And I can’t even warn him.
I can’t even?—
The van turns sharply.
My head bumps the wall, and stars burst behind my eyes.
Hands keep me pinned.
I try to breathe.
Try to stay awake.
Try to fight through whatever Hammond used on me.
Because the only thought I can hold onto—the only one that keeps me from shattering completely—is this:
Crewe Hawthorne does not lose what he’s protecting.
And I am still his.
Even if I’m being stolen.
THIRTEEN
CREWE
I push through the lab door, expecting to see Riley where I left her—messy hair, determined eyes, hands already tearing through drawers like a woman on a mission.
Instead, I get silence.
The room feels… wrong.
Not quiet-wrong. Notempty.
Wrong like a chair that’s been moved in your house when you live alone. Wrong like the air got disturbed and never settled back.
My eyes sweep the space in one fast pass.
Riley’s bag is still here.
Her notebook pile is half-shoved to the side like she was interrupted mid-search.
A chair is tipped at an angle that doesn’t match “I stood up.” It matches “I stumbled.”
My pulse spikes.
“Riley?” I call, already crossing the room.
No answer.
I cut left—back room. Storage nook. Desk area. The place where she’d go if she wanted privacy. The place Hammond said he wanted to show her something.
My jaw clenches.
Hammond.
I turn hard, scanning for him.
