Jake's POV
The toy slipped from my hands and crashed to the ground.
"Maya?"
She stood at the edge of the fire station driveway like a ghost I'd been dreaming about for ten years. Thinner than I remembered. Sadder. But still her.
Still the girl I'd never stopped loving.
"Hi, Jake." Her voice shook. "I... I need your help."
My heart hammered in my chest. Ten years. Ten years of wondering what happened. Ten years of imagining every possible reason she cut me out of her life. Ten years of seeing her face in crowds that weren't her.
And now she was here.
"Anything," I said, walking toward her. "What's wrong?"
Marcus called out from behind me. "Jake, you good?"
I didn't turn around. Couldn't take my eyes off Maya. "Yeah. Give me a minute."
Maya's hands trembled as she held out a postcard. "Someone's been sending me these. Someone who's supposed to be dead."
I took the postcard and read it. My blood went cold.
"Maya, remember our promise? I'm keeping mine. Meet me where the lights shine brightest. I've always been watching over you. —Emma"
"Emma Chen?" I looked up at Maya. "But she—"
"Drowned seven years ago. I know." Maya wrapped her arms around herself. "But someone sent this. Someone who knows things only Emma would know."
I read the postcard again. The handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Maya, what's going on? Why come to me after all these years?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Because you're the only person I can trust. And because..." She took a shaky breath. "Because Derek found me."
My whole body went rigid. "Derek Martinez? Your ex-husband?"
She nodded.
Rage burned through me. Derek Martinez—the man Maya had married right after cutting me out of her life. The man I'd hated for ten years without even meeting him. The man who'd stolen Maya from me.
"Where is he?" My voice came out harder than I meant it to.
"He's staying at the Pine Inn. He showed up yesterday with a present for Lucy." Maya's voice cracked. "He wants to meet his daughter. Says he's changed. But Jake, he hasn't changed. Men like him never change."
Men like him. What did that mean?
Then I saw the way Maya flinched when a truck backfired nearby. Saw the way she kept looking over her shoulder. Saw the old, faded scar on her wrist that she tried to hide with her sleeve.
And I understood.
"He hurt you," I said quietly. "Didn't he?"
Maya's face crumpled. She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Something broke inside me. All those years I'd wondered why Maya left. Why she'd married someone else so quickly. Why she'd disappeared without a word.
It wasn't because she didn't love me.
It was because Derek wouldn't let her.
"Come inside," I said gently. "Let's talk somewhere private."
I led Maya to the break room and closed the door. She sat down at the table, still clutching the postcard like it might disappear.
"Tell me everything," I said. "Start from the beginning."
So she did.
She told me about meeting Derek at a college party during senior year. How charming he seemed at first. How he'd slowly isolated her from everyone—her family, her friends, me. How he'd convinced her that leaving him would be dangerous. How he'd hurt her in ways that didn't always leave visible bruises.
She told me about Emma trying to help her escape. About how Emma died the same night she was supposed to meet Maya with evidence against Derek. About how Maya had always suspected Derek was involved but could never prove it.
She told me about finally escaping five years later when she got pregnant. About hiding in a women's shelter. About coming back to Pine Valley two years ago under her mother's maiden name, trying to give her daughter Lucy a normal life.
And now Derek had found them.
By the time Maya finished, my hands were clenched into fists. I wanted to find Derek Martinez and make him pay for every tear, every bruise, every year of fear he'd put Maya through.
"You're not alone anymore," I said. "I'm going to help you. Whatever it takes."
"But the postcards," Maya whispered. "Who's sending them? And why now, when Derek shows up?"
Good question.
I looked at the postcard again. Something about it bothered me. The handwriting was almost right, but not quite. Like someone was trying to copy Emma's writing.
"Do you still have the other postcards?" I asked.
"Just one more. It came this morning." Maya pulled another postcard from her pocket.
This one made my stomach drop.
"He's coming for you, Maya. But I won't let him hurt you this time. Trust Jake. Remember who you were before he broke you. —Emma"
"Trust Jake," I read aloud. "Why would Emma—or whoever this is—tell you to trust me?"
"I don't know. That's why I came to you."
I studied both postcards. Something clicked in my brain. Something wrong.
"Maya, these postcards mention things that happened after Emma died. 'Before he broke you'—that's about Derek's abuse, which got worse after Emma was gone. How would Emma know about that?"
Maya went pale. "You're right. Unless..."
"Unless someone else knows what Derek did. Someone who's been watching you." I stood up. "We need to find out who's sending these."
"But how?"
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I opened the text message and my blood turned to ice.
It was a photo. Taken this morning. Of Maya walking Lucy to school.
Below the photo were three words:
SHE'S MINE FOREVER.
I showed Maya the phone. She gasped.
"That's Derek's number. He blocked it, but I recognize it."
"He's threatening you. Threatening Lucy." Rage burned through me. "That's it. We're going to the police right now."
"No!" Maya grabbed my arm. "The police won't help. Derek's smart. He hasn't done anything illegal yet. And if we make him angry—"
Another text came through. This time to Maya's phone.
She looked at the screen and went white as a sheet.
"What is it?" I asked.
She turned the phone toward me with shaking hands.
"Jake Sullivan can't protect you, Maya. Nobody can. I'm watching his fire station right now. I can see you through the window. Wave goodbye to your hero. Because by tonight, you'll remember why you belong to me. —Derek"
I rushed to the window and looked out at the parking lot.
A black car sat across the street. The windows were tinted, but I could see someone sitting in the driver's seat.
Watching us.
"Stay here," I told Maya.
"Jake, don't—"
But I was already running outside.
I sprinted across the parking lot toward the black car. The engine roared to life. The car screeched away before I could reach it.
I memorized the license plate and pulled out my phone to call the police.
Then I heard Maya scream.
I ran back inside and found her in the break room, staring at the table in horror.
A third postcard sat there. Fresh. New. Someone had put it there in the thirty seconds I was gone.
Which meant someone had been inside the fire station. Watching us the whole time.
I picked up the postcard with shaking hands and read it aloud:
"The fire seven years ago wasn't an accident, Jake. You know what you did. Tell Maya the truth, or I will. Some heroes are really killers in disguise. —Emma"
The room spun around me.
Maya stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Jake? What fire? What is this talking about?"
My mouth went dry.
Because I knew exactly what fire the postcard meant.
The fire that killed Emma Chen.
And Maya was right to be scared.
Because I'd been lying about that night for seven years.