I pushed myself upright on the plush sofa that had served as my bed, my body screaming in protest. The blanket someone had draped over me, probably Melody, slid to the floor. The Courts House living room was mercifully empty, though the evidence of Christmas celebrations remained: half-dismantled decorations, a towering tree in the corner with presents still scattered beneath it, abandoned plates of cookies. My phone lay on the coffee table, screen cracked from when I'd slammed it down at the bar. I reached for it, wincing as my bruised muscles protested. Twelve missed calls from Cole. Three from Ryder. Even two from my father. The shame that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness surged forward, impossible to ignore. I'd abandoned them. In the midst of the worst crisis we'd ever faced, I'd surrendered to self-pity and alcohol, leaving Cole and Ryder to carry the weight alone. What kind of leader was I? What kind of friend? What kind of man who claimed to love Cadence would fall apart when she needed him most?
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my spiral of self-loathing. Silvia Blake stood in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands and concern in her dark eyes.
"I heard you moving around," she said softly, stepping into the room. "Thought you might need this." She approached carefully,as if I were a wounded animal that might lash out. Given my behaviour lately, I couldn't blame her. I accepted the coffee with a nod that sent fresh pain lancing through my skull. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of painkillers and handed them to me.
"How's the head?" she asked, perching on the edge of an armchair across from me.
"Been better," I admitted as I downed two of the tablets dry and then took a scalding sip of coffee. The bitter liquid burned all the way down, the pain almost welcome. "Thanks. For this. For last night." Silvia shrugged, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"Melody did most of it. I just cleaned you up a bit."
An awkward silence fell between us. I'd never spent much time with Silvia before Cadence disappeared. She was a first year at Regents, and I had been preoccupied since the year started, but I knew she was a good friend of Cadences. She was also Dominic Blake's daughter, which made her both fascinating and slightly terrifying by association, but she'd always seemed... separate from her father's world. Quieter. Gentler.
"How's the search going?" she asked finally, her voice careful, neutral. I let out a harsh laugh that hurt my ribs.
"It's not." The words tasted like ash. "All this fucking time and we've got nothing. Not a single lead." The intrusive thought that had been haunting me for days pushed its way forward again: Cadence is dead. She has to be. No one survives that long. Not without a trace. I must have let something of that thought show on my face, because Silvia's expression softened with sympathy that made me want to crawl out of my skin. I didn't deserve sympathy. I deserved punishment.
"It might go better if we could get a hold of your father," I said flippantly, immediately regretting the words. Bringing upDominic Blake to his daughter was a low blow, even for the wreck I'd become. But instead of offense, Silvia's expression shifted to confusion.
"You can," she said simply. "He's at The Palace."
I froze, the mug halfway to my lips. "What?"
"He got back from whatever 'business trip' he was on about six days ago," she continued, making air quotes around "business trip" with a grimace. There was a serious air of distaste around the way she spoke of her father that made me respect her more. The fog of self-pity and hangover cleared instantly, replaced by razor-sharp focus. Dominic Blake, the man with fingers in every dark and corrupt corner of the Trivium world, had returned home, and no one had told us.
"Are you sure?" I demanded, setting the coffee down so hard it sloshed over the rim. Silvia nodded.
"I saw him yesterday morning at his house, before I came back here. He wanted to give me my Christmas present in person." Her mouth twisted with distaste. “It’s been tradition since my mum left him.” My mind raced. Blake had connections everywhere, access to resources that made even my father's criminal empire look amateur. If anyone could orchestrate a kidnapping that would leave no traces, it was him. And we knew he had an interest in Cadence, especially after the Legacy dinner a few months ago.
"Silvia?" I asked carefully, meeting her eyes. "Do you think your father could be involved in Cadence's disappearance?" The pain that flashed across her face was answer enough, but she spoke anyway, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It would break my heart," she said, "but it wouldn't surprise me." I could see real pain behind her words. How could it feel to suspect that it was your bloodline that was responsible for the pain and destruction of a friend?
I was on my feet before I realised what I was doing, ignoring the protest from my battered body as I grabbed my phone. Cole answered on the first ring.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger and worry. "I've been calling you all night,-"
"Dominic Blake is back," I interrupted, cutting through his justified tirade. "He's been in Manchester for almost a week. He's at The Palace right now." The line went silent for a heartbeat.
"How do you know?" Cole asked, his voice suddenly deadly calm.
"Silvia told me. I'm at Courts House." Another beat of silence as Cole processed this.
"Get Ryder," I continued. "Come pick me up. We're going to The Palace."
"Logan-"
"Now, Cole." I hung up before he could argue, turning back to Silvia. "Thank you." She nodded, her expression troubled. "If my father is involved..." She trailed off, then squared her shoulders. "Find her, Logan. And if he hurt her, make him pay." The daughter of Dominic Blake, giving me permission to go after her father. "Just be careful. If my father is involved... he's dangerous, Logan. More dangerous than you know."
I downed the rest of the coffee in one burning gulp.
"So am I."
For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than despair. It might not be hope, I wasn't sure I remembered what that felt like anymore, but it was purpose. Direction.
A target.
Cole and Ryder arrived ten minutes later, both looking like hell. Cole's eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his usually immaculate appearance dishevelled. Ryder was worse, gaunt,unshaven, with a manic intensity in his eyes that bordered on unhinged. Neither commented on my own battered state as I slid into the back seat of Cole's Range Rover.
