The Marked One

“Because nobody gave us permission to touch the main audio board,” Dale said, pinning Mara with a stare. “Especially not you, Quinn. Does your father know you touched that tape?” Mara blinked. How did he know her father’s name? Dale seemed to realize he had said too much. He looked away toward the window. Jessa saw the slip instantly. She never trusted a man who mentioned a family name without a reason. Outside, a horn blasted from the street. The local paper’s delivery van had pulled up, the side panel stamped with Bluestone Bay Messenger. Mara’s mother wasn’t here, but the sight triggered a memory: an old photo on the refrigerator at home, her father standing on a dock thirty years ago beside a teenage boy whose face had been half folded out by