𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝

[ ₂₀₂₁! ]

Natalie stepped out of the police station first.

The door hissed shut behind her, but she didn't look back. Her boots hit the concrete with a sharp rhythm, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her black jacket, eyes trained on the gravel lot like it might give her answers. There was something closed-off in the line of her shoulders. Not angry, not yet. Just—tired. Guarded.

Behind her, the door creaked open again.

Misty followed, humming something cheerfully tuneless under her breath as she adjusted her glasses and stepped into the sun like it was just another day. She held her purse tight under one arm like a briefcase and gave a chipper little wave to the sheriff inside before letting the door swing shut behind her. Not a care in the world.

Then came Annie.

She hesitated in the doorway.

Her fingers lingered on the edge of the frame, eyes scanning the lot ahead before stepping forward like the air itself had changed. And it had. Because there, across the pavement, leaning against the side of an old cat with the same pissed-off expression she used to wear in high school—

Was Molly.

Arms crossed, jaw clenched, one boot tapping the dirt like she was daring them to speak first.

No one moved for a second. The silence was heavy, crackling, like the moment before a storm hits. And then—

"Where's Travis?" Natalie asked, looking around.

"Why's your house empty?" Misty chimed in, practically bouncing. "I mean, no animals? No people? Not even a goat? Very suspicious." The woman's eyes widened, as if she just remembered something. "You have a daughter! How old is she? What's her name?"

"You could've called," Natalie snapped, slightly pushing Misty to the side. Natalie took a half-step forward, arms crossing low across her chest. "You let everyone think you were dead."

Molly blinked. Her lip trembled—just a flicker. She hadn't looked at any of them directly until now—and even then, her eyes skipped past Misty, past Natalie, and landed squarely on Annie.

And Annie still hadn't said a word.

She stepped forward slowly, her shoes crunching over grit and dust, until she stood just a few feet away. Close enough to see the fine lines around Molly's eyes. The way her scowl wasn't quite hiding the tremble in her jaw.

She wasn't angry.

She was wrecked.

"Where the hell have you been for the last twenty-five years?" Annie asked, her voice low. Steady. But full of something deeper—grief, disbelief, ache.

Molly scoffed, her scowl deepening. Her guard slammed back into place like a reflex. "I think you know where I've been," she said, reaching for the car door, yanking it open with a metallic creak. "Since you were standing inside my fucking house." She paused, the door still open, her hand tightening on the handle. Then, slowly, she turned back around, brows drawn. "How the hell did you even find it?"

Misty pushed up her glasses, perking up. "Oh, just some citizen detective perks!" She beamed, like she'd just won bingo. "Your mail was being forwarded through a rural P.O. box registered to your fake name, but it was still easy to find. I cross-referenced a couple things from your—"

"Misty, you're so fucking weird," Molly muttered with a short, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand down her face.

"You didn't return any of my calls." Annie's voice cut through again—taking another step forward, voice tight with hurt. "I mean—was picking up a damn phone really too much?"

Molly looked at her, long and strange.

She looked older now, Annie realized. Not just in her face—though the sun lines and slight tiredness around the mouth were new—but in the way she held herself. Like someone who hadn't stopped moving in years. Someone who didn't quite know how to.

"What was I supposed to say, Annie?" Molly laughed, but there was no joy in it. The woman ran a hand through her dark hair, the edge of anger faltering. "We needed the silence. Don't pretend you didn't, too."

Annie didn't answer. Her arms stayed at her sides, stiff. She furrowed her brow, studying her old best friend, as if trying to see what was left beneath all that silence. Natalie reached out and brushed Annie's arm with the backs of her fingers. Just a touch. Enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Then she turned to Molly.

"Did you send the postcards?" Natalie asked.

Molly blinked. "What—postcards? Are you serious?" She shook her head. "Did you not get the memo that we barely leave the house? Travis is always working, I've been at my dad's place all week. We don't exactly have time to... I don't know, go on a luxury vacation."

"No, Molly," Annie reached into her purse, shaking her head at the woman's confusion. "They're not vacation postcards."

Annie dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out the tattered postcard, pressing it into Molly's palm. The woman's eyes widened as she traced the symbol sketched across the back. "Holy shit." She turned it over, eyes locking on the symbol.

"We need to talk to Travis," Misty announced. "Maybe he knows something?"

"No," Molly snapped, looking up at the blonde woman. "Hell no, you're not bothering him. I don't—"

"Molly." Annie looked into her eyes, calm but firm. "This is serious. Whoever sent those postcards—they aren't just fucking around like some joke." She took a step forward. Her eyes didn't flinch. "I think something's happening."

For a beat, Molly stared at the asphalt, tension in her jaw loosening. She looked down at the postcard, her thumb tracing the shape of the symbol once, then again. Her other hand fumbled for her phone. She tapped the screen, sighed, and let her hand drop. "Shit. He's not gonna pick up his phone." She muttered to herself.

She looked up slowly, studying the three women in front of her. And for the first time... something cracked in her.

"He's working late at the ranch. Fine. You can come." Her voice wavered, but her eyes glistened with vulnerability. "He's not going to like it, but... come."

Annie nodded, relief flickering through her chest. Annie offered a small, grateful smile. Molly didn't return it, but didn't look away either. "I can ride with you, we can catch up." Annie said after a second, sending a sheepish smile over to Natalie. "You and Misty follow?"

Misty bounced on her heels, excitement taking over as she grinned at the women in the group. With a heavy sigh, Natalie playfully rolled her eyes at Annie. "Fine."

The curly-haired woman clapped her hands, jumping. "Alright, team! Let's head out!" she chirped, already skipping toward her tiny blue Fiat, its paint gleaming in the afternoon light.

Molly raised an eyebrow as she watched the blonde disappear, muttering under her breath as she slid into the driver's seat of her car. "We're not in fucking Scooby-Doo, Misty!"

Annie lingered, turning to face Natalie. Natalie gave her one last look—half-exasperated, half something else—and Annie stepped toward her, hesitated, then said under her breath, "Don't let her drive, okay?"

Natalie smirked. "Oh, she's not driving."

Annie chuckled, pressing Natalie's hand once—just a light squeeze. "Good luck," Annie whispered. Natalie answered with a small nod, eyes soft, then turned and headed towards Misty's car.

Then, Annie crossed to Molly's passenger side, listening to the engine hum to life. Inside the car, the engine hummed to life. She climbed in, settling into the passenger seat. They pulled out of the station lot, the road unfolding before them—worn blacktop under heavy sky—and headed toward Willow Brook Ranch.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

It was a long drive to the ranch, though it felt even longer with the silence hanging thick between them — not sharp, not angry, just... full. Weighted. The kind of quiet that says everything too loud. The sky had gone hazy with late evening light, streaks of gold fading into the horizon. Molly kept her eyes glued to the road ahead, jaw clenched tight, knuckles pale on the steering wheel. She didn't speak. Didn't even glance at Annie.

Annie sat beside her, twisted toward the window, watching as the last of the sun peeled itself off the horizon. The sky was a burnt pink now, bruised and bleeding into lavender, stretching over endless acres of rust-colored dirt and empty fields. They passed a few cattle grazing behind a sagging wire fence, a lone tractor rusting out near a collapsed barn. Even the wind felt far away.

It was different out here. Still in a way that made your skin itch. Wiskayok wasn't exactly bustling, but it had noise — radios in open windows, traffic on Main Street, kids shouting outside the gas station. This? This was absence. Space. A thousand kinds of quiet.

But she could see why it had comforted Molly and Travis for so long.

Annie snuck a look at Molly.

Her profile was sharp in the dusky light, shadows catching in the hollow beneath her cheekbone. Older, sure — deeper lines around her mouth, more sun in her skin — but the shape of her was still so familiar. The dark eyes. The stubborn set of her jaw. The way she held herself like she was bracing for something. Always ready for a fight, even when no one was throwing punches.

Annie swallowed. She felt like she was seeing two people at once — the girl she'd loved like a sister, who used to sleep next to her under pine boughs and whisper dumb jokes into the dark... and this woman she barely knew.

Her gaze drifted around the cab of the truck. The dash was worn, the AC vents decorated with cheap plastic clips that probably used to smell like something fruity. A half-crushed paper coffee cup sat in the console. And then — in the back seat — something caught her eye.

A car seat.

It was just barely visible in the rearview mirror. Stickers peeling off the side. A juice box straw wrapper curled in the corner. A glittery velcro shoe was resting upside down beside it.

Annie's gaze softened immediately as she felt something pull in her chest — not a snap, not quite — more like a thread tugging loose. She hadn't really let herself think about what it meant — what it would feel like to see a trace of Molly's life now, made visible like that. She pictured a small girl in that seat. Legs swinging. Dancing along to the radio. Grinning. Asking ten questions a minute.

Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.

"What's her name?"

Molly didn't answer right away. She blinked, like she'd forgotten Annie was even there, then glanced over quickly before returning her eyes to the road. "What's who's name?"

"Your daughter."

A beat passed. Then Molly looked back at the road, cleared her throat.

"Dahlia."

Annie repeated it under her breath, like it might bloom into meaning if she said it aloud. "Dahlia." Her lips curved faintly. "That was always your favorite flower, wasn't it?"

Molly's mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. "Still is. Travis thought it sounded too fancy, but I told him it was either that or name her after a Nirvana song."

That made Annie laugh — real and soft and sudden. "She lucked out, then. Imagine naming her Floyd."

Molly barked a laugh. "Right? Or Pennyroyal."

"Jesus."

They both laughed for a moment, and then — without meaning to — Molly kept talking.

"She's... a lot," she said, her voice warming in real time. "In a good way, I mean. She never shuts up. And she's always making things up — stories, songs, whole worlds in her head. She told her teacher last week that Travis used to train bears in the circus."

Annie choked. "What?"

"And Travis just went with it," Molly continued, shaking her head. "Showed up to the parent-teacher meeting in flannel and a beanie and told them she wasn't wrong. I thought the poor woman was gonna pass out."

Laughter burst from Annie, warm and full in her chest. She leaned back, letting it ring out like a bell. For a second, it felt like they were teenagers again.

Annie laughed again, and Molly kept going — like the words had been waiting. "She's obsessed with goats. We don't even have goats, but she draws them constantly. And she makes up names — like Princess Fluffernut and Sir Hooves. I think that's why Travis takes her to the ranch so much." Her voice faltered, just a little. Her smile dimmed. "She reminds me of Javi sometimes."

Annie turned, the smile fading from her face. "Yeah?"

Molly nodded once, eyes still fixed ahead. "She's got his eyes. Not just the color — the way he'd look at things like he wanted to figure it out. Like every little thing meant something." Her voice caught slightly, then she shook her head. Silence fell again, heavier this time. Molly gripped the wheel tighter, like she could drive through the ache if she held on hard enough. "Sorry," she murmured, barely audible. "Anyway." There was a pause. Then she glanced sideways. "You've got kids too, right?

Annie nodded. "Two." She looked out the window. "Esme's my oldest. Seventeen. She just got her license, so now I basically never see my car."

Molly laughed, a little incredulously. "Seventeen? Jesus. That's wild."

"Yeah, tell me about it." The brunette shook her head with a smile. "She's... sharp. Like, dangerously sharp. I can't get anything past her. She's always two steps ahead of me, like she's waiting for me to screw up so she can roll her eyes."

"She sounds terrifying."

"Oh, she is. But she's good, you know? She's got this heart. Won't admit it, of course. But it's there." Annie shrugs, then gets a teasing smile on her face. "And I'm pretty sure she's got a crush on Shauna's kid."

Molly blinked. "Shauna's kid?"

Molly tilted her head, intrigued. "She dating anyone?"

Annie let out a soft huff. "I think she's got a thing for Callie Sadecki."

Molly blinked. "Shauna's kid?"

Annie nods, confirming. "Callie Sadecki."

"Sadecki? As in—"

"Yep." Annie chuckles. "And Esme always tries to act like she doesn't care, but then I caught them playing footsies under the table in my class."

"God, they're worse than we were back then."

Annie chuckled, then added, "Rowan's fifteen. He's quieter. He does game a lot though. Talks more to his friends through that headset than he talks to me some days." She smiles a little, wistfully. "But he's so sweet. Thoughtful. He still says thank you, still holds the door. He's super protective of his sister, too. And he doesn't like attention. But if he loves you, you'll never go a day without knowing it."

Molly looked at her, something soft flickering behind her eyes. "Sounds like you raised them right, Annie."

Annie gave a little shrug. "I did as well as I could." She hesitated. Her voice dropped again. "They're growing so fast. I blink, and they're taller. Louder. More distant. I can't... I can't protect them the way I used to. You ever feel like that? With Dahlia?"

Molly's hands flexed on the wheel. "Every single damn day," she murmured.

Annie lets the next thought slip out before she could stop it. "Esme reminds me of Natalie sometimes."

Molly's head turned slowly. "Yeah. That tracks. She's her mom, after all."

Annie's head snaps over, her eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, what?"

Molly's brows furrowed like she hadn't expected that reaction. "I mean... you and Natalie. Last time I saw you two, it was a thing. And the way you looked at each other today, like you—"

"They're not hers," Annie said quickly. "They're mine. I mean—they're mine and Thomas's."

Molly went quiet. Her brow furrowed, like she hadn't quite processed what she'd just heard. Then she looked over again—sharper now, eyes narrowing slightly. Like she was trying to rewind a memory she couldn't quite believe. "Thomas?"

"Thomas Fielding."

Annie nodded once, tight-lipped. "Thomas Fielding."

The name landed between them like a dropped weight. Molly blinked, once, twice—her silence stretching long enough to feel pointed. She rubbed her thumb across the steering wheel, then glanced at Annie again with a look that was half incredulous, half something softer. Like she wanted to understand, but wasn't sure how to ask.

"Holy shit," she said eventually. "You married Thomas Fielding? From your church? The one who... the one who used to follow you around like a damn golden retriever?"

Annie laughed—reflexive, thin. The sound broke halfway out. She reached for her ring, twisting it on her finger like it might come off. "That's the one."

"You married him?"

It wasn't judgmental. But it wasn't neutral, either.

Annie flushed. She couldn't meet Molly's eyes. "We reconnected a few years after... everything. It made sense... at the time."

She didn't say I loved him.

Didn't say I'm happy.

Didn't say He knows me.

Molly didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on the road, the edges of her mouth drawn down. The headlights caught dust rising off the gravel, a soft storm of gold and gray. She exhaled hard through her nose, shaking her head.

"Huh." Then, lower, almost to herself, she tilted her head. "I always figured you stayed with Natalie. I mean, I never saw you again, but... I just assumed..."

Annie didn't respond. Not right away. She stared at her wedding ring, thumb brushing the edge. "Yeah. A lot of people assumed that." Her voice was almost bitter. Her ring felt like it was burning against her skin. Her voice barely held. "It's complicated."

Molly didn't press. She just nodded slowly, lips pursed. She didn't press. The look in Annie's eyes — sad, a little far away — said enough. "I didn't mean for it to be like this." Her voice cracked faintly. "With you. With us. The silence. The distance. I didn't mean to leave like I did."

Annie turned toward her, her chest pulling tight.

"I missed you," Molly added, voice barely above a whisper. "I really did."

Annie didn't speak. But slowly, deliberately, she reached across the console. Her fingers wrap around Molly's. 

Not a squeeze.

Just contact.

Just presence.

"I missed you, too."

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Molly turned into the long, winding drive of Willow Brook Ranch. The headlights carved twin beams through the dark, catching on fence posts, scrubby tufts of grass, and a rusting mailbox half swallowed by weeds. The house ahead was barely more than a silhouette—low and dark, shutters drawn, porch vacant. A single bulb flickered above the barn in the distance, casting a faint halo across the dirt. That was the only sign of life.

Molly pulled to a slow stop, her truck idling for a breath before she cut the engine. Behind them, Misty's blue Fiat bounced to a halt a little too close, its tiny engine coughing into silence. No one moved at first. The stillness settled in like a held breath. Crickets chirped from the fields. Somewhere far off, an owl called once.

Annie stepped out of the truck, her boots meeting gravel with a soft crunch. Molly climbed out beside her, arms folded tightly over her chest as she scanned the property.

"I swore he took Dahlia with him on this shift," Molly murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "But I don't see his truck anywhere." She squinted toward the barn, frowning. "Maybe he's out back. Dahlia's been dragging him to the field every night this week."

"Adorable," Misty chirped, hopping down from the Fiat like they were arriving for a picnic. Her eyes sparkled. "Or suspicious."

Annie shot her a look. "Not everything is a murder plot, Misty."

Misty gave a wide-eyed shrug, all innocence. "I'm just saying. Places like this hide secrets." She clapped her hands once, too cheerfully for the setting. "Okay! Natalie and I will check the windows—maybe someone left a light on."

Natalie looked like she'd rather chew glass than play Scooby-Doo with Misty again, but didn't protest. She just muttered something under her breath and followed her around the porch.

Annie's eyes lingered on Natalie's back as she walked away, her silhouette cutting sharp in the night. Then she turned and followed Molly, who was already heading toward the barn. Each step felt quieter than the last, gravel giving way to packed earth, the hum of the flickering bulb above the barn growing louder.

The barn loomed larger with every footfall—its red paint faded to pink-gray, peeling like old sunburn. One of the double doors stood cracked an inch open. Not enough to see anything. Just enough to feel wrong.

Molly slowed. Her boots shuffled against the dirt. Then she stopped.

"He usually locks up before he leaves," she muttered.

Annie's stomach tensed. "What?"

"I said—he always locks up," Molly repeated, sharper now. Her posture stiffened, and she moved forward again, faster.

Annie's eyes flicked to the sky, then to the treeline. Something crawled under her skin.

Molly reached for the barn door. She didn't open it. Just pressed her fingers to the wood. Her breath shook. "It's too quiet," she whispered.

Annie looked back toward the house. Misty and Natalie had disappeared behind the porch. The silence pressed in.

Then Molly screamed.

It was sharp and raw—a sound that ripped through Annie like a blade. She bolted forward, gravel flying beneath her boots. "Molly?"

The barn door was already swinging open. Molly stood just inside, frozen. The flickering bulb cast long shadows across her face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth.

Annie ran to her. "Molly, what—"

She saw it.

A man's body hung from a thick chain looped over the barn's crane beam. Back turned. Swinging slightly.

Molly let out a sob and dropped to her knees. "No—no, no, no—"

Annie hit the ground beside her, grabbing her shoulders. "Molly! Look at me—Molly, please."

Molly's eyes snapped to hers, wild and tear-streaked. Her fingers dug into Annie's jacket.

Footsteps behind them. Natalie appeared first, freezing when she saw the body. Her face went slack with shock. Misty followed, wide-eyed, her breath catching. She adjusted her glasses slowly.

"Oh," Misty breathed. "Oh, wow."

Annie held onto Molly, steadying her.

"I thought he took Dahlia—I thought—he wouldn't have done this. Not with her here. He wouldn't have—" Molly broke off into sobs.

"I know, I know." Annie whispered, looking back over to the body, but her brows furrowed. She lifted her head, staring at the man's back. She pushed gently at Molly's shoulder — not unkindly—until Molly let go of her jacket. Then she slowly stood up, stepping forward a little.

Something wasn't right.

Natalie watched her as if she's lost her mind. "Annie, what the hell are you doing?"

"Hold on a second," Annie murmured, her voice too steady for the room. She moved closer, her eyes flicking from the body to the barn walls, then back. She took a smaller step forward. Just enough to see the profile of the man's face. "It's not him."

Molly's head jerked up, her eyes bloodshot and her tear-slicked face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean it's not him?" she asked, her voice hoarse and shaking.

Annie didn't answer at first. She stepped closer to the hanging body, her hands trembling but her gaze razor-sharp. Her mind was somewhere else — not in the barn, not in the panic — but back in Travis and Molly's house, looking at the photo. That photo od Travis and Molly — was one of the only images she'd seen of him in decades. But, it was easy to study.

And she had studied it.

Not just with her eyes, but with the part of her brain that had spent a lifetime teaching teenagers how to break down the human form — how to sketch what they saw, not what they assumed. Gesture lines. Bone structure. Proportions. How someone carried their weight, where their tension lived.

The man hanging in front of her didn't match the man in the photo. His center of gravity was too high. Shoulders narrower. Arms longer. The beard wasn't the same fullness. The jaw was wrong — angled differently. Even the way the boots sat on his feet — heavy, unfamiliar, not worn-in the way Travis's had been.

Annie's brow furrowed. She took another step forward, angling her head, letting instinct take over. Not just memory. Training.

This is what she taught. How to notice. How to see.

Annie turned her head slowly, her voice steady. "I'm telling you," she said, with complete certainty. "It's not Travis."

Misty blinked, tilting her head. "What? Are you sure it's not him? You barely saw—"

"I'm sure."

Natalie took a step forward, her expression all serious. "You think someone set this up?"

Before anyone could answer, a voice rang out from just outside the barn. "Hello?" They froze. The voice came again. "Is someone out here?" Natalie stepped in front of the group, standing protectively. She glanced behind her, looking at the worried faces of everyone. Then the voice spoke again, clearer this time. "Molly? Is that your car?"

Molly's breath caught. She knew that voice. "Travis," she whispered.

Then they were all moving.

Feet pounding. Gravel scattering. Searching.

"Mommy?"

A smaller voice now. Molly spun.

Molly's breath caught. She knew that voice. "Travis," she whispered.

Then they were all moving toward the barn door. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they glanced in different directions for the sound of the voice. "Mommy?"

A smaller voice now. Molly spun.

Dahlia was standing on the edge of the pasture, one foot on gravel, one foot still in the tall grass. Her stuffed animal dangled in one hand. Her eyes were wide and shining in the dim light, blinking up at her mother. Travis stood just behind her, flashlight in one hand, the other resting protectively on her shoulder. He was squinting toward the barn. Unknowing. Unbothered.

Just another night coming back from the stables.

Molly didn't think. She ran. Her boots slammed the ground. Her arms opened as a hiccup of breath escaped her chest as she reached them. She dropped to her knees and swept Dahlia up into a crushing hug. "You're okay, baby—you're okay—thank God—" Kisses scattered across Dahlia's cheeks. The little girl giggled softly, confused, but warm.

"We were feedin' the horses." Dahlia mumbled sleepily, like none of this was strange at all.

Molly looked up. Travis.

Her voice cracked. "I thought you were—" She let out a breath that got caught halfway, like her lungs didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She picked up Dahlia, holding her in her arms as she looked at the man. "Travis."

He gave her a lopsided smile. Still confused. Still not seeing anything that was wrong. "I didn't know you were coming. Everything okay?" He asked quietly, seeing their daughter already slipping into a deep sleep, Travis smiled softly before looking into Molly's eyes. "Sorry, I know I have her out too late and—" He paused, his eyebrows furrowing as Annie, Natalie, and Misty near the grass.

Annie stopped first, hand rising automatically to her mouth. She didn't speak. Natalie let out a low curse under her breath, too stunned to say more. Misty tilted her head, eyebrows raising in curiosity, and then she waved.

Travis didn't say anything at first. He just looked. And in that moment, his whole expression shifted. His mouth opened slightly, his hand gripping the flashlight tighter, knuckles whitening. "What's going on?"

Molly didn't answer with words. Her hand rose slowly, pressing against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Like she still wasn't sure he was actually there.

Dahlia stirred in her arms—too heavy now. Molly turned as she gently handed Dahlia to Annie. Annie took her instinctively, arms wrapping around the girl like she'd done it a thousand times, even though it's been years since she held anyone that small. Dahlia smelled like sleep, dirt, and strawberry shampoo.

Annie stared at her, cataloging the features. The sharp curve of her nose. The slant of her jaw. Her chin was Travis's. The wide, curious mouth — definitely Molly's. But the eyes — when they fluttered open for a second — looked familiar in another way.

Molly leaned in to Travis, whispered something in his ear. His face changed. His brow furrowed. His lips parted.

Then he ran.

The barn door opened, and the man disappeared inside. A beat passed. Then a gasp. Travis stumbled back out through the door, breathing hard, staring at the shape inside like it still might move.

Then—

whup-whup-whup.

A sound in the sky. It was far off, but close enough to see the flash of blue and red in the distance.

They all went still.

"Did someone call the cops?" Misty asked, turning abruptly to Natalie. Nobody answered, looking at the lights. Misty's eyes darted to Annie, then to Molly. "Because if one of us didn't, someone else knows we're here—"

"Why the hell would they?" Natalie snapped. Her posture shifted—soldier-ready. Jaw tight.

Molly looked at Travis, who was slowly making his way back over, at Annie holding Dahlia, then over her shoulder toward the road. "Who would even know where we are?"

Annie adjusted the position of Dahlia in her arms, her voice low. "That's what I'm trying to figure out." The sirens slowed, warbled, then cut out entirely. Blue and red lights still flashed in the distance. "But we have to go. Now."

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐙
— 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗋 — 
[ ᵖᵒʳᵗʳᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵍᵃᵇʳⁱᵉˡ ˡᵘⁿᵃ ]

𝐃𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐙
— 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆 — 
[ ᵖᵒʳᵗʳᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ˢᶜᵃʳˡᵉᵗᵗ ᵉˢᵗᵉᵛᵉᶻ ]

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

First off—

HELLO?? YES, I AM ALIVE. I swear. If you've been staring at your screen like "Did she die? Did she abandon the fic? Did the wilderness finally take her?" — surprise! The only thing dying was my face.

If you missed the message board post (which you should absolutely be following, by the way — that's where I post about fic updates, teaser lines, and what songs Annie Jo probably listens to while spiraling) I had a very cute little allergic reaction last week. My face puffed up, messed with my eyes in a major way. Like, vision-blurring, light-sensitivity, face-on-fire kind of way. It was giving plague.

Super fun. 10/10 do not recommend.

BUT I HAVE RISEN and returned to do what I do best: emotionally torment Annie Jo Chambers like it's my God-given calling.

Now... this chapter. This chapter.

We're officially in the mess-around-and-find-out era of the story!

Annie and Molly? Driving through grief, memory, and years of unspoken things like it's I-95 at golden hour. Just a good old-fashioned road trip with your childhood best friend... while carrying a truckload of unresolved trauma and the possibility of a dead husband.

Natalie? Getting mistaken for the other mom of Annie's kids and Annie (not really) saying absolutely ANYTHING to correct it. Gay panic. Gay silence. Gay rights. 

"That's not my husband's corpse!"?? I warned you we were changing some things. Apologies to the Travis haters (I do not trust you). Condolences to the Travis lovers (I am you). 

All we know is someone else is... swinging from the barn rafters like a Scooby-Doo villain and no one knows who he is. 

And let's talk about that barn scene — because I really wanted it to feel like you were stepping into a nightmare. The kind where everything is too quiet, too still, and every breath feels like it might shatter something. Then suddenly, Travis and Dahlia are just there — soft, warm, safe — like stumbling into a dream you didn't dare believe was real.

Annie holding Molly's daughter for the first time?? That's a little soul-crusher for the road.

And beneath all that? The plot is brewing.

Natalie's confession is still hanging in the air, Thomas is being mentioned (regrettably), and the entire group is realizing that someone wanted them to find that body. Will I tell you who's body it is yet? Of course not.

Here's why:

Do I know who I just killed off? Absolutely not.

Is it Travis? No. He's safe. For now.

Will I figure it out in a few chapters? Probably. Maybe. I'm waiting for the wilderness to speak to me in riddles and hallucinations like a good Yellowjackets writer.

Am I spiraling while also plotting Doomcoming? Oh, 100%.

We're all in this together. One big, emotionally unstable story cult. Love that for us.

Thank you for sticking around (unlike my immune system). Your comments, votes, theories, and chaos keep this fic alive and screaming. If you're enjoying the story, please consider voting, commenting, or adding it to your library — it genuinely helps more than you know. And yes, I read every unhinged theory. And yes, I will scream about them.

Question of the Chapter: What are your favorite yellowjackets headcanons? (and also make some up for this story pls)

Bonus Question: Who do you think is swinging in the barn? I'm taking applications.  Go wild. I'm serious. (It's not Thomas... sorry.)

Bonus Unhinged Question: What's the worst possible name Molly could've given her kid if Travis hadn't let her name her Dahlia? (Pennyroyal is already canonically on the table. Go worse.)

Until next time,
Lyss