The town hall looks different at night.
During the day it’s all flags and polished wood and my father’s smiling portrait shaking hands with donors. At midnight, it’s shadows and locked doors and the kind of silence that feels like it’s listening.
My heart won’t stop racing as Kai lifts me through a side window like this is nothing more than another reckless stunt. His hands are steady on my waist. Mine are not.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “Keep going.”
We land inside the mayor’s office, my father’s office, the place I’ve walked into my entire life without ever really seeing it. The smell of leather and lemon cleaner hits me hard. His desk is massive. Untouchable. Sacred.
Until tonight.
I pull the red lipstick from my clutch and stare at it like it might explode. Graffiti the mayor’s office. Tyler’s first rule.
My hands shake.
Kai watches me, eyes dark. “You don’t have to do it.”
“Yes,” I say too fast. “I do.”
I drag the lipstick across the wall behind the desk, a crooked, furious slash of red that looks like blood. My stomach twists—not with fear, but with a strange, guilty relief.
Rule one completed.
I turn toward the desk. The top drawer is locked, but I know where my father keeps the spare key. I always have. I just never thought I’d use it like this.
The drawer slides open with a soft click.
Files. Folders. Secrets.
I pull one out at random, then freeze.
ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT — SILVER PEAK EXPANSION
My breath catches. This is the report Tyler was obsessed with. The one my father swore was “clean.”
I skim.
And then my vision blurs.
Avalanche risk: Severe.
Structural instability: Unacceptable.
Recommendation: Project denial.
But someone has crossed it all out. Digital edits. New signatures. A green stamp that reads APPROVED.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
My fingers flip the pages, faster now, desperate. The expert signatures blur together until one name stops me cold.
Coach Reynolds.
Tyler’s ski coach.
The man who taught him how to carve ice like it was air.
The man who fell off a cliff three months ago.
My knees give out, and I have to grab the desk to stay upright.
“Kai,” I say, my voice barely there. “They killed him.”
Kai’s jaw tightens. “I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
He moves toward the bookshelf, presses a hidden latch, and the entire panel swings open.
I stare. “How did you—”
“Your dad’s not subtle,” he says. “Just powerful.”
Inside the hidden safe are stacks of documents. Cash. And one envelope, worn thin.
Kai hands it to me.
Tyler’s handwriting screams up at me again.
Dear Mayor Evans,
If you’re reading this, you already know what I’m about to say…
My hands tremble so badly the paper rattles.
“It’s a draft,” Kai says softly. “He never got to send it.”
A cold, awful understanding settles in my chest.
Before I can speak, the lights flick on.
Every single screen in the office lights up at once.
My father’s face appears on the largest monitor, older and harder than I’ve ever seen him.
“Chloe,” his voice echoes through the speakers. “Put the files down.”
My throat closes. “You’re watching us.”
“I always am.” His gaze flicks to Kai. “Leave. Now.”
I step forward. “You altered the report.”
Silence.
Then: “Go home,” he says, calm as a verdict. “We can pretend this never happened.”
Something inside me breaks.
The door slams open. Shouting. Footsteps.
Kai grabs my hand. “Now.”
We run.
The stairwell is chaos—alarms blaring, boots pounding behind us. My lungs burn. My chest hurts. But right before we burst out the exit, I rip free from Kai’s grip.
I turn back.
My father’s awards hang on the wall, gleaming and smug.
I drag my lipstick across the glass of his highest honor and write, in shaking red letters:
YOU KILLED MY TRUST.
Then Kai yanks me out into the snow.
We don’t stop running until the town hall disappears behind the trees and my legs finally give out. I collapse, laughing and crying at the same time, the sound ugly and raw.
Kai crouches in front of me.
“There’s something you need to know,” he says.
I look up. “What?”
His eyes drop to the snow between us. “The night Tyler died… we fought.”
My heart stutters.
“He said he was going to expose your father,” Kai continues. “I told him it would destroy your family.”
He swallows.
“And he said, ‘That’s the point. It’ll finally set her free.’”
The cold sinks deeper than the snow.
And for the first time, I realize my brother didn’t die breaking rules.
He died trying to break me out.