|
Betty placed a folded piece of paper on the table. It was damp, the ink bleeding slightly, but the message was clear: The Devil’s in the Details, and the Details are in the Old Barn.
Betty nodded. “And tonight, during the gala, he’s going to announce a ‘historical restoration project.’ My sources say the old barn is the centerpiece. If he digs there, he’ll find what’s still buried. What we buried.”
Betty’s eyes widened. “What did you do, Veronica?”
And outside, unseen through the rain-streaked window, a figure in a barn coat and muddy boots watched them. The figure smiled, turned, and disappeared into the dark woods where the secrets of Riverdale went to die—and sometimes, to be reborn. Riverdale
“Trouble,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Pickens is collecting relics,” Jughead said, his mind racing. “Properties tied to old traumas. He’s not after land. He’s after leverage. Emotional real estate.”
The rain outside turned to sleet. The neon sign flickered. And in that moment, the four of them realized that Riverdale had not given them a new mystery. It had given them an old one, wrapped in a new skin, with sharper teeth. Betty placed a folded piece of paper on the table
Veronica’s smile was razor-thin. “What I had to. To protect the people I love. The question is: what are you willing to do to protect me?”
Jughead stiffened. Percival Pickens. The name alone tasted like ash. The newcomer who’d bought up half the town’s debts, who’d turned the Babylonium into a private club, who’d smiled at town council meetings while sliding a knife between Riverdale’s ribs.
“I know,” Betty said. “That’s why I’m scared.” “And tonight, during the gala, he’s going to
“The old barn,” Archie said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The one on the edge of Fox Forest? Where Jason Blossom’s body was found?”
The rain intensified, hammering the windows like it was trying to get in. Pop Tate appeared, silent as a ghost, and refilled Jughead’s coffee. He knew better than to ask questions. He’d seen too many Riverdale seasons turn from milkshakes to murder.
Jughead finally looked up, his pale blue eyes sharp. “Maybe that’s all you are to her now. A memory of a simpler time before her father’s empire crumbled, before she had to rebuild it with her mother’s cold, manicured hands.”