I took a few steps forward to look inside. At first glance,everything looked normal. His bag sat on the sofa, and his shoes lay neatly by the door. Nothing looked broken or out of place. But it was too quiet.
I moved further inside, forcing myself to breathe steadily. As I reached the sitting room, I paused to glance around. I nearly missed the specks of blood on the carpet. Rowan's glasses lay broken on the kitchen tile, one lens cracked and the frame snapped clean at the nose bridge.
A sick feeling coiled in my stomach.
Mrs Cavanagh said something behind me, but I didn't catch the words. My phone was already in my hand to dial his number. My gut knew something was wrong, but Ireallyhoped he would pick up and tell me he was okay.
I tensed when I heard a muffled vibration nearby. My gaze snapped back to the sitting room, and I followed the sound to the sofa. Rowan's phone sat wedged between the cushions, like it had been tossed haphazardly and gotten stuck.
A sharp dread sank in. He wouldn't leave without his phone. And he couldn't see without his glasses.
"Rowan!" I called again, louder this time. My heartbeat hammered in my ears as I moved toward the hallway and checked each room.
Still no sign of him. He had to be here somewhere.
When I reached his bedroom, I twisted the knob and pushed on the door – but it didn't give and I hit it with my shoulder. Thinking it was stuck, I tried again. This time, it was clear it was locked.
Why the hell was it locked?
I slammed my fist against the door. "Rowan! Answer me!" I pressed my ear to the wood. No footsteps. No rustling. No voice calling back. Just complete silence.
For a second, I stood frozen with my hand on the doorknob, my breath tight in my throat. I could break it down. If I rammed it hard enough, it should give. The hinges weren'texactly reinforced. If Rowan was inside and he was hurt –
Wait. His keys.
I spun on my heel and bolted back to the sofa, then grabbed his bag and started digging. Notebooks. Pens. A few crumpled papers. His wallet. I tucked that and his phone away in my pockets, just in case.
Finally, I heard the clink of metal and yanked the keyring free. Five keys, maybe six. No labels.
Mrs Cavanagh watched all of this from the doorway. "What's going on? Is he alright?"
I didn't answer. My focus was tunnelled in on the door.
Back in the hallway, I jammed the first key into the lock. No give. The second didn't even fit. The third one slid in. I twisted, and the lock gave with a soft click.
When I pushed the door open, my heart leapt into my throat.
Rowan lay limp on the floor next to the bed, half on his stomach, half on his side. His face was buried in the carpet, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. His clothes were rumpled, and his shirt had ridden up enough to expose some angry, dark purple bruising.
"Rowan!" I dropped to my knees beside him and leaned down to try to see his face.
Behind me, I heard Mrs Cavanagh shuffle into the room, and her breath caught. "Oh, my god..."
I gently brushed Rowan's hair out of his face to get a better look. A gash ran across his cheek, the skin split and smeared with dried blood. It had to be from his broken glasses, and as I looked closer, I saw bruises forming around his eye. His lip was split and swollen, too.
Rage and fear swirled together, but I shoved it down. "Rowan?" I said again, firmer this time. "C'mon, mate, wake up."
He didn't respond. Didn't even stir. I reached out tocarefully turn him onto his back. But as my hand rested against his chest to guide him, he let out a low, pained sound like the breath had been punched out of him.
Panic clawed up my throat. I'd barely touched him.
When I looked more closely, I saw his breathing was shallow and uneven. His lips had a faint bluish tint, and I almost couldn't even see his chest moving.
Cursing under my breath, I tried to keep my hands steady as I eased him the rest of the way onto his back. I scooted closer so I could hold his head up with my arm and brushed a thumb carefully over his cheek. "Rowan? Can you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered, but they didn't open. I could feel how cold he was, even through his shirt. I adjusted him as carefully as I could, trying not to jostle him too much, but the slightest movement made him grimace and his chest hitch with an uneven breath.
My mind raced. He was relatively okay an hour ago. What the fuck did Marcus do to him?
