Barron’s name flashed across the screen. Calling. Not the first time. Probably not the last. I didn’t answer. Royal’s message followed like a demand wrapped in arrogance:Where the fuck is she?
I gripped my cell, thumb pressed against the button. I thought about turning the damn thing off…then thought better of it.
So I ignored the message.
Their noise didn’t matter. Their rage didn’t reach me. Because this wasn’t about them anymore. This was about her.
The girl who ran without a scream. Who didn’t leave a letter. Who didn’t throw a tantrum or stage some final act of drama. No begging. No tears. Just silence—and the book she wasn’t meant to touch.
I stood up, slow and steady. The air around me didn’t move, but everything inside me did.
I walked to the drawer.
Opened it.
The ring was still there, tucked neatly in the darkness. Silver. Cold. Shaped by her fingers—narrow, delicate, deceitful. I stared at it like it could confess. Like it might tell me what part of her decided I wasn’t worth the truth.
She used to twist it when she was nervous. Rub her thumb along the inside like it burned. It did. Because it belonged to me.
She wore it anyway. Until she didn’t. Until she laid it down like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.
I didn’t speak her name. Didn’t break anything. Didn’t bleed for her. The rage didn’t look like rage. It looked like this. Silence that hummed like electricity in my spine. A stillness that knew what to do.
No panic. No pain.
Just decisions.
Beep.
I snarled and looked down expecting a message from Loyal this time. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t even a damn text. No message. No call. Just a pin without a message, or even a timestamp.
But I knew it was her.
I knew it like I knew my own fucking blood. I stared at that pin like it had teeth. Like it might bite if I blinked.
The chill started in my chest. Spread slow, like ice cracking through bone. I didn’t speak. Didn’t think. I just moved.
Left the apartment. Left the discarded ring on the counter, catching the light like a curse. Pressed the elevator button with the heel of my hand and reached into my pocket, keys cold against my fingers.
By the time the elevator doors slid open, I’d checked the fucking location five times. Like maybe if I looked hard enough, she’d appear on the map. Breathing. Bleeding.
Alive.
I crossed the lobby fast. The glass doors hissed open, and I strode into the night like I’d been summoned.
The Audi waited at the curb—sleek, black, hungry. I unlocked it with a snap of my wrist, slid in, and punched the ignition.
The engine roared. Tires screamed as I peeled out, taking the corner hard, cutting through the city like a blade.
I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just followed her. Her pin. That fucking pin.
You better be there, Cloe.
You better still be breathing.
You better still be mine.
Downtown faded in the rearview. The neon. The noise. Gone. What was left was rot. Silence. The kind of quiet that said something bad had already happened—and worse was waiting.
