That night, I lay awake in my bed, staring at the journal resting on my desk. Its faded cover seemed heavier than it should be, like it held the weight of my mother's secrets—and maybe her death.
*"The parties, the token, the cult... murders tied to the 'Last Call,'"* I thought, turning over every piece of information we had. Damien's warning was still fresh in my ears: *"They killed her to keep it hidden."*
My mother's connection to the cult was clear, but the rest? It didn't add up.
I reached for the phone Andy had given me, my fingers brushing against the cool surface. That stupid phone—the beginning of all of this chaos. It had become more of a curse than a tool, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Turning it over in my hands, I frowned. *What does this even have to do with the murders?*
I sat up, the sheets tangling around my legs as I stared at the blank screen.
"Why is it always connected to this?" I whispered to myself.
Andy said she'd given it to me so we could stay in touch. But why had this phone—of all things—become the centre of everything?
First, the strange text notifications. Then the blocks happening without my input. And now, people tied to me were turning up dead, the word *"Blocked"* carved into their bodies.
*Andrew, Hannah... whoever's next.*
*But why?*
If these murders were connected to the high-society cult, what did the phone have to do with any of it? My mother didn't own it—how could it possibly tie back to her death or the 'Last Call'?
I closed my eyes, trying to connect the dots.
The cult parties. The invitation. The pendant. The murders. The phone.
They were all threads of the same tangled web, but the more I tried to pull them together, the more they unraveled.
My chest tightened, frustration bubbling into anger. I tossed the phone onto the desk and buried my face in my hands.
And then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—small, fleeting, but sharp enough to make me freeze.
I was sitting on the carpet in my old bedroom, playing with a doll. My mother's shadow loomed over me as she moved quickly, hurriedly, glancing over her shoulder. I remembered the faint sound of her breath, heavy and quick, as she knelt near the far corner of the room.
She lifted the edge of the rug, revealing the wooden floor underneath.
Then, with trembling hands, she pried one of the planks loose. I couldn't see what she placed inside—just a small, dark object. When she turned back to me, her face was pale, her voice low as she said:
*"Mia, don't touch this, okay? Don't tell anyone about it either."*
At the time, I didn't question it. She tucked the plank back into place and smoothed the rug over it as if nothing had happened.
But now, the memory burned in my mind like a flashing signal.
*What was she hiding?*
I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart hammering. That was my childhood room. The house I hadn't set foot in for years.
Could it still be there?
The thought sent chills down my spine. If this was somehow connected to her, then what did it mean for me?
I picked up the phone again, flipping it over and pressing the power button. The screen lit up, its glow cutting through the darkness. My reflection stared back at me, pale and drawn.
But nothing new happened. No texts. No notifications. Just silence.
I let out a shaky breath, setting it back down.
*If this phone is part of it, then who's pulling the strings? And why me?*
My mother's death. The murders. The cult.
And now me, right in the centre of it all.
The answers felt just out of reach like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the void.
And for the first time in a long time, I was terrified of what I might find if I kept going.
The café smelled of burnt coffee beans and cinnamon, the murmur of conversation blending with the clinking of mugs and plates. I sat at a corner booth, drumming my fingers against the table as I waited for Sebastian and Zaire. My phone buzzed.
Sebastian: Almost there.
Zaire: Two minutes.
I exhaled sharply, checking the time on my phone for the tenth time. The thoughts swirling in my head felt heavier than ever, the memory of my mother's hidden stash nagging at me.
The bell above the café door chimed, and Sebastian walked in, Zaire trailing behind him. Sebastian gave me a small smile before sliding into the seat across from me. Zaire sat next to him, looking curious but slightly annoyed.
"What's up, Mia?" Zaire asked, leaning back in his chair. "You looked pretty intense over text."
"I remembered something," I said, keeping my voice low.
Sebastian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it?"
I hesitated for a moment, biting my lip. "Before we get into that... I've been thinking about the phone."
Both of them exchanged a glance. "What about it?" Zaire asked.
I ran my fingers through my hair, frustrated. "What connection could it possibly have to all this? It doesn't make sense. I mean, Hannah's death, Andrew's murder, this 'Last Call' thing—they're all tied to the cult or the drug circuit. So how does the phone fit in?"
Sebastian tilted his head, thoughtful. "You said Andy gave it to you, right? Have you asked her where she got it?"
I frowned. "She's... out of the country. On some tour with her spiritual group." I sighed. "It's one of those 'Say No to Tech' camps arranged by some meditation group. She won't even touch her phone until the retreat ends."
Zaire raised an eyebrow. "Convenient timing."
Sebastian nodded but didn't comment further. Instead, he asked, "So, what did you remember?"
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "It's about my mother. Back when I was a kid, I saw her hide something under the flooring of my room. I didn't think much of it then, but now..." I trailed off, glancing at both of them. "I think it might be connected to everything."
Zaire straightened in his seat. "You want to go back to your old house?"
I nodded. "Yeah. If we're going to figure out where this 'Last Call' party is and when it's happening, we need answers. And if my mom knew anything..."
Sebastian placed a comforting hand on my arm, his expression serious. "Then we need to find it."
***
"This way," I said, leading them to my old bedroom.
The room was empty except for a tattered rug in the corner. My heart raced as I knelt down and pulled it back, revealing the wooden planks beneath.
"This is it," I whispered, my hands trembling as I pried up the loose plank.
Zaire crouched beside me, shining his phone's flashlight into the dark space. There, nestled in the hollow, was a small velvet pouch. My breath hitched as I pulled it out, the fabric soft but worn with age.
"What is it?" Sebastian asked, crouching on my other side.
I opened the pouch and tipped its contents into my palm. A silver pendant fell out, attached to a thin chain. It was shaped like a snake eating its own tail—the same symbol we'd seen in Andrew's diary.
"Is this...?" Zaire started, his voice trailing off.
"It's a token," Sebastian said, his voice steady. "This is how they get into the parties."
I nodded, my fingers tightening around the pendant. My mind raced with questions, but one stood out above the rest.
"When's the next party?" I whispered. "And where?"