Which means he can't.
My fingers tremble as I grab my laptop and pull up my work emails. The ELK client contact list. Ethan's number is there, buried in a chain from the campaign kickoff months ago.
“Hello?”
“Ethan, it's Emma. Emma Sinclair.”
“Emma?” His voice sharpens. “What's wrong?”
The words tumble out. “Kai hasn't come home. It's almost one in the morning. I've tried calling him and Logan, but neither of them is answering.”
There's a shuffle on the other end, the sound of him moving. “Hang on. Let me check something.”
I hear tapping, his breathing steady but focused. The seconds stretch into eternity.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What? What is it?”
“Their phones are offline. Both of them.”
I sink deeper into the couch, legs too shaky to hold me. “What does that mean?”
“I don't know yet,” Ethan admits. “Could be dead zones, could be battery. Could be something else. Hold on, I need to call Maddox and see how else we can track them. I'm sending Tank to you now. Stay put until he gets there. I'll call you back.”
The call ends, and the silence rushes back. The tightness in my chest spreads, vision narrowing at the edges.No. Not now. Not a panic attack. Not now.
I try to breathe, focusing on the rhythm.In through my nose, out through my mouth.Shaky at first, but after a few breaths, the tightness eases just enough.
Without thinking, my fingers dial a familiar number.
“Hi, you've reached Lila Sinclair. I'm not available right now, but please leave a message, and I'll get back to you soon!”
My mom's voice.
It crashes into me. A wave I can't stop. The warmth in her tone, the practiced cheerfulness that always made the worst days feel manageable. How many times have I called this number just to hear her voice?
The beep sounds, waiting for me to speak.
What would I say? That I'm scared? That the person who makes me feel safe is out there somewhere, unreachable? That I can't breathe knowing he might not come home?
For so long, this voicemail was my lifeline. Tonight, it's not enough.
I hang up, the realization sharp and undeniable. My mom's voice isn't what I need anymore.
It's Kai.
He's become my anchor. Right now, that anchor feels miles out of reach.
A shadow moves in the doorway.
I scream, tumbling off the couch. The hardwood is unforgiving against my knees, but I barely notice. My heart is galloping. A figure looms. Big and imposing.
“Whoa, easy.” The deep, gravelly voice is familiar. “It's me.”
Tank steps into the light, his hands raised. “Ethan said you knew I was coming.”
I scramble to my feet, leaning on the coffee table for support. “A heads-up about you having a key would've been nice.”
