And again.
Nothing.
No ring, zero fucking connection, just dead air, the hum of the engine, and rain hitting the roof. I felt my stomach drop as the seconds passed, my fingers trembling on the wheel.
I scrolled to Carrington’s name next, half-expecting him to pick up, but hoping he wouldn’t. My finger hovered over the name on the car screen. Finally, I pressed it. Nothing… his phone was off.
I couldn’t even hear his voicemail.
I’d grown accustomed to hearing the gruff words. ‘The fuck you calling me for? Eh. Whatever, leave it at the beep, asshole.’
Now there was nothing but silence, and I contemplated what to even say before hanging up wordlessly.
The road stretched ahead in a gray smear. I gritted my teeth, trying to make sense of it. Where the hell were they? Panic started to curl around my chest, tight and suffocating. The way I felt when I was told my mom was dead. The vodka wasn’t helping. It never helped. But now, I wished I had my bottle back in my grip.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of my house, rain was already soaking through my coat and dripping from my hair, and I was shaking. My hands were numb from the tight grip, while my stomach churned, and my mind spiraled. I stumbled inside the house, tossing the keys onto the counter and dragging my coat off in a sloppy mess.
What the fuck.
Outside my door, on the wet concrete, just visible in the dim glow of the porch light, was…a mask.
A smiley face mask.
The same one we’d used in the hunt. The warped, crude cut out of the mouth was speckled with blood.
I froze, every instinct screaming in my skull. The mask looked innocent at first glance, almost playful, until my brain processed the red speckles. The familiar grin was wrong now.
Twisted and menacing. Not a joke. Not a game.
War.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the thought slithered through like a viper: Carrington. Xanthy. Both gone. Both unreachable. And now…this.
I staggered backward, my heart hammering. Rain pounded onto my head, mixing with the residual vodka heat, adrenaline, and terror.
The phone was still in my pocket. I wanted to call her. I wanted to call him. I wanted to scream until the walls shook.
But I couldn’t, not yet. Not until I understood what the fuck this was.
And in that instant, I realized…whatever this was, it had already begun.
Xanthy’s voice made sense in a sickening realization.
Come back to where it began.
And like everything in my life. Every thought and breath I took. It all began with him.
Carrington Harding.
“What do you want from me?”
The rain clawed at the windows, streaking the glass in jagged lines. Xanthy sat on the edge of the couch like she was trying to disappear into it, the phone clutched to her chest as if it could shield her. My gun hung heavy at my side, an extension of my hand, and a silent fucking promise.
She looked so small. So breakable. Her knuckles were white, and her lips trembled. The smell of steel and oil was thick in the air between us.
“You know what I want,” I said, my voice low and calm. The kind of calm that made her flinch.
“Carrington…please…” Her voice cracked and broke, a sound I hadn’t heard from her since we were kids, when Father beat me in front of her.
