I turned off the main road, following the blinking dot on the screen. It led me through cracked lanes and warehouse alleys, places even the rats had given up on.
My headlights carved through the dark?—
Bouncing off broken chain-link fences. Catching in the glass eyes of trash-strewn gutters. Splashing against overflowing dumpsters sagging under their own stink.
I slowed when I reached the end of the pin. The alley was narrow. Filthy. Dead fucking silent. The car idled as I scanned the shadows. Nothing at first—just puddles reflecting the sky like oil-slicked mirrors. Then the beam of my headlights cut right.
And I saw it.
A foot.
Small.
Covered by a single white sock soaked through at the toe—grimy, wet, clinging to skin like it didn’t belong there.
The other was missing. Just one sock. One foot. One horrifying moment of stillness. Half-hidden behind the dumpster. Pale against the alley floor.
I slammed the car into park. The door was open before the engine stopped ticking. I moved like I’d been shot—sharp, fast, all instinct.
Because I knew.
God, I knew.
One look. One fucking look and I knew.
It was her.
Even from here. Even twisted like that, half-curled in the dark, my hoodie clinging to her like a second skin.
Cloe.
The blood had soaked into the sleeves. Smeared her legs. Matted her hair to her temple. Her cheek was pressed to the concrete. Her arm bent under her in a way that made my stomach twist.
I didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even whisper her name. I just dropped to my knees and reached for her. Because she didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
But her skin?—
Still warm.
Faint. Fading.
Clinging to her like a secret she hadn’t told anyone else.
“Cloe,” I breathed, touching the side of her throat. Her pulse fluttered against my fingers. Shallow. Weak. “Baby…”
But there. She stirred—barely—and her mouth opened. Just a little. And then I heard it.
My name.
Barely audible.
“Wolfe…”
The sound cracked something in me I didn’t know could still break. I gathered her into my arms, gentle as I could while rage churned beneath my skin like a storm begging to be free.
Her blood soaked into my hoodie—my blood now. She sent me a pin. Not because she had the strength to fight. Not because she thought she’d win. Because she knew I’d come. And now? Now someone was going to pay.
