My breath shortens to trembling bursts, tears blurring my vision as I try a third time. The silence in the room has weight now, like it’s physically sitting on my chest. I hit redial with frantic taps, praying, begging inside my own head. Then, finally, the call connects. For a single, suspended heartbeat, I just stare at the seconds on the screen counting upwards. I hadn’t planned this far ahead, the fact that this isn’t a smart phone dousing any hopes of connecting the call to my implants via Bluetooth.
So instead, I scramble into the bathroom, closing the door and climbing into the bathtub as if that can protect me from Kenneth’s wrath.
“A two-story house on a concrete road,” I whisper into the phone with a tremble to my throat. “No neighbors. Potentially belongs to someone called Della-Mae Taylor. There’s,” I almost choke, my throat tightening. "There’s some kind of trap around the house, sensors to…to a bomb, maybe? Don’t come. Send help, p-please,” I whimper into the silence. I don’t even know if he can hear me, if anyone’s listening, but someone certainly is. The bathroom door rips open, a scream torn from my throat asKenneth bursts into the bathroom, his expression murderous as the barrel of the tranq gun rises.
The phone slips in my sweat-slick grip as I curl deeper into the tub, my pulse ricocheting through every limb. Kenneth lunges, the muzzle of the tranq gun locking onto me with lethal certainty. I barely let out a strangled, “Clay—” before the dart fires. It punches into my shoulder like a wasp made of iron, the burn spreading instantly.
My scream collapses into a gasp as my limbs become useless. The phone slides from my fingers and clatters somewhere near my hip, a responding call vibrating against the porcelain, but I’m already drifting far, far away. Kenneth’s face looms above, warped and wavering, his mouth moving in furious shapes I can’t hear, can’t track or fight. The edges of my vision tunnel into darkness as I reach blindly for the phone one last time, my fingertips brushing the corner of it before the darkness finally takes me whole.
Chapter Ten
The sirens cut out a couple of towns back, but they’re still screaming in my head as I sit in the back of the patrol car, staring at the smudged window of a seemingly derelict house. Without Harper’s help, we never would have found this place. It’s hours away from where we were searching, completely unconnected from any of the leads we spent two days chasing. I can’t think about what a colossal waste of time that was, needing to focus on the here and now. In particular, how I’m uselessly sitting out here, and I need her backnow.
There’s no hiding the swarm of patrol cars, the SWAT team van, ambulance and bomb squad truck blocking the single road leading past the property, and there’s no doubt Kenneth knows we’re here. They’ve parked Rhys and me at a distance like we’re some kind of hazard, two loved-up idiots liable to sprint into gunfire. To be fair, they’re not wrong. All that’s keeping me trapped inside this car right now are the child-lock doors and the cop leaning on the hood. Every few minutes, he glances back to make sure I’m not trying to kick the windows out. I’m not far off from doing just that.
As for my current companion, he's been a ghost of himself ever since Harper called. Conveniently, the call came in whilst we were being questioned at the police station for the bogus charges the receptionist made up. A swift wiretap gave us her location, and we were on the road in minutes, with us in the back of a police car. Glancing over at Rhys, I frown at the way he’s sitting. Too still, barely breathing as he stares endlessly at the seat in front of him.
“She’ll be okay,” I try to offer some comfort. He doesn’t react, his psyche finally broken. But why? We’re so close to getting Harper back. I figured he’d be the one with his knee bouncing, his knuckles aching from being popped, his muscles coiled, ready to claw his way out of here. Instead, it’s just me battling this nervous energy.
I drag my attention back to the house, spotting the flashing lights of the drones they’re using to check for heat signatures. Thanks to Harper’s insider information, no stone is being left unturned to ensure the cops can safely enter and Harper can safely exit. I just hope the time it’s taking to scan the property and send a robot towards the porch isn’t costing her in other ways.
My heart sinks lower with every passing second, my imagination spiraling through every worst-case scenario as the officers coordinate quietly outside. The static blur of a radio mixes with the suffocating tension twisting within the car, as if the air itself is waiting to see who will make the first move.
I press my palms flat against my knees, grounding myself, but the memory of Harper’s trembling voice digs in, refusing to let go. The scream that sounded just before the line went dead has torn my chest clean through, as if I’ve been flayed alive, and only seeing her alive and safe will fix it. I cling to every syllable she managed to whisper, every breath, every tremor. Even after I walked away from her, she called me. Not the cops, not Rhys.Me, her ever loyal protector. And that means I should be out there, tearing the walls apart with our bare hands, not sitting here hoping to hell that the professionals outside are as prepared as they look. Just this once, I pray that fate will finally be on our side.
The cop at the front clears his throat, his own arms tensely crossed as he watches the bleak house, not a single light on inside. All I can do is press my forehead to the window, stare at the silhouette of the house, and pray she’s still breathing. If we’re too late, if that scream was the last thing we ever hear from her, there’s no force on earth that will stop me from seeking revenge, and so the cycle continues. Kenneth sought to hurt me, and even though I swore I’d seen enough dead bodies to last me a lifetime, I would have no qualms adding him to that list.
A helicopter circles overhead, flooding the tree line with light, and I grip the edge of the seat so hard my fingers ache. I keep imagining her behind one of those windows, slumped on the floor or fighting to stay awake, or God knows what, and the not knowing is turning me into something unhinged.
A burst of static cracks through the squad radios, loud enough to make every muscle in my body seize. For a heartbeat, nobody moves, the entire line of officers frozen in that awful, suspended anticipation, then a calm but clipped voice comes through.
“Primary device located. Sensor disabled. No active threat detected.”
The words hit me like a punch to the ribs. They’ve got the all clear. They’re going in, and I need to be ready for whatever they find. I slam my palms against the plexiglass partition so hard my skin stings, shouting for them to let me out, voice raw and cracking with the same helplessness Harper must be feeling locked inside that house. The cop at the front whips around, barking something I can’t even hear over the sound of my ownbreathing, before he curses under his breath, fumbles with the door, and yanks it open.
“I’ve already told you, kid,” he grumbles ironically. I’m a foot taller than him. “You can’t be a part of this.”
“I won’t get in the way. Just let me be ready, please,” I beg, not taking my eyes off the house. He must realise trying to keep me contained is useless now, as he directs me to stand beside the car and watch. Cold air slams into me, the night disturbed by flashing lights and impatient whispers. Looking back, I notice that Rhys still hasn’t moved. I don’t have time to cradle his ego or whatever this is, so I slam the door and leave him locked inside. Let him wallow in the dark.
I barely register my feet stepping forward, drawn forward like I’m tethered to the front steps. The officer beside me holds out an arm, keeping me behind the marked line as the tactical team surges past, rifles raised, boots pounding up the porch in practiced sync. Every shouted command punches through me, every crackle of radio noise twisting my insides tighter. I can’t blink. I can’t breathe. I strain to hear anything of use, but it all blurs together into footsteps, voices and the helicopter thundering overhead. My nails dig crescents into my palms as I stare at that doorway, willing her to step through it, alive.
Then the radio bursts again, louder this time, the officer closest to us tilting his head as he listens, and my heart wedges itself somewhere in my throat.
“Two located inside,” the voice reports. “One female, one male.” For a second, my vision goes white, the world tilting dangerously. They found Harper. The gasp is caught in my throat as a scuffle sounds, the static dipping in and out. “Ma’am, I need you to step aside. Ma’am. Step. Aside.”
“She can’t hear him,” I mutter to myself, swiftly turning to the officer next to me. “She can’t hear him, tell them she’s deaf,” I order, grabbing him by the jacket in my desperation. Theofficer shoves me off, reaching for his radio when the crack of gunfire splits through the night.
Everything within me freezes. Ice works its way through my chest, my heart ceasing to beat. I can no longer hear the roar of cops calling out or the whirring of the helicopter. My mind becomes lost to the seconds ticking by, my entire being hinged on the outcome of what leaves that house. A bang behind me jolts me back to the present. Rhys has finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in, his fist hammering on the window. I retrace my steps, freeing him from the patrol car.
“The fuck was that?” he growls, trying to push me out of the way. I grab his arms and pin him to the car before the cops close in.
“Just…wait,” I grit out, my grip on his hoodie too tight. As much as I’m working to restrain him, I’m struggling to keep standing. Rhys seems to notice, his struggles settling, and his hands landing on my biceps. For once, he’s not fighting me.
“She’s a survivor,” he declares, his blue eyes steady. I breathe shallowly, nodding in agreement. Yes, she is. She will be fine. She has to be. Sidestepping, I slump against the car beside him, staring at the now-silent house. Neither of us speaks again, both of us suspended on a single thread waiting for someone, anyone, to call out that Harper is still alive.
Shouted commands sound from the porch, boots thundering as half of the SWAT team reappear. My stomach lurches violently as the captain turns to the horde of bodies waiting for his command.
“All clear inside,” he calls to his team. “Bring medical in.” The paramedics surge forward, vanishing into the open doorway while Rhys curls his fingers into the back of my military jacket so tightly, I feel the tremor in his grip. Minutes stretch on, a cold, cavernous void expanding against my ribs before themedics finally reappear, rolling a stretcher toward the waiting ambulance.
