She pulled into a motel hours later, exhaustion dragging her limbs. The room was small, the wallpaper peeling, but it felt safer than any place she’d known in months. Dropping the bag Nina had given her onto the bed, she rummaged through it and froze.

At the bottom, tucked beneath clothes and cash, was a folded note.

Millie, You’ve given me and Cecelia a second chance. I can’t thank you enough for your strength. Don’t look back. Don’t contact us. Live your life. Nina.

Millie read the words twice, then again, her unease deepening. The tone wasn’t one of gratitude—it felt like closure, a final act in a play Millie hadn’t realized she was part of.

Sleep eluded her, the quiet hum of the motel’s air conditioner amplifying her thoughts. Had Nina truly been a victim? Or had she orchestrated everything, using Millie as her unwitting weapon?

Morning brought no clarity, only a sense of resolve. She couldn’t let the mystery consume her. With the cash Nina had provided, she bought a used phone, careful to leave no trail. She considered calling the police, but the risk was too great. Nina’s warning echoed in her mind: Even in death, his influence will crush us.