Where the Road Leads Darker

The drive into Oregon was quiet—too quiet for Nina's nerves. Gloria sat behind the wheel with that resolute calm she wore like armor, but the occasional flex in her jaw, the tight way she gripped the steering wheel—Nina could feel the storm barely contained beneath it. They hadn't spoken much since crossing the state line.

"You sure this is where she went?" Nina finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were cold despite the sun pressing through the windshield.

Gloria nodded. "I used to come here with Margot. Years ago. A cabin near Tillamook. No cell signal, no neighbors. If Evelyn wanted her buried, emotionally or literally, it'd be somewhere quiet. Somewhere like that."

Nina looked out the window. Trees pressed in thick and green, drowning out the world behind them.

"She was in love with her, wasn't she?" Nina asked. "Evelyn."

Gloria let out a slow breath. "Love isn't the word I'd use. Evelyn doesn't love. She possesses."

They didn't speak again until the cabin came into view.

—

Back on Maple Lane, Veronica poured two glasses of white wine, her silk robe falling loose at her shoulders as she moved with feline grace across the living room. Claire sat on the edge of the plush sofa, legs crossed, every inch of her posture suggesting confidence. But it was a veneer—beneath it, Veronica saw the tremor of doubt in her eyes.

"You've come," Veronica said, handing her a glass.

Claire took it. "I'm not here for your games."

Veronica sat across from her, parting her robe deliberately to expose more of her thigh. "Everything's a game, darling. Even the parts where you moan."

Claire's nostrils flared.

"You think you're still in control," Veronica continued, sipping slowly. "But you're back in my house. Wearing that perfume I bought you. Sitting on the same couch where you once begged me to touch you."

Claire stood. "I'm not the same woman."

"Oh no?" Veronica's smile deepened. "Then why did you come here when Nina kissed someone else?"

Claire's hand trembled on her wine glass.

Veronica stepped closer, her voice dropping to a breathy purr. "She touched Gloria like she used to touch you. And that ache in your chest, Claire? That's not heartbreak. That's hunger."

Claire set the wine down. "You don't own me."

"No," Veronica whispered, tracing a finger down Claire's arm, "but I know you. And knowing is more dangerous than owning."

Claire didn't flinch when Veronica kissed her. She didn't stop it either.

—

In Oregon, the cabin was unlocked. Gloria stepped inside first, gun holstered at her hip. Nina followed, every creak of the floorboards echoing like a scream.

The space was empty. Blankets still folded. A cold cup of tea on the table.

"She was here recently," Gloria murmured, inspecting the sink. "Maybe a day ago."

Nina moved to the back room. There, beneath a half-drawn curtain, was a leather-bound journal with a pale blue ribbon. She picked it up. The pages inside were filled with tight handwriting—Margot's. And one page, marked with a dried rose petal, began:

"She said if I ever leave her, she'll make sure no one finds me again. But I've hidden clues. I have to. Gloria will know. She's the only one who ever saw me clearly."

Nina called out. "Gloria… you need to read this."

—

Meanwhile, in his darkened bedroom back on Maple Lane, Daniel stared at the photos.

Claire and Veronica. Drunk on each other. Pressed together on Veronica's back patio, fingers tangling beneath the hem of a dress. His mother, Gloria, in another photo, brushing Nina's hair from her face in a moment far too intimate.

Daniel clenched his jaw.

"Everyone's fucking everyone," he muttered.

He picked up his phone and sent the first photo—to Evelyn.

"You're losing control."

—

Evelyn stood by a wide Oregon cliff, phone buzzing in her palm. She read the message. Her lips curled, not in fear, but in calculation.

"Let them try," she whispered to the wind.

Then she turned toward the forest, where a new burial plot waited—and a woman with fading hope still breathing.