That could be why he looked like shit.
I let out a sharp breath. “Have you seen Skye this morning?”
“Skye?” He shook his head. “No. Not today.”
Damn it. Disappointment crushed my chest.
“She’s not answering her phone,” I continued. “I’m getting worried.”
Ash’s frown sharpened. “How long has it been since you’ve heard from her?”
Whize had seen her early this morning and it was getting close to noon now.
“Awhile.”
He must have heard the seriousness in my tone because his expression shifted. Hardened. He nodded slowly, as if processing. “That’s weird. My phone’s inside—maybe I can try her for you.” He stepped back and held the door openfor me. “Come in.”
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how helpful having him call her from his phone would be, but on the off chance that she was pointedly ignoring my calls in particular, I stepped inside.
I would try anything at this point.
It had been years since I’d set foot in the Adler home. The moment the door shut behind me, a flood of memories hit. The last time I’d been here was when I’d watched Skye pack her life away into a bag and leave.
I tried to ignore the vise grip anxiety had on my heart at the prospect that the same thing could’ve happened again. She could’ve left. She could’ve decided that last night had been a mistake…
I shoved a hand through my hair, forcing those thoughts away.
Logically, she couldn’t have left. All her things were still in her room at the bed-and-breakfast. She was still working on the documentary. She wouldn’t have given up on her work like that.
I followed Ash through the living room and into the kitchen. Everything looked normal. Lived in. Comfortable. The place had been spruced up since the last time I’d been here. It was almost nice now.
Ash paused a few paces into the kitchen. “What the hell?” he murmured to himself. He looked at the counter, then spun around, eyes darting around the space. “I swear I just had my phone in here.” He patted his pockets. “You don’t see it, do you?”
Frowning, I glanced around automatically, scanning the kitchen table, the counters, the windowsill. I didn’t see it.
“Maybe it’s in the living room?” I didn’t remember seeing it, but I hadn’t been looking.
I turned, already stepping back toward the room we’d walked through. I glanced at the coffee table, but saw nothing there but a mug.
Something overcame me, then. I wasn’t sure where the feeling came from, but something deep inside my gut called to me in warning. The hair on the back of my neck lifted. A slow trickle of dread slid down my spine.
Hurried footsteps behind me had me moving, reacting.
I spun as Ash lunged toward me, something glinting in his hand.
Instinct took over, and I threw my arm up to block the strike. The knife grazed my shoulder before I knocked his arm aside, pain ripping through me.
“What the hell, Ash?” I shouted, reeling back, almost losing my footing near the threshold into the living room.
His face twisted—rage, grief, and something I didn’t understand blazed in his eyes.
“If it wasn’t for you,” he spat, “she wouldn’t have left.”
He came at me again, the knife flashing.
I blocked him with my forearm, barely managing to keep the blade away from my side. It scraped across my jacket, the fabric ripping.
My heart thundered. “Ash—what the hell are you talking about?”
