She wipes her cheeks with shaking hands, her voice breaking. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” I say. “But you’re not alone anymore.”
“Em,” she whispers, “I... I have to go,” she wipes her tears.
I could hear the footsteps.
“No, Mia, stay on the line,” I say to her, my hands shaking, “Mia.”
“I will be okay,” she says, “I promise.” She smiles, trying to comfort me, but I can see it’s forced.
And as the screen turns blank and she hangs up the phone, I say, “Fuck.”
The phone feels too light in my hand.
I stare at the blank screen, my thumb hovering over Mia’s name, waiting for it to light up again. My heart is pounding so hard it makes me dizzy while every second stretches.
I replay her voice in my head, and my stomach twists.
I try calling her back. It rings once. Then voicemail.
“Fuck,” I whisper again, my voice breaking this time.
I set the phone on the table like it might explode and pace the living room, dragging my hands through my hair.
I can’t sit.
I can’t breathe right.
My head now tilted towards Daisy’s bed, but she isn’t there.
“Daisy,” I call her, “Daisy, baby, where are you?”
Something feels wrong.
My body still hurts from last night, sore in a way that feels almost like I got beaten. I try to remember what happened, but my mind gives me nothing solid to hold onto.
The dining room table is empty.
I stop short. Files that should be stacked there are gone. The surface is bare, wiped clean as if no one had ever been here. A cold unease settles in my chest as I scan the room, trying to stitch together fragments of memory that refuse to surface.
I turn toward the front door.
Pain explodes through my foot.
“Damn it,” I shout, hopping back as I look down. A shard of glass juts from my skin. My gaze lifts, sweeping the room, and my stomach drops. The vase that usually sits on the table is gone, too.
My breathing turns shallow as I bend down and pull the glass free. Blood beads instantly. I carry the shard to the kitchen and set it on the counter, my hands trembling.
I caught a reflection in my window. I am wearing an oversized plain black T-shirt with nothing underneath.
I stare down at myself, confused. I don’t even remember taking off my clothes.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my mind to work. The only thing that comes back is a dream.Zayne Mercer.His face. His voice. The way it always felt too real.
As the images flicker in my head, something else catches my attention.
The front door is open.
