Chapter 64: Voices Come to Light – Part X

Finding Aaron Blakely proved to be more challenging than they initially thought. Lucas had left behind some clues—old addresses, public records, and even the kind of chatter that sticks to a man’s name online. But Aaron was different. His life appeared buried under unfinished jobs, broken leases, and a trail of debt that seemed less like careless mistakes and more like someone trying to disappear.

When they arrived at the low-rise complex on the edge of the city, the sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm, rusty hue on the brick walls. The place looked worn out—paint peeling from the railings, and flickering lights that had probably been left unrepaired for years. It was an ideal hideaway for someone who didn’t want to be found.

Silas slowed the car, his eyes narrowing as he examined the staircase. “Third floor,” he murmured. “End unit.”

Noah followed his gaze and saw a figure struggling with two sagging grocery bags up the concrete stairs, shoulders hunched under a faded hoodie. The plastic crackled with the weight of bottles or cans. The man moved slowly, as if every step was a little harder than the last.

“Is that him?” Noah asked.

Silas hesitated for a moment before answering. He watched how the man moved—cautiously, scanning without truly looking, always maintaining a guarded posture as if unsure about the air behind him. “That’s him,” Silas finally said.

A knot tightened in Noah’s stomach. He recognized that name from Adrienne’s files, where it was reduced to just a number, a color, or a category. And now, here was the man himself, struggling with groceries—like anyone else. Real. Human. A little damaged.

Aaron reached the landing, shifted the bags against his hip, and fumbled with his keys. For a brief moment, his face turned toward the setting sun, revealing signs of exhaustion and making him look older than his years.

An ache of recognition stirred in Noah. Another survivor. Another ghost left behind by Adrienne.

Silas turned off the engine. “Let’s go,” he said.

Together, they stepped into Aaron’s shadow.

Aaron shifted the groceries against his hip, keys scraping at the lock. The bags rattled with the sound of glass, a cheap six-pack clinking like a bell announcing his presence. He hadn’t noticed them yet. Silas took the stairs quietly, Noah following half a step behind. The smell of fried food drifted from a nearby window, mixing with the sour tang of damp concrete. “Aaron Blakely,” Silas said. His voice carried just enough weight to land. The man froze mid-turn. His head came up slowly, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Who the hell’s asking?” Noah lifted his hands slightly, palms out.

“We just want to talk—” “Talk?” Aaron’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “No one comes here to talk. You say my name like you own it. You don’t.” He shoved the key into the lock harder than necessary, the grocery bag rustling against his leg. “We’re not here to take anything from you,” Silas said evenly. “We know what she did.” That word—she snapped Aaron’s focus tight. His shoulders squared, his grip on the key twisting white. “Don’t.” His voice now had steel in it. “You don’t say her name here. You don’t bring her here.” Noah felt his chest tighten. Adrienne’s shadow lived in him, the same way it did in Lucas, the same way it had lived in himself. He saw it in the way Aaron’s jaw clenched, the way his body seemed braced for a fight no one else could see. Aaron turned the lock at last, groceries still in hand, and shoved the door open. “You don’t know me,” he said flatly. “You don’t want to. Whatever game you’re running, take it somewhere else.” Then he stepped inside, letting the door slam between them.

The door didn’t close all the way. One of the grocery bags caught in the frame, plastic snagging on the hinge. Silas pressed a palm against it before Aaron could shove it free.

“We’re not here to drag you back to her,” Silas said, voice calm but edged. “We’re here because you’re not the only one she used.”

Aaron whipped around, fury flashing in his eyes. He dropped the bags onto the counter with a thud, bottles rattling inside. “Used?” His laugh was bitter, jagged. “That’s a pretty word for what she did.”

Noah took a cautious step forward, words trembling on his tongue. “We—”

“You're nothing,” Aaron snapped, stabbing a finger at him. “I know your type. Smooth words, soft faces. You talk about help, but it’s never about me. It’s about what you want out of me.” His jaw tightened, voice rough with old wounds. “She wanted obedience. You want a confession. Same damn leash, different collar.”

Noah froze under the weight of the words. He wanted to insist he was different, that he knew exactly what it felt like to have Adrienne hollow you out and leave only her echo behind. But shame burned hotter than protest. He remembered the hunger she’d planted in him, the way she had become the axis of every thought. How could he argue, when part of him still carried her shadow?

Silas didn’t flinch. He kept his arms loose at his sides, steady as stone. “We’re not her,” he said.

Aaron’s face twisted in anger. “That’s exactly what she’d say.” His voice cracked, strained by exhaustion. The apartment smelled of cheap beer, stale smoke, sweat from a man still running—long after the chase. Noah’s chest ached. This wasn’t spite; it was fear—drowning, afraid to reach out lest he's chained again. Aaron turned away, shoulders squared like armor. “Get out,” he said flatly, “before I throw you out.”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. For a moment, neither Silas nor Noah moved, the echo of Aaron’s words hanging heavier than the air in the stairwell. Noah stared at the chipped paint on the door, his pulse still racing. “He hates us,” he muttered. It sounded like a verdict, like failure. Silas adjusted the line of his coat and started down the stairs. “He doesn’t hate us,” he said evenly. “He hates her. We’re standing too close to the memory.” Noah followed, shaking his head. “You didn’t see his face. He looked at me like I was her shadow walking in the door.” Silas’s jaw tightened, though his stride didn’t falter. “Then next time, we make sure he sees past it.” They stepped back into the cooling evening, the parking lot empty save for a few flickering lights. Noah shoved his hands into his pockets, frustration coiling through him. Lucas had cracked open, fragile but willing. Aaron was a wall of brick and fire. The gap between them felt impossible to bridge. Silas unlocked the car, saying, “An angry man isn’t lost. He’s burning because he’s still alive. That’s the difference.” Aaron, sitting on the floor against the wall, trembling as he opened a grocery bag and took a drink, felt the bitterness but only deepened his pain. He pressed his hand to his eyes, trying to block out the relentless memory, recognizing that amid his anger, he was already bleeding.