THE CAGE OF TRUTH

The moment Julian and I stepped out of the car, the world erupted like a frenzied hive. Camera flashes burst through the fog in violent white lashes, each one slicing through the damp air like lightning. Paparazzi voices layered over one another; some desperate, some mocking, some hungry.

“AVA! AVA, OVER HERE!” 

“JULIAN, ARE THE RUMORS TRUE?

“AVA, IS IT TRUE YOU KILLED NOAH?”

A knife-stab of fear ripped through my stomach at the sound of Noah’s name. Julian touched my arm lightly, a barely-there anchor. His fingers were cold. Or maybe mine were.

We hurried inside.

The heavy oak doors slammed behind us with a hollow thud that vibrated up the staircase. The silence felt suffocating like the house swallowed the noise whole and sealed us inside its lungs. Blackwater Hall smelled different tonight. Not just cedar, salt, and cigarette smoke.

Something sharper lingered beneath it.

Metallic.

Clinical.

I knew that smell.

Latex.

Bleach.

The aftermath of officers.

This is a crime scene…

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Julian asked softly. His voice echoed strangely in the too-big hall.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

But the dizziness hit violently. The world tilted. I clutched the nearest table.

“Ava?” Julian moved toward me, worry slicing through his voice.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, because saying it felt like I still had control of something anything. Then I looked at the enormous ornate mirror beside the staircase. And everything inside me froze. My reflection didn’t look like me. Not the me I was an hour ago, or yesterday. This version was pale, colorless, lips bluish, eyes swollen and hollow like old bruises. My rain-damp hair clung to my face, tangled, making me look like I had crawled out of the sea instead of a car.

I looked like a pulled thread of myself.

I looked like one of the Polaroid girls.

I looked Just like Hanna.

And behind me for a heartbeat, Levi’s outline flickered.

The piano.

The attic.

The photo wall.

The house breathing.

Noah whispering: Now you know enough.

My hand flew to my chest. Panic clawed its way up my throat.

“Ava. Look at me.”  Julian’s voice cut through the fear.

I blinked.

The mirror snapped back. Just me shaky, exhausted, terrified… but alive.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “Dizzy.”

“You’re recovering from surgery,” he murmured. “And you barely slept after… everything.”

He meant Noah.

His trembling voice.

The key.

The attic.

His body on the ground. The officers filling the house. Claire pale as chalk. Julian unable to breathe.

I shoved the memory away.

That’s when Claire, she materialized behind us like a storm wearing heels. Her hair was a perfect twist; her lipstick flawless despite the rain. Someone carved her out of marble, martinis, and pure force.

“Good,” she said sharply. “Let’s get down to business.” She brushed her hair with her fingers as she would usually do when chaos tried to mingle with her.

“Claire what now?” Julian started.

“Don’t ‘what now’ ME!” The press is hysterical. The police are circling. You’ve turned Blackwater Hall into a crime scene and a circus. This is PR crisis of such proportions it makes me doubt my own ability to fix this! I should have chosen the rich housewives lifestyle…” She touched her forehead groaning “I have such a headache I need a martini…” Then her eyes flicked to me.

“You look like you’re about to faint.” She said looking me up and down almost with disgust.

“Thank you,” I muttered. “Every girl’s dream compliment.” I tried to laugh through the pain.

“Both of you FOCUS!”

Claire was shaken. Not just about Julian or about Noah.

She gestured down the hallway.

“Living room. Now!” 

The living room felt colder than usual, fog pressing against the glass, the faint smell of disinfectant lingering like a ghost. Julian dropped onto the sofa, head in his hands. Claire remained standing.

“We need to talk about the police,” she said. “What they know. What they suspect.”

Julian looked up. “We didn’t kill Noah.”

“Well, Ava did,” Claire replied looking at me. “Self-defense, yes, but the police don’t know that. And you, Julian, have an unfortunate habit of being near dead people.”

He flinched.

She didn’t apologize.

“They’re going to ask about your brother,” she continued. “About Berlin. About the girls. About the book. About Ava. About everything.”

My stomach twisted. Something cold slid through my ribs.

“What are you saying?” I whispered.

“I’m saying,” Claire said tightly, “that the police are connecting threads we spent years burying.” She took a breath, the kind people take before dropping a bomb.

“And the moment Levi enters this conversation, everything changes.”

Julian froze.

Claire continued, her voice turning clinical, lawyer-cold.

“The second you tell the police what Levi did, this stops being about Noah. It becomes a historical abuse investigation. Major. High profile. The kind prosecutors dream of.”

A chill ran up my spine.

Levi’s shadow felt suddenly heavier in the room.

“Julian,” she said, “the law doesn’t care that you were afraid of him. Or that you were a victim too. They will look at your silence. Your presence. Your cleanup. Your protection of him.”

Julian’s face crumpled.

Claire pressed on:

“They can charge you with complicity. Accessory after the fact. Obstruction. Failure to report. And if they believe you helped him cover anything up? Five to ten years. Maybe twenty.”

Twenty.

My breath hitched.

A cell door slammed in my mind.

Julian behind bars pale, unraveling.

Me alone.

I felt like I was falling.

“And Ava” she said, turning toward me.

My heart jumped to my throat.

“If you knew anything about the attic, the photos, the girls even unintentionally they will twist that into involvement. Proximity is participation in their eyes. They’ll say you helped Julian. Or Levi. Or both.”

My mouth went dry.

“I didn’t know…”

“They don’t care,” Claire said. “They only need to convince a jury.”

My chest tightened painfully.

Me?

Involved in Levi’s nightmare?

The thought alone made me feel sick.

“And because you killed Noah,” she added, “they will say you tied up loose ends.”

“I defended myself!” I gasped.

“They don’t care,” Claire repeated. “The optics are terrible.”

Julian’s voice cracked. “We’re not lying anymore.”

Claire stiffened.

“Julian. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.”

“No more burying,” he said. “I’m telling the truth.”

“If you confess,” Claire hissed, “you are giving them motive for everything. You are painting a target on your own back.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered. His hands were shaking.His whole body trembled like a string pulled too tight.

A quiet dread pooled in my stomach.

“Let them think what they want,” Julian said. “I’m done lying.”

Claire looked devastated.

“Julian… the truth won’t save you. It will bury you!”

But he turned toward me.

Slowly.

Like the world had narrowed to a single point.

“Ava,” he said softly. “I want you to write my statement. My confession.”

He swallowed.

“And it will be the last thing you ever write for anyone. After this… you’ll never be a ghostwriter. Do you understand Ava?” He swallowed his tears.

It felt like something inside me shattered.

“Julian…” My voice was barely audible.

He didn’t look away.

“You’ll write my truth,” he said. “My last chapter. And then you’ll walk away from me. You’ll live. You’ll survive.”

Claire gripped the back of a chair as if she needed to hold herself upright.

“You can’t Ava don’t do it!” She yelled 

Julian’s eyes were on me pleading, breaking, certain.

“It’s time,” he said.

My pulse pounded. My lungs felt too small. The room tilted.

The house seemed to lean in, waiting.

And beneath the terror beneath the grief something hot and electric sparked inside me.

Rage.

Not at Julian.

At everything.

“I will,” I whispered.

Julian exhaled with relief and sorrow tangled together.

Claire turned away, eyes shining.

“God help us.”

But I shook my head.

“No.”

I looked toward the fogged window, where distant flashes still flickered like war outside.

“God help them.”

Because the truth wasn’t coming quietly. It was coming like a storm. And with the police approaching, Levi’s ghosts rising, and decades of secrets unraveling…

This wasn’t just a confession.

This was the beginning of a war.