Chapter 22 A Dangerous Truth

Chapter 22 A Dangerous Truth


I didn’t plan to talk to him. Not tonight, not like this.

But when I catch sight of Jace leaning against the side of the old gym after practice, head bowed, hands on his knees like he’s carrying the weight of something heavier than just exhaustion, my feet move before my brain can stop them.

I should turn around. I should keep walking, keep my distance, keep my focus on the real enemy—the shadow pulling strings I still can’t see. But the note, the break-in, the open window, all of it has carved a raw hole inside me, and for some reason I think he might have the answer.

“Langston,” I call, my voice sharper than I feel.

His head snaps up. The look he gives me is unreadable, but not empty. It’s too full—anger, suspicion, something darker swimming just beneath the surface.

“Sinclair.” His voice is low, rough. “Come to twist the knife?”

I cross my arms, trying to hide the tremor in my hands. “Depends. Do you deserve it?”

That gets a humorless laugh out of him. He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Always.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. The night air is cool, the faint buzz of field lights humming above us. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something, the ground about to give way.

I should leave. I should.

Instead I say, “Tell me about Noah.”

The name hits him like a punch. His whole body stiffens. His jaw locks. For a second I think he won’t answer. But then he exhales, slow and shaky, like he’s been holding that breath for years.

“You already know more than you should,” he says quietly. “Why push for more?”

“Because you owe me the truth.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “Because he was my brother.”

Jace’s head jerks up, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, silence.

I freeze. The words slipped out too fast, too sharp. I’ve spent months guarding my identity, building Eva Sinclair piece by piece, and now I’ve ripped a hole straight through it.

But Jace doesn’t pounce. He doesn’t smile like he’s caught me. He just… looks at me, like pieces are finally falling into place.

“I knew it,” he says, voice almost a whisper. “I knew you weren’t who you said you were.”

I swallow hard, throat dry. “Then tell me what you know. About Noah.”

His eyes flicker, stormy and restless. “You won’t like it.”

“I don’t care.”

Another long pause. His hand drags through his hair, like he’s fighting himself. Finally, he leans back against the wall, staring up at the dark sky as if the stars might give him permission.

“I knew him,” he admits. “Not well. Not the way you did. But enough.”

My chest tightens. “How?”

“He was digging,” Jace says. “Too close. My father’s files, his deals, the cover-ups… Noah was smart, too smart. He didn’t know when to stop.”

The words sting, but I force myself to stay quiet.

“I tried to warn him,” Jace continues, voice rough. “Told him to back off, to let it go. But he wouldn’t. He wanted justice.”

“Of course he did,” I whisper. My vision blurs, but I blink hard, refusing to let tears fall.

Jace’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “I thought I could help him. I thought if I fed him small things, steered him in the right direction, maybe he’d get what he wanted without drawing too much attention. But…” His voice breaks. He clears his throat, jaw tight. “It didn’t matter. He pushed too far. My father noticed.”

The name burns in my mouth. “Your father.”

Jace nods once. Sharp. Painful. “When Noah disappeared… I didn’t know where they took him. I swear. I begged my father to tell me. He wouldn’t.”

I shake my head, my whole body trembling. “You expect me to believe you tried to help? That you didn’t just feed him to the wolves?”

His eyes snap to mine, fierce and raw. “If I wanted him gone, he would’ve been gone sooner. Don’t you get it? I wanted him to survive. I thought I could outplay my father, protect Noah from the inside. But I failed. I wasn’t strong enough.”

The words hang between us, heavy and suffocating.

For months, I’ve built Jace into a monster in my head. The boy who ruined my family, who made Noah vanish, who carried blood on his hands. It’s what kept me focused, what fueled me. But now, hearing the crack in his voice, seeing the regret in his eyes…

If he’s telling the truth, then I’ve been wrong. Horribly wrong.

And that realization guts me more than hate ever did.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, but my voice is weak, brittle.

“You do.” He steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t want to, but you do.”

I stumble back, shaking my head. “No. You’re just trying to confuse me. To make me doubt myself.”

“Maybe,” he says softly. “But maybe the person you should be doubting isn’t me.”

The memory of the note slams back into my mind. You’re not the only one with secrets.

I clutch my bag strap so tightly it cuts into my palm. “If you knew him—if you really cared—why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you save him?”

Jace’s face twists, pain carved into every line. “Because no one saves anyone in my family. We just survive them.”

I can’t breathe. The night air feels too thick, too sharp. My heart is racing, my thoughts spiraling. If Jace is telling the truth, then my whole mission crumbles. Every plan, every strike I’ve made against him—it’s all been aimed at the wrong target.

But if he’s lying, then I’m standing here, spilling pieces of myself to the very monster I swore to destroy.

Neither option feels safe.

I turn away, desperate to escape, to get air, to think. But before I can take a step, his hand closes around my wrist—not hard, just enough to stop me.

“Ava.”

The sound of my real name on his lips freezes me.

Slowly, I turn back. His eyes are burning, desperate, pleading. “If you’re going to hate me, fine. But at least hate me for what I actually did, not for what you think I did.”

I want to scream. To cry. To run. But I can’t do any of it.

Because for the first time, I don’t know if the enemy standing in front of me is really the enemy at all.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

Behind us, a shadow moves across the gym’s floodlit wall. Neither of us sees it.