The nurse studies me, disapproval clear in the tight line of her mouth. “The one wearing a splint?” she asks.
Hope flares in my chest. “Yes. That’s her.”
“She went outside to take a call about twenty minutes ago,” Helen says, glancing at the clock above the station.
Twenty minutes. My heart pounds against my ribcage like a trapped bird. Too long. Far too long for Raven not to text or call me. Even though I know she hasn’t, I pull my phone out to check. Nothing.
“Which exit?” I demand.
Helen points down the hall. “Main entrance. By the cafeteria and gift shop.”
“Thanks,” I say, already moving toward the exit.
The hospital corridors stretch endlessly, a maze of identical doorways and intersecting hallways that seem designed to delay me. I push past doctors, nurses, and patients in wheelchairs.
My phone’s still in my hand as I burst through the doors into the evening air. The June heat hits me like a physical wall, humid and oppressive, made worse by the fading daylight that casts long shadows across the parking lot.
I scan the area, desperation clawing at my throat. Where is she? The parking lot is half-full, cars gleaming under the fluorescent lights that have just begun to flicker on. No sign of pink hair near my car or anywhere else.
I dial her number, pressing the phone to my ear so hard it hurts. It doesn’t even ring once before the voicemail sounds.
“Hey, this is Raven. I’m probably doing something way more fun than talking to you. Leave a message or don’t. Catch ya on the flip-side.”
Her voice, bright, and teasing, sends a jolt of pain through my chest. I hang up and immediately redial. Same result.
I try a third time, pacing the sidewalk in front of the hospital entrance, scanning every inch of visible space like I might find her hiding behind a parked car or sitting on a bench I somehow missed. Still voicemail.
Something’s wrong. My Little Thief wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me, not without a word. She said she chose me, and that fucking means something.
I move back toward the entrance, crossing the emergency parking spots right outside the entrance. Something on the ground catches my eye, and I bend down, plucking it from the ground.
It’s a fucking business card. I turn it over, and the world stops spinning. The logo stares back at me, black and mocking—a serpent curled into a circle, devouring its own tail. Creating a black motherfucking circle. That’s too specific to be a coincidence.
Turning it over, I read the name on the back. North Coast Effects. The pyro-whatever company from Tony’s list. The one I looked up just days ago. I try to recall whether I saw the logo on their website. I mean, it would be logical. But no, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
I remember seeing Finn Kearney’s face and thinking he looked familiar. Thinking he reminded me of someone. I still can’t figure out who. But I guess I haven’t given it enough thought.
Out of habit, I activate my phone and scroll to Vito’s contact. Fuck, guess I haven’t dealt with that yet. Doesn’t matter right now, though. Not when I can’t fucking find Raven.
I flick my lighter on, ignoring the stares of people passing by. My Little Thief is missing, and someone connected to North Coast Effects has been here. Or someone who wanted me to look closer at them.
Have they taken Raven? They must have. Fuck. I hate not knowing all the facts.
As I extinguish the fire with a snap of my wrist, I head toward my car. The only way to get answers is through fire. I’ve been dormant for way too long. Been patient when I shouldn’t have been. That ends right. Fucking. Now.
I’m going to burn his world to ash until all that’s left standing is the building Raven’s in.
The façade—the veneer of civilization I’ve carefully maintained—shatters like glass. What emerges isn’t new. It’s always been there, waiting beneath the surface.
The monster who avenged his parents’ death. Who once set an entire warehouse ablaze just to watch the colors change in the night sky.
I don’t even realize I’ve called Enzo until I hear his voice through my phone’s speaker. “What’s happened?” No greeting, just the immediate understanding that something’s wrong.
“Raven’s missing,” I say, each word carved from ice.
“Who—”
I carry on, ignoring whatever he wanted to ask. “Someone linked to North Coast Effects has her. I’m sure of it.” My voice doesn’t break, doesn’t waver, and that’s somehow worse than if it did.
