“Is she on the way?” she pressed, already scribbling down the information, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Should be,” Thorne chimed in, the lie as easy for him as it was necessary.
As they wheeled Serina away, I felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon my chest. The doors swung shut behind us as they wheeled Serina away, the finality of their click echoing the urgency of our departure.
We couldn't linger here, couldn't risk being seen, being questioned.
“Come on,” Nox muttered, as he turned to the nurse. “Forget we were here,” he said, and her eyes glazed over from compulsion as we slipped away like ghosts, leaving the nurse looking around confused.
Outside, the cool night air wrapped around us as I pulled out my phone and dialed Serina’s emergency contact number. Her cousin answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” she called through the line.
I masked my accent. “Hi, is this Eliza Bennett's emergency contact?”
“Yes, is she alright? What’s happened?”
“Mrs. Bennett is in critical condition. Get to Healthbridge Hospital as soon as you can.” I hung up before she could respond.
We stood huddled together by the car, the silence stretching until it was almost too much to bear.
“We can't let Victor get to her again,” I said, breaking the stillness, my voice more steady than I felt.
Nox and Thorne nodded, their expressions hardening. “We won't,” they agreed in unison.
We climbed back into the car, the engine coming to life with a roar that matched the newfound purpose coursing through us. Now, we weren't just fighting to be free of Victor; we were fighting for Serina. For her right to live, to laugh, to love in a world that had shown her little kindness.
33
Bastian
Iwokewithastart, the sheets next to me cold and empty where Serina should have been.
My heart hitched, and I sat upright, scanning the dark room for her. For the gentle sound of her breath, her heartbeat, and finding nothing but shadows and silence.
“Serina?” My voice was rough with sleep and burgeoning panic, the name a plea in the stillness. She wasn't there. “Damn it,” I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the floorboards seeping into my bones.
I reached out with my senses, extending threads of awareness through the house, seeking her warmth. Nothing.
With every breath, dread formed like a lead weight in my gut.
It wasn't like her, not without a word. Something was wrong.
“Thorne! Nox!” I called out, my voice a sharp command slicing through the quiet of the house. They emerged from the bed, hair tousled from sleep, eyes instantly alert. “She's gone.”
Their reactions were swift—a mirror of my own.
We moved through the house. Our usual bickering and teasing, the easy camaraderie that defined our brotherhood, lay forgotten in the face of Serina's absence.
“Could she have stepped out for air, maybe she had a nightmare?” Thorne asked, though his voice betrayed his skepticism.
“Without telling any of us?” Nox countered, pulling on his boots with ruthless efficiency. His dark eyes met mine, and I saw the reflection of my own fear.
Had she figured it out? Had she gone after Victor?
“Something isn’t right,” I said, grabbing my jacket and searching for my keys. With a huff, I paused. Never mind, the car would be too slow. We didn't have time to waste. “The warehouse,” I stated flatly, the word a heavy stone in my throat.
If she'd left without a trace, without a word of her intentions, it could only mean trouble. And all signs pointed to that forsaken place.
