Shadowbrook

Chapter 10: The Trap Tightens

"We need to get out of town," I whispered, glancing at Evan. "They're going to keep coming after us. If we stay here—"

"We're not leaving," Evan cut me off, his voice firm but low. "Not yet."

"Evan—"

"We're too close, Cass," he said, his tone softening. "My uncle has answers. He knows what happened to Sam, and he knows who's behind all of this. If we leave now, we'll never get another chance."

I swallowed hard, my fear battling with the determination in his voice. He was right. We were close. But that didn't make the fear any less real. We were being hunted, and every minute we stayed in this town felt like a risk.

"Then we need to move fast," I said, trying to push the fear aside. "Where do we find your uncle?"

Evan hesitated, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows at any moment. "He has a place outside of town. An old house near the cliffs. He stays there when he doesn't want to be found."

The cliffs. The same place where Sam had disappeared. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but I nodded. There was no other choice.

"Let's go," I said, determination replacing the fear.

The road to the cliffs was long and winding, the moon casting an eerie glow over the landscape as we drove. Evan's car rumbled along the dirt path, the headlights cutting through the thick fog that had rolled in from the sea. The tension in the car was palpable, neither of us speaking as we moved closer to the place where we hoped to find answers.

My mind raced with everything we'd learned—Margot's warning, the men chasing us, the looming confrontation with Evan's uncle. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but there were still too many gaps. Too many questions left unanswered.

"Are you sure he'll talk to us?" I asked finally, breaking the silence.

Evan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I don't know. But he's the only one left who can give us the truth."

I nodded, though my stomach twisted with doubt. Evan's uncle was part of the network that had been controlling the town, pulling the strings from the shadows. If he had been involved in Sam's death, what made us think he'd suddenly decide to help us?

But we had to try. There was no turning back now.

We reached the cliffs just before midnight. The house loomed in the distance, an old, weathered structure that looked like it had been abandoned for years. The wind whipped through the trees, carrying the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks far below.

Evan parked the car a few yards away, cutting the engine. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the moment pressing down on us like a lead blanket.

"This is it," Evan said quietly, his eyes locked on the house. "He's in there."

I swallowed hard, glancing at the dark windows of the house. There was no light, no sign of life. But I knew Evan was right. Thomas North was in there, waiting—either for us or for something worse.

"Let's go," I whispered, steeling myself.

We stepped out of the car, the cold night air biting at my skin as we made our way toward the house. Every step felt heavier than the last, the gravity of what we were about to do weighing on my shoulders. This was it. We were about to confront the man who held the answers to everything—to Sam's death, to the conspiracy that had been unraveling since the moment I returned to this town.

The front door was unlocked, creaking open as Evan pushed it with a heavy hand. The air inside was stale, the smell of dust and decay hanging in the air. The house was dark, but the faint outline of furniture and old photographs lined the walls, casting long shadows in the moonlight that filtered through the cracked windows.

"Uncle Thomas?" Evan called out, his voice steady but low.

There was no response.

We stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under our weight as we moved deeper into the house. My pulse quickened with every step, my heart pounding in my chest as the silence stretched on.

And then we heard it—a faint sound, coming from the back of the house. A rustling, followed by the unmistakable creak of a door.

Evan glanced at me, his expression grim. We moved toward the sound, the tension growing with every step. The hallway stretched out before us, dark and narrow, leading to a door at the end that stood slightly ajar.

Evan reached for the handle, pushing the door open with a soft creak.

And there, sitting in the middle of the room, was Thomas North.

He was older than I'd expected, his hair gray and thinning, his face lined with years of secrets. He looked up as we entered, his eyes cold and calculating, but there was no surprise in them. He had been expecting us.

"I knew you'd come," Thomas said, his voice low and gravelly. "But you're not going to like what you find."