The Garden

The facility was not what he had expected. For two agonizing years of dead ends and quiet searches, Dante had built a specific version of this place inside his mind. He had envisioned something clinical, cold, and deliberately anonymous—the kind of high-walled institution explicitly designed to keep someone unfindable. Instead, at the end of a long, forty-minute drive through a winter countryside that had turned entirely flat, bare, and grey, the GPS directed him to a narrow country road. Behind a low, weathered stone wall sat a large, converted house. Wrought iron gates stood open, offering a clear view of a dormant winter garden, and beside the intercom hung a small brass nameplate. The letters engraved into the metal were modest enough that a person could easily drive right past the entrance without ever registering they were there: Hillcrest Recovery Centre. He sat in the idling rental car outside the gates for exactly four minutes. The engine purred quietly against the win

Richard's Move

Mason texted at seven forty-three on a Tuesday morning. The message was brief. Call me. Now. Dante dialed his number back immediately, his boots hitting the cold floorboards as he swung his legs out of bed. Mason picked up on the very first ring, his breathing heavy through the line. He skipped any form of greeting, cutting directly into the quiet room. "Have you seen the campus paper yet?" "I just woke up," Dante muttered, running a rough hand over his face. "Look at it," Mason told him bluntly, his voice laced with an aggressive sort of tension. "Front page. Right now. Call me back when you've actually read it." Dante didn't call back. Instead, he kept Mason on the line while he opened the browser on his phone and loaded the university’s student publication home page. It took a few agonizing seconds to buffer in the morning quiet, the blue light of the screen reflecting sharply in his eyes, and then the massive headline appeared in bold black text at the very top of the layout:

Just Saturday

Her phone buzzed against the wooden nightstand at exactly eight fifteen on a Saturday morning. Ariana buried her face deeper into the pillow, ignoring the vibration and pulling the thick blanket up over her shoulders to block out the sound. The phone went off a second time, followed immediately by a third sharp vibration. Giving up on the idea of sleep, she reached out of her warm cocoon, her fingers brushing the cold laminate surface, and grabbed it. There were three text messages from Dante, each sent precisely a minute apart.Are you awake.Actually don't answer that. Stupid question. It's eight fifteen.Okay but are you awake. Ariana turned onto her back, her eyes tracking across the small, shadowed room. Zoe's bed was completely empty, the sheets tossed back in a rushed scramble. She had stayed over at Eli's house the previous night and hadn't made the slightest attempt to hide the fact when she left. The dorm room felt hollow and cold, the morning light filtering through the

The Interruption

Three weeks after their Saturday in the city, Ariana knew the layout of Dante's room better than her own dorm. She knew the room by heart. She could walk through it in the pitch dark without tripping over a single thing. She knew the exact spot where the floorboards groaned under a heavy step near the closet. She knew the way the winter cold leaked through the window glass, making the air smell like frost. She knew the tiny desk lamp gave off a soft, golden light that was much better than the ugly overhead bulbs. She knew the third shelf of his bookcase had a small gap right next to a row of thick football playbook binders. That gap was his personal landing pad. It was the exact place where he dropped his phone charger, his heavy car keys, and his loose pocket change at the end of every grueling day. She knew he brewed his coffee way too strong, using double the normal grounds. He did it every single morning, he saw absolutely no problem with it, and he was never going to change his

After

The dinner did something neither of them expected.It wasn't the food, though the small place Zoe found was good. It was just being four normal people at a table on a Tuesday night. Nobody mentioned Richard. Nobody mentioned the lawyer's call. Zoe knew about it, Ariana had told her before they left, but she kept the evening light, steering conversation toward safe ground. By the time they left, Ariana had laughed more than she had in two weeks, and Dante's shoulders had finally relaxed.That was three days ago.Walking across campus toward the media center, Ariana realized something had changed. The dinner had reminded them that their life wasn't only the difficult parts.Dante found her at her desk that evening.He sat down, pulled his chair beside hers, and set two coffees down, hers first, then his."You're quiet," she said."I'm just thinking.""About what?"He turned his cup slowly. "The lawyer called me back today. About the NDA challenge."She turned to face him properly. "And

All Chapters of Touchdown For The Devil : Chapter 41 - Chapter 45

The Garden

Richard's Move

Just Saturday

The Interruption

After