The Becoming of Noah Shaw (The Shaw Confessions Book 1)

LOOKS LIKE YOU GOT YOUR wish.”

It takes me half a second to register that it’s Leo speaking. He’s still staring at the television screen.

“Pardon?” I ask, because no one else speaks up.

“The archives are gone, just like you wanted,” he says plainly. “Whoever killed her made sure she’d throw you a bone on her way out.”

It doesn’t escape me that he uses the pronoun “she.” Unconsciously, I look for Mara again. “That’s not fair,” I say, unsure if I’m saying it in my own defence, or hers.

“Not fair?”

“Guys.” Daniel stands up, between Leo and me. “This is the exact definition of ‘unhelpful.’ Leo, I am truly, terribly sorry about Felicity, but we might still be able to help Stella. Sophie, is there anything at all, any way you can tell if she’s . . . around?” He’s grasping at straws, and Sophie’s the nearest.

“It’s not like she’s wearing a GPS collar,” Sophie says flatly.

Daniel closes his eyes. He’s not one to shout, but if there were ever a day to start . . .

“I’m going to check if anyone’s called,” I tell him, hoping to redirect him for the moment. He meets my eyes. Nods.

I avoid giving Leo the satisfaction of my attention as I pass, and climb the stairs. Not that I’d know what to say to anyone if they were to call, which version of the truth to hand over, and let them pick at. I consider shutting my mobile off when I find it, until I remember that Stella has my number and might call or text.

My pace quickens—she might’ve called already. The office door is cracked open. I push it the rest of the way to find Mara sitting on the floor.

She’s sitting cross-legged, holding the journal I’d just read from in one hand, while in the other, a letter, old, unfolded. The small silvered trunk is still open.

She looks up at me through a fringe of black lashes. Her expression isn’t guilty, or ashamed, or even angry. It’s nothing.

Mara speaks first. “You didn’t tell me.”

I don’t know which letter she’s holding, I’ve no idea what pages she’s read, but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough that she didn’t ask, and feels entitled enough to accuse me of hiding things from her.

“We don’t have time for this,” I force myself to say. She stares at me like I’m speaking another language, and I’m reminded of the way she looked when she got up from bed one night and threw out her grandmother’s doll, with no memory of it in the morning. Maybe Daniel’s right, and it is involuntary, and she’s got no control of it.

I crouch, taking the letter and journal from her hand. Making contact with her skin. “Felicity’s dead,” I say. “And Stella . . .”

The name brings her to life. “I saw.”

I examine her face, search her eyes, but she looks like herself. Sounds like herself. “You didn’t see her big finish,” I say finally.

Mara blinks, once. “She didn’t—”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“No. Not yet. But she was talking to us. In the . . . film . . . she made.”

“Did she name me?”

I’d used the word “us.” Mara wanted to know if Stella named her.

“If she’s going to, she hasn’t yet,” I say, standing up. It could mean something or nothing, and maybe Daniel will know. I grab my mobile. Indeed, there are over twenty missed calls. Most recently from Ms. Gao, one from Ruth, none from Katie. Maybe she doesn’t know, hasn’t heard.

Or doesn’t care.

Stella hasn’t called or texted either. “Come,” I say to Mara, reaching for her hand. “You can watch the whole thing downstairs. Jamie’s recorded it.”

“She went viral,” Mara says, shaking her head, still sitting on the floor. “Everyone will be looking for her. And she has more time, Felicity didn’t die until—”

“Stella doesn’t want more time,” I say, and the words spark something. “She’s resentful, of all of us. But you the most. She thinks you’re pulling her strings, and she’d rather cut them herself.”

I know the words are true because I understand what’s behind them. Stella’s fought, hard, to change who she is, what she can do. She tried to use her ability for good, to channel it, but it brought her nothing but the sounds of misery and destruction. I understand wanting silence, after that.

But you don’t go public if you want silence. You go public if you want to make noise.