Southbound traffic crawls down the highway behind us as I pull my car into the gravel lot.

Aiden leans forward to look through the windshield, see what we’re getting into. Normally we’d send the ghosts ahead to scout for us, but we’re just outside of Ketterbridge, beyond their reach. We have to go in alone.

The address that the thief gave us reveals itself to be the location of a roadside restaurant. It’s one of those places visited almost exclusively by people on a long drive or a road trip, looking for a cheap, fast meal. There’s a handful of cars in the lot, and two trucker’s rigs parked around the back.

The illuminated sign glows feebly, casting its flickering red light over the snow. The restaurant has big, wide windows, and I can see people inside, bent sleepily over their food. 

I park near the front of the lot. Kill the headlights, then the engine. Aiden and I sit in silence for a moment. We’re both kind of nervous about this. I’m not concerned that we’re in danger, because Aiden would hear it if we were. But this might be our only opportunity to talk to the thief, to get some much-needed answers.

I really don’t want to go home with nothing, then have to break the news to Kasey and Will. I know that Aiden doesn’t want to, either.

He reaches over and wraps a massive hand around my thigh, gives it a very gentle squeeze.

The little gesture helps power me across the parking lot. Aiden walks alongside me, and just the warmth of his presence serves to steady me out, soothe my nerves.

Aiden reaches for the door, swings it out to let us inside.

Faint music meets my ears. On top of that, a quiet layer of conversation and kitchen noises. The restaurant isn’t exactly crowded, but it’s busy enough that Aiden and I have to carefully scan the room before we spot her.

She’s in the very back, looking out through the nearby window. Leaning back in the booth, her arms folded over her chest.

Aiden gives my hand a covert squeeze, and we exchange a quick glance before we cross to her. I draw some strength from the brief contact, take a few deep breaths.

We come to a stop before the table. I’m just thinking that we finally managed to catch her by surprise, when -

“About time,” she says, without turning her head or breaking her gaze away from the window.

This is the first chance we’ve had to get an actual, real look at her. It’s also the first time we’re seeing her with no disguise, no hood up over her buzzcut.

She’s wearing something like a flight-suit, faded navy blue in color. But she’s not wearing the top part, and the empty sleeves are knotted at her waist. A plain black t-shirt on top of that, the short sleeves revealing surprisingly muscular arms. Her legs are kicked out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. She’s got heavy black boots that remind me of Noah’s, except that hers are peppered with splashes of dried mud. The cuffs of the flight-suit are tucked into them.

The whole picture makes me think military, but we know better. And even if we didn’t know that she’s a thief, she’s way too much of a renegade to sign up for a job taking orders from anyone else. That much is obvious, just from the few brushes we’ve had with her already.

So this is just - her look, I guess, when she’s not busy stealing things.

She turns to face us, and I see that she’s still got the sunburn across her nose and cheeks, along with the stud nose piercing.

“Sit,” she says flatly. “Phones out and off.”

Aiden and I drop into the booth across from her. We take out our phones, switch them off, and set them on the table. The thief picks them up and examines them as we shrug out of our jackets. I don’t know what she’s checking them for, but she seems satisfied. She puts them down. Then she sets one elbow on top of the booth behind her, lounges back into it, and observes us through narrowed eyes.

There’s a silence as we size each other up. The thief’s expression gives nothing away.

I try not to hold my breath as we wait for her to speak.

“You two shitwits have caused an awful lot of headaches for me, you know that?” she finally says, in a weary voice.

Aiden draws back, offended.

“Not on purpose,” he protests, and I hastily step in before we can get further off-track.

“Okay, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I say, holding up my palms. “Can we start over? We haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m-”

“James Keane,” the thief says, brown eyes unblinking. “I know. I had your wallet, remember? Your ID was inside.”

“Yeah, I remember.” I can’t help but sound a little sour about it. “You made me look very stupid in front of everyone at the hardware store, so. Thanks for that.”

I blink in surprise as she snickers to herself, then quickly presses her fingers over her mouth.

“Oh, I’m glad it’s funny to you!” I blurt out, before I can stop myself.

Her controlled expression suddenly cracks into a satisfied grin. “It is.”

“Wh-?”

“Okay, Jamie,” Aiden cuts in. He seems ready to laugh, too - probably because of the extremely indignant look on my face - but he manages to hold it back. “Let’s just-”

“And you,” the thief interrupts, turning her gaze on him. “Aiden Callahan. You’re the archivist who felt the need to drag up ancient history, for some goddamn reason?”

It makes sense that the thief would have my full name, but I have no idea where she got Aiden's. I’m taken aback, but Aiden is more composed than I am, even when caught off-guard.

“What about you?” he rumbles, his deep voice calm and even. “You’re the one who’s blocked our every attempt to get to the bottom of this thing.”

“I’m sorry, is it my fault that you keep letting yourself get outmaneuvered?” The thief quirks an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Alright, well - this is unfair,” I tell her. “You know a lot about us, apparently, but we don’t know anything about you. Can we get a name to work with, at least?”

“Nope, you can’t. I came here to get answers from you, not the other way around.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Aiden says, “Because if you want answers from us, we need some from you, too. Your name would be a good place to start. I think we deserve at least that much equal footing, don’t you?”

The thief considers this. She straightens up and leans forward. Folds her elbows on the table, looking at us. As she comes closer, I catch a whiff of some scent clinging to her. I can’t quite place it, but it’s sweet and woodsy.

She debates with herself for another moment, runs a hand over her buzzed hair.

“Calla,” she says.

Aiden and I glance at each other, startled. I don’t think that either of us expected her to actually give up her name.

“Calla,” I repeat. “Like the flower?”

“Uh-huh.”

We’ve had calla lilies at the shop before, and their sweet scent vaguely reminds me of the one that clings to Calla herself. They have beautiful, graceful petals, but they’re surprisingly tough. Not to mention extremely poisonous to anything that might try to eat them.

The name suits her. Something tells me it isn’t an alias, like John Botswick.

Calla folds her hands around her cup of coffee, frowning at us.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” she says, “Mind telling me what the fuck you think you’re doing, looking into the Botswick case?”

There’s something about the way she says Botswick. Her jaw flexes with distaste, and she spits out the word like she hates it.

“We…” I hesitate, then just blurt it out. “We need to solve it.”

“No,” Calla says firmly, “You really, really don’t. In fact, that’s a supremely bad idea.”

“Says the person who broke into a detective’s office,” Aiden fires back. “And fucked with the security cameras at a police station, no less.”

“Please, they’re never gonna notice,” Calla scoffs. “Here I was thinking I’d have to break in and do a manual override. The cops practically left the gates open. I could have done it from my phone. And it’s neither here nor there, anyways. You want to go after cold cases, fine. Knock yourselves out. But not this one. It can’t be this one.”

“We have to solve this one,” Aiden explains. “This one, specifically.”

“No, you don’t. Lay off, already.”

“We - can’t,” I answer, with an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry, but we can’t.”

Calla slumps back in the booth and lets out a soft groan, her voice raw with frustration.

“Why?” Her hand on the table curls into a fist. “For justice, or whatever? Gimme a fuckin’ break. Do you guys even know who John Botswick was? What he would have done, if-?”

She breaks off sharply, bites down on her lip.

“No,” Aiden says slowly, “But you could tell us.”

Calla glares at him in a way that implies there’s little to no hope of that. I would shrink back from such a scalding look, but Aiden is another matter.

“We’re not the enemy,” he says, steady and calm as ever.

“No, we’re really not!” I jump in. “I think you’ll find that we’re pretty much harmless.”

“Really?” Calla arches a quizzical eyebrow, her eyes flicking to Aiden. “Because this guy is built like a fucking titan, first of all-”

“We should be working together, not against each other,” I forge on. “Honestly, we’ve got mad respect for you, we have no fucking idea how you’ve managed to pull off half the stuff you’ve done. You’d make such a dope addition to our team! Don’t you think so, Aiden?”

“Shit, yeah. Of course.” Aiden nods in immediate agreement. “We don’t have a thief, yet.”

Calla lets out a derisive snort.

“What is this, recruitment? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m a team of one. Always will be.”

“Nobody is a team of one,” I answer.

Calla blinks, pauses. She just looks at me for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Calla,” I say earnestly, leaning forward. “We’re not trying to get anyone in trouble, I promise. We just need to know what happened. We’re no snitches, and I think it’s probably obvious that we’re not law enforcement.”

Calla searches my face with her sharp brown eyes. “Then what are you?”

“Just…” I hesitate, choosing my words. “People looking for the truth.”

Calla’s eyes narrow. She sits back and stares at us, thinking over what I said. A long silence passes.

“Look, here’s the deal,” she finally says. “I don’t have a problem with you guys, alright? I appreciate you helping me out at the police station, and not saying anything to the cops after I left. I also appreciate that you’re not threatening to tell the cops everything if I don’t cooperate. Even though I suspect that it’s because the idea didn’t occur to you.”

“Oh, my god!” I press a hand to my chest, shocked by the thought alone. “We would never - that would be so mean!”

Calla’s eyebrows shoot up. She lets out another soft laugh, apparently amused by my response.

“Yeah, you know what? I actually kinda like you two. Unfortunately. But if the facts of the Botswick case come to light…” She drops her volume, looking at us very seriously. “It happened a long time ago, but there’s still someone around who could get in a lot of trouble.”

Aiden and I exchange the briefest glance, then turn back to Calla, who is considering her next words.

“You guys investigate all you want. I won’t stop you. But if that certain someone does get in trouble, and it’s because of you two…”

She hooks a finger at us. We both lean in closer.

“I won’t hesitate to rain down hellfire on both of you,” she whispers, “And I mean that.”

While we’re still processing this, Calla slides out of the booth, gets to her feet, and heads for the door.

“Calla - wait!” I scramble to my feet, rush to catch her by the wrist. She turns sharply, her gaze snapping from my hand to my face.

“Careful,” she murmurs, very softly. “You wouldn’t want to break a finger, would you?”

“Listen,” I say desperately, “I understand that you’re trying to protect someone important to you. I get that, honestly, I do. But if we don’t solve the Botswick case, Aiden and I won’t be able to help someone important to us. Two someones, actually. Can we please just work together?”

I find myself startled by the sudden flash of sympathy that moves through Calla’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, James,” she says, and sounds like she means it. “But my person has to come first.”

She frees her hand from mine, then crosses the restaurant without another word. I stand there and watch her until she steps outside, disappearing into the night.

Realizing that there’s something in my hand, I look down. Then I let out a sort of groan-laugh, dropping back into the booth. Calla slipped the bill for her coffee into the sleeve of my flannel. I didn’t even feel her do it.

“Looks like coffee’s on us.” I toss the bill down on the table, let out a heavy sigh. “That was a disaster.”

“Was it?” Aiden trails a thoughtful finger along his lip. “I think we got some good information from that.”

I look at him, thinking it over.

“That’s - true, actually. Now we know that there’s still somebody around who was involved in what happened to John Botswick. And whoever that person is, they’re connected to Calla somehow.”

“Exactly.” Aiden nods slowly. “And what do you think she meant about Botswick?”

I take a second to reflect on Calla’s words.

Do you guys even know who John Botswick was? What he would have done, if-?

“I’m not sure,” I answer, and Aiden nods again.

“Me, neither.”

We both fall silent, reflecting on everything that Calla said. I perk up a little, going back through it. We got more than I thought, and Calla promised to stop hampering our investigation. It sounds like we need to be very careful not to get anybody in trouble - I doubt that Calla was exaggerating when she warned us about the consequences of doing so - but we never planned to do that, anyways.

I suddenly feel much better about how this meet-up went.

I gently head-butt Aiden’s shoulder, rousing him from the cloud of his thoughts. He blinks and looks down at me, breaks into a warm smile.

“Should we go tell the ghosts?” I ask.

“Yes, but first let’s get some food.”

I glance up at the counter where we’re meant to order. The display case is filled with pizza, and even from here, I can tell that there’s cold grease hardening onto the cheese.

“Um - do we have to eat here?”

“Nah, dude,” Aiden laughs, pulling on his jacket. “Let’s go get pho, right?”

“Oh, yes, thank god. I don’t think that Calla chose this place for the food. There was probably some, like - tactical reason.”

“Yep,” Aiden agrees, following me out of the booth. “Knowing Calla, that’s probably true.”

I’m about to remind Aiden that we don’t really know Calla, not at all. But after our talk, I actually do feel like I know her better. She tried to give us as little information as possible, but she revealed a few things. Her motivations, for one. There’s somebody she’s trying to keep safe.

Someone she loves. My person, she said.

I know who I instantly think of when I say my person. He’s got his fingers twined through mine, leading me up to the counter so we can pay for the coffee. So - who is Calla’s person, and what’s her relationship to them? A friend? Family?

Once again, we’re down to the same question that none of us could answer when Kasey posed it after the police station.

Who is Calla protecting?