayed proudly on a floating shelf, and a large, framed photograph of Carson and Parker laughing together on a sunny beach.

     In the middle of this stylish setting, Carson sat cross-legged on the plush area rug with her back against the sofa. She'd traded her black power suit for soft yoga pants and an oversized NYU sweatshirt, her hair in a bun. Her delicate features were relaxed in a way they rarely were at the office. A half-eaten slice of pizza dangled from her hand as she laughed at her daughter's animated retelling of the tennis match despite Carson being present for it.

     Parker, a vivacious sixteen-year-old, sat opposite her mother. Still in her school's tennis uniform, she gestured wildly, her dark curls bouncing with each movement. Her warm brown skin shimmered in the soft lighting, and her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.

     "And then," Parker said, pausing for dramatic effect, "I hit the most perfect backhand you'll ever see, Mom. Coach Sanders actually cheered. He never cheers!"

     Carson grinned, reaching out to wipe a smudge of tomato sauce from Parker's chin. "Oh, trust me, I know. I sat right behind the man and practically flinched when he cheered."

     "That's another thing to check off the never-ending goals list," Parker sighed happily, leaning back on her right hand that kept her propped up. "Melanie is going to freak out when I tell her the next time I'm at the office."

     "Hell yeah, she will. She'll also be pissed at me for not bringing her," Carson mentioned, taking a massive bite out of her pizza slice.

     Shrugging, Parker smirked. "Tough nuggets. That's what happens when you decide to go on a date instead of your goddaughter's tennis match."

     Laughing, Carson shook her head, her earthy-brown eyes filled with affection. "What am I going to do with you, huh?"

     "Everything and nothing 'cause you love me and I'm the best daughter in the whole wide world!" Parker sang, using her piece of pizza as a makeshift microphone.

     Carson giggled and reached out to gently lower Parker's pizza-mic. "All right, Beyoncé, let's not get sauce on the rug again. I happen to like this one."

     Parker grinned, taking a bite of her improvised microphone. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their impromptu picnic on the living room floor. The city hummed softly beyond their windows, a constant reminder of the world outside their cozy bubble.

     Carson reached for another slice of pizza, eyeing the last piece of pepperoni. "So, any plans with Zoe this weekend? I thought I heard you two plotting something on the phone last night."

     Parker's eyes widened innocently, a look Carson knew all too well. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Maybe catch a movie, do some shopping..."

     "Uh-huh," Carson replied, her tone skeptical but amused. "And this shopping wouldn't happen to be at that vintage store you've been not-so-subtly hinting about, would it?"

     "Maybe..." Parker grinned, nudging her with her knee. "Mom, they have the coolest stuff! There's this leather jacket that would look amazing on you, by the way."

     "Nice try, kiddo," Carson laughed, reaching out to ruffle Parker's curls. "But I think we both know who really wants that jacket."

     They shared a knowing look, years of inside jokes, and shared moments passing between them in a single glance. Carson felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the pizza. These moments with Parker, just the two of them, were what she lived for.

     Parker took a sip of her soda, her expression turning thoughtful. "Hey, Mom? Can I ask you something?"

     "Of course, stinker. What's on your mind?"

     There was a brief pause as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was softer yet more hesitant. "It's about... well, it's about the envelope. The one Mr. Gideon left for you."

     The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. Carson felt her body tense involuntarily, the relaxed mood evaporating like mist in sunlight. She set down her pizza slice, suddenly no longer hungry.

     "Parker," she began, her tone gentle and firm, "I'm not sure now is the best time to—"

     "I know, I know," Parker interrupted, her words tumbling out in a rush. "You said we'd talk about it this weekend. But Mom, I've been thinking about it, and I have some theories. I just... I want to help. Please?"

     Carson studied her daughter's face, seeing the curiosity, concern, and determination in those familiar brown eyes. She sighed softly, realizing this conversation was inevitable. The pair of them talked about everything. There weren't any secrets between them and this wouldn't be any different. Neither of them would allow it even if there was initial resistance.

     "All right," she caved, throwing a hand up exasperatedly. "What theories have you come up with, Miss Junior Detective?" Parker's face lit up, but there was a seriousness in her countenance that tugged at Carson's heart.

     "Well," Parker began, sitting up straighter, "I've been looking at the case files Mr. Gideon left in the envelope, and I noticed something..."

     A flash of curiosity and apprehension flickered across Carson's features. "Okay..." she trailed off, realizing she was about to learn details she hadn't yet explored.

     Taking a deep breath, Parker's fingers absently played with the hem of her tennis skirt. "So, there's a pattern to these murders. They're not random at all." She paused to gauge her mom's reaction.

     Carson nodded, her expression a blend of neutrality and growing surprise. "What kind of pattern?" she asked, acutely aware that her daughter knew more about these files than she did. She hadn't planned on going through them until this weekend when she wasn't working and could focus.

     "Well," Parker continued, gaining confidence, "it's always a family of four. Mom, dad, son, and daughter. And the daughter... she's always either four or seven years old." Her eyes flickered to Carson, a question in them she didn't say.

     A chill ran down Carson's spine, and she stiffened. "What else?"

     Parker shifted, crossing her legs and leaning closer. "The daughter is always the one who finds the family. Every single time. And the way they're... positioned in the house, it's always the same. It's like... like a signature or something."

     Now, Carson's mind was racing. She'd only skimmed Jason's letter, focusing on his suspicions about Olivia and that what happened to her family wasn't a one-time thing rather than delving into the case files. Now, she was beginning to realize the depth of what Jason uncovered. "Parker, lovie, how many cases are we talking about here?"

     "Out of the seven files, it was six that Mr. Gideon found," Parker replied, her brow furrowing in concentration. "The first one was in August 1999 in Massachusetts. Then there were ones in New York in 2002 and 2004, New Jersey in 2003, Idaho in 2006, and the most recent one was in Oregon in December 2010."

     Carson felt her heart skip a beat. The dates, the locations—it was all new information, and it was overwhelming. She took a steadying breath. "Parker, I haven't looked through these files myself yet. How did you put all this together?"

     "Well, Mr. Gideon did..." Parker's stare met Carson's, a blend of excitement and concern. "I just made a timeline and a map. I can show you if you want. But there's..." She hesitated, dropping to almost a whisper. "There's something else. Something that connects all these cases to what happened to your family. Something Mr. Gideon noticed."

     The room seemed to grow colder. The city lights outside dimmed in the background. Carson reached out and took Parker's hand for comfort. "What did you find?"

     Out of habit, Parker squeezed her mom's hand. Her expression was serious beyond her years. "The stab wounds, Mom. In all these cases, the victims had the same type of stab wounds your family did. And the body placements in the houses, they're similar too. It's all in Mr. Gideon's original case file."

     Carson felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't known this level of detail about her own family's case, let alone the others. It happened decades ago and she was only a kid. Over the years, she forgot more and more details about the murders. She'd worked tirelessly in therapy to cope and move beyond the tragedy.

     "Jason's original case file was in there, too?"

     Parker nodded solemnly. "Yeah, it was. Like I mentioned, there were seven files total—six for these other murders, and then the one for... for your family."

     Closing her eyes for a moment, Carson inhaled deeply. When she re-opened them, she fixed Parker with a gentle but attentive gaze. "What else did you find in Jason's file about our family, lovie?"

     The inclusion of our was pertinent and intentional. Carson needed Parker to know that this was her family, too. Blood never made a family, and she would die believing that.

     "There was one big difference," Parker continued, touched by her mom's change in determinator. "In our family's case, there was the religious element we already knew about. But in these other cases, there isn't. At least, not that I could find from the files."

     Nodding slowly, Carson took in this information. It'd been a while since she thought about religion as a whole. She hadn't practiced, believed, gone to church, or thought about God since the murders. Olivia never forced her to; it was her choice and one she never regretted.

     "You're right, there was a religious aspect to our family's case. Our family was intensely and insanely religious. But Parker, how did Jason connect these other cases? Did he leave any notes about his theories? In the letter, he said he had suspicions and believed my case wasn't the end, but that's all."

     Parker shrugged and shook her head simultaneously. "Not really. Just some scribbled notes in the margins. But Mom, there's something else. Something about the dates of these murders."

     "What about them?" Carson asked, her lawyer's mind already trying to piece together a timeline.

     "They're not random. They all happened around significant dates in your life. The first one, in 1999? It was right after you started law school at Harvard. The 2002 one? That was when you graduated and came here for your first clerkship. In 2003... that's when you went to Jersey and got a new clerkship position. In 2004, you got the associate position at Gallagher & Lang and permanently moved here with Mel. And the last one, in December 2010..."

     "Was right around when I adopted you," Carson finished remorsefully, realization dawning. Fuck. More chills raced down her spine and goosebumps spread along her arms. "Parker, this is... this is more than a coincidence. This is insane."

     Parker nodded in agreement. "I know! That's what I thought, too. Do you think this has something to do with why Mr. Gideon never stopped looking into our family's case? Why he always suspected..."

     Carson ran a hand through her hair, mind racing. "I think it might be, but there's still so much we don't know. The Idaho case is the only one that doesn't link to anything significant in my life. I've never been there."

     There was a moment of heavy silence between them. Then, Parker spoke again. "There's one more thing... about Grandma Olivia..."

     Immediately, Carson's body tensed at the mention of Olivia's name out loud. "What about her?" she cleared her throat, trying to keep her tone neutral.

     Parker hesitated, her eyes searching her mom's face. She had no idea how she was going to react to this. "Well, in Mr. Gideon's notes, he kept circling Grandma Olivia's name. And there were these weird comments like 'check travel records' and 'alibi?'"

     Carson's breath caught. Over the years, she knew Jason always had suspicions about Olivia. Even David Rossi had, to an enraging degree, but nothing was ever proven. The Crest family case went cold and was never solved. However, seeing it through Parker's eyes now made it feel more real, more threatening.

     Parker didn't know Grandma Olivia personally; she only ever heard stories. As far as Carson was concerned, Olivia would never lay eyes on her daughter or become involved in her life. There would never come a day when Olivia knew about her existence or had access to her.

     "What else did the notes say about her?"

     "Not much else that was clear," Parker admitted. "There was something else, though. In the case files of the other murders, there were witness statements. A few people mentioned seeing a woman with Grandma Olivia's description near the crime scenes around the time of the murders."

     With this new revelation, Carson abruptly stood up, needing to move. It was the only way she could breathe. She paced to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared out at the city. Her mind was reeling with panic, anger, and fear. "Parks, this is... I'm sorry. This is a lot to take in."

     Pushing off the carpet, Parker jogged over to join her. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry if I shouldn't have looked so closely at the files. I just... I wanted to help."

     Instantly, Carson turned to her daughter with a tender expression. She pulled Parker into a tight hug and kissed the side of her head. "No, lovie. You did good. I'm glad you told me." She pulled back and tucked her hair behind her ears. "But Parker, this information... it's dangerous. We need to be very careful with it."

     "I know. That's why I thought... well, I had an idea."

     "What kind of idea?"

     "So..." Parker began, a hint of excitement creeping into that one word despite the gravity of the situation, "my spring break is at the end of March. I was thinking we could go to West Linn together?"

     Carson felt her heart skip a beat and she almost held her breath. "West Linn? Parker, I don't know if that's—"

     "Hear me out, Mom. Hear me out," she interrupted. "I've only ever seen pictures. You haven't been back since you graduated. We could learn more about your childhood, see where you grew up. And maybe... maybe we could do some investigating of our own? You still own the house, right?"

     Studying her daughter's face, Carson recognized the determination and curiosity there. She sighed, knowing Parker had inherited her stubborn streak. "Parker, it's not that simple. I mean, yes, I bought the house years ago. I did it so nobody ever has to live there. It's private property now. Regardless, there's a reason I haven't gone back. And my mom..."

     "I know you and Grandma Olivia don't speak anymore," Parker said softly. "But Mom, don't you think it's time we faced this? All of it? Together?"

     Carson turned to the window, her reflection staring back at her, overlaid on the glittering cityscape. She could see Parker's hopeful face beside her troubled one. After a long moment, she said, "I'll think about it, okay? That's not a yes, but... I'll consider it."

     The response made Parker's aura brighten. She hugged Carson tightly. "That's all I ask. Thanks, Mom."

     As they stood there, looking out over the city they called home, Carson couldn't shake the feeling that their lives were about to change dramatically. The ghosts of her past, which she'd tried so hard to outrun and heal from, were catching back up. And now, it seemed, they were threatening to pull Parker into their dark embrace as well.

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰² 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     everyone... officially meet parker crest!! she's my favorite lil beam of light and deserves the world <3

     what aspect of the story are people most excited for? any theories or thoughts? i'd love to hear!

     the next chapter is shorter and then, after that, it is nothing but long chapters until Volume Four. i'm so excited (take a shot if you're over 21 lmao this is now a running joke)!

     i hope you enjoyed chapter six! and i hope you have a beautiful day!

     thank you for reading <3

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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