The Tuesday rain had turned the world outside the sunroom into a blurring watercolor of grey and green. Inside, the air was still and heavy, smelling of ozone and the cold leftover pizza sitting on the coffee table.
Maya, Chloe, Elena, and Sarah sat in a tight circle around Maya’s laptop. The screen glowed with the paused interface of the podcast app.
EPISODE 6: THE BETRAYAL Runtime: 32:10
“He’s early,” Chloe whispered, checking the time on her phone. “It’s 1:58. He usually uploads at exactly 2:00.”
“Maybe he’s eager,” Elena said, her voice tight. She was still wearing her lab coat, having rushed over straight from the clinic. “Or maybe he knows we’re waiting.”
Maya looked at the faces of the women. They looked exhausted. The last few days—the poison, the stakeout, the confessions—had stripped away the suburban polish, leaving them raw and exposed. They were a unit now, forged in trauma.
Or so she thought.
“Everyone phones off,” Maya commanded. “Put them in the far room. If he’s listening through a mic, I want him to hear this through the laptop only.”
They piled their devices on the kitchen counter and returned to the circle.
Maya pressed play.
The familiar, gravelly voice filled the room, but the background track had changed. It wasn’t the usual eerie synth music. It was the sound of whispering. Hundreds of overlapping voices, unintelligible but urgent.
“Trust is a currency in The Gables,” the narrator began. “We lend it. We borrow it. We steal it. But like any currency, it can be counterfeited.”
Maya watched the waveform spike on the screen.
“The Cul-de-Sac Club thinks they are hunters,” the voice sneered. “They think they have formed a phalanx. A shield wall. They made a pact in the dark. ‘No secrets,’ they said. ‘No lies.’”
The room went dead silent.
Maya felt the blood drain from her face. He had quoted them. Exact words. No secrets. No lies. That was the phrase she had used when they made the pact in this very room.
“It was a touching scene,” the narrator continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hand over hand. A blood oath without the blood. But here is the tragedy of the open hand: you never know who is hiding a knife in the other one.”
Elena shifted on the sofa. “He heard us. He heard the pact.”
“You look for bugs in the vents,” the voice said. “You look for cameras in the trees. You sweep the walls with your little machines. But you’re looking for technology when you should be looking at biology.”
The whispering sound effect grew louder, then cut out abruptly.
“I don’t need a microphone to hear you,” the narrator said, his voice dropping to an intimate, terrifying whisper. “I don’t need a hack. I have a friend. One of you isn’t investigating the murder. One of you is writing it with me.”
Chloe gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“She tells me everything,” the voice purred. “She tells me about the pantry. She tells me about the shed. She tells me about the fear in your eyes when you realized the meat was poisoned. And in exchange… I promise her that she will be the last one standing.”
The audio ended with a sound that made Maya’s stomach turn—the distinct ping of a text message being sent.
The silence that followed was heavier than the storm outside. It was the silence of a vacuum before an explosion.
Elena stood up first. Her movement was sharp, clinical. She turned slowly and looked at Sarah.
“It’s you,” Elena said.
Sarah blinked, shrinking back into the cushions. “What?”
“It’s you,” Elena repeated, louder. “You’re the mole.”
“Elena, stop,” Maya said, standing up. “We don’t know that.”
“Don’t we?” Elena spun on Maya, her eyes blazing. “Who has a history of protecting killers? Who lied for thirty years to save her own skin? Who stood by and watched Juniper Black die because it was convenient?”
“I didn’t!” Sarah cried, scrambling to her feet. “I swore! We made a pact!”
“A pact you broke!” Elena shouted. She advanced on Sarah, backing the older woman toward the glass wall. “He quoted us, Sarah. ‘No secrets.’ Who did you tell? Did you call Garrett? Did you call Elias?”
“I didn’t tell anyone!” Sarah sobbed. “I’ve been terrified! I gave you my dog!”
“A perfect cover,” Elena spat. “The grieving neighbor. The victim. It’s a performance. You’re good at performances, aren’t you? You pretended to be a happy wife while you were sleeping with the police.”
“That’s not fair,” Chloe interjected, though she stayed seated, hugging her knees. Her eyes darted between them, wide with panic. “Maybe it’s… maybe it’s a bug we missed.”
“We swept the house, Chloe!” Elena yelled. “We used your gear. Unless your gear is garbage, the house is clean. Which means the leak isn’t electronic. It’s human.”
She pointed a finger at Sarah’s chest. “He said ‘she.’ ‘She tells me everything.’ There are four of us. Maya started this. I’m risking my medical license. Chloe is risking her livelihood. You? You’re the only one with a motive to stop us.”
“My motive is staying alive!” Sarah screamed back. “He threatened me! He put a note in my mailbox!”
“Or you wrote the note yourself,” Elena countered cold as ice. “To throw us off. To make yourself look like a target instead of a partner.”
“Stop it!” Maya stepped between them, shoving Elena back. “Both of you, stop!”
“He’s winning, Maya,” Elena hissed, not taking her eyes off Sarah. “Can’t you see it? He’s dividing us. And he’s using her to do it.”
“He’s lying,” Maya said firmly. She looked at Sarah, who was trembling against the glass, the rain streaking behind her like prison bars. “He wants us to turn on each other. That’s the plot twist. The betrayal arc.”
“It’s not a plot twist if it’s true,” Elena said. “How did he know about the pantry, Maya? We were in Chloe’s house. A soundproof room. How did he know we talked about the poison? We only discussed that in my kitchen.”
Maya froze. Elena was right. The narrator had mentioned specific details from multiple locations. The pantry. The kitchen. The shed.
“He’s everywhere,” Chloe whispered. “He’s omniscient.”
“No,” Maya said. “He’s not a god. He’s a man.”
She looked at Sarah. Really looked at her. She saw the fear in Sarah’s eyes. It looked genuine. It looked raw. But Sarah had lied for thirty years. She was an expert at hiding the truth behind a veneer of propriety.
But then she looked at Elena. Elena, who had access to poisons. Elena, whose father-in-law was a Blue Suit. Elena, who was so quick to point the finger.
And Chloe. Chloe, who controlled the technology. Chloe, who had swept the house and declared it clean. What if she had left a bug? What if the “gear” was rigged?
The seed of doubt, planted by the gravelly voice, bloomed instantly in Maya’s chest. It was a noxious weed, choking out reason.
“We are not doing this,” Maya said, forcing her voice to be steady. “We are not giving him the satisfaction of a catfight.”
“Then what do we do?” Elena asked. “We can’t trust her.”
“We don’t trust anyone,” Maya said. “We proceed with the investigation. But we verify. Everything.”
She turned to Sarah.
“Sarah, hand over your phone.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “What?”
“If you’re texting him,” Maya said, “it’s on your phone. Unlock it. Give it to Chloe.”
Sarah hesitated. For a second, defiance flashed across her face. Then, she slumped. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her iPhone. She unlocked it and handed it to Chloe.
“Check it,” Maya ordered. “Deleted messages. Hidden apps. The works.”
Chloe took the phone. Her hands were shaking, but she plugged it into her laptop.
“And yours, Elena,” Maya said.
Elena bristled. “Excuse me?”
“No secrets,” Maya said. “That was the deal. If Sarah is being audited, we all are.”
She pulled her own phone out and tossed it onto the table. “Mine too.”
Elena stared at her for a long moment. Then, with a scoff of disgust, she threw her phone onto the pile.
“Fine,” Elena said. “But when you find nothing on mine, and you find a direct line to the killer on hers, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chloe typed furiously for ten minutes. The only sound in the room was the rain and the clicking of keys.
“Well?” Sarah asked, her voice brittle.
Chloe looked up. She looked pale.
“Nothing,” Chloe said. “Sarah’s phone is clean. No texts to unknown numbers. No encrypted apps. Just… a lot of sad Google searches about statutes of limitations.”
Sarah let out a sob of relief.
“What about Elena’s?” Maya asked.
“Clean,” Chloe said. “Just patient files and texts to her mom.”
“And mine?”
“Clean.”
Maya looked at the phones.
“He lied,” Maya said. “He planted the seed. He knew we’d tear each other apart looking for a root that doesn’t exist.”
“Or,” Elena said, taking her phone back and sliding it into her pocket, “the mole is smart enough to use a burner.”
She looked at Sarah one last time. The accusation hadn’t vanished; it had just gone underground.
“I’m going home,” Elena said. “I have to check the locks. Apparently, my friends are just as dangerous as the killer.”
She walked out of the sunroom. The front door slammed moments later.
Sarah sank onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. Chloe looked at Maya, her eyes filled with tears.
“He broke us,” Chloe whispered. “He didn’t even have to touch us. He just said a few words, and we broke.”
Maya looked out at the wetlands. The rain was easing, but the fog was rolling in, obscuring the trees. Somewhere out there, the birdhouse was recording.
“We’re not broken,” Maya said, though she didn’t believe it. “We’re just cracked. And the light gets in through the cracks.”
But as she watched Sarah weep and Chloe tremble, Maya couldn’t help but wonder. Chloe had checked the phones. But who had checked Chloe?
She looked at the influencer, who was packing up her laptop. Chloe Vance, who was drowning in debt. Chloe Vance, who knew how to fake a location and spoof a signal. Chloe Vance, who had been so eager to join the club.
“I promise her she will be the last one standing,” the narrator had said.
Maya felt a chill settle in her bones that no amount of heating could chase away. The pact was still in place, but the trust was gone. They were four women in a glass house, and someone was holding a stone.