Riverdale -

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.”

A silence fell, heavier than the rain. Archie looked from Betty’s grim determination to Jughead’s calculating stare. Outside, a flash of lightning illuminated the parking lot—and a single, sleek black town car pulling in.

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. Riverdale

“Midnight,” Archie said. “The old barn. We finish this.”

“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.” Betty nodded

“The very same,” Betty said. “And here’s the detail the police report missed. The barn was sold six months ago to a shell company. A shell company that traces back to a certain Mr. Percival Pickens.”

“And?”

Jughead’s pen stopped scratching. “Alice Cooper is in a facility two counties over. Medicated. Watched.”