I type out a text before I can overthink it. Morning, darlin’. Call me when you get off. Missing you already.
I hit send.
The message goes through.
I toss the phone on the bed and sit up, rubbing a hand down my face. Something feels… off. Not loud. Not obvious. Just a thin thread of tension winding tight in my gut. I can’t explain it.
I stand, stretch, and head to the bathroom. When I come back out five minutes later, I check the phone again.
Nothing.
I tell myself I’m being stupid. She’s probably doing bedside reports or something. Probably just hasn’t looked at her phone yet. Smoke stumbles in twenty minutes later smelling like cheap perfume and stale whiskey.
“Morning,” he grunts, dropping into the chair by the window.
I glance at him but don’t say anything. He doesn’t ask if I slept. I don’t ask where he ended up. My phone stays silent. By the time we’re packed and walking toward the bikes, the unease isn’t subtle anymore.
It’s a pulse I can’t steady, this worry creeping in. It’s after seven now. Sometimes she does end up staying over, but it isn’t often. I call her.
It rings. And rings.
And rings.
Voicemail.
I don’t leave one. I hang up and try again.
Same thing. I stare at the screen like I can will her to answer.
“She good?” Smoke asks, lighting a cigarette.
“She’s not answering.”
He shrugs like that’s the end of it. “Maybe she’s busy.”
Maybe. But Danae always answers. Or she calls back. Or she texts. She doesn’t just… disappear. We mount up anyway. The job’s still in motion. Cash to collect. Road to cover.
But when the engines roar to life, the sound doesn’t settle me like it did last night. It amplifies the worry.
We ride.
Wind in my face. Miles burning beneath me. Tennessee giving way to open stretches of highway. I call again at the first long straightaway.
Voicemail. I don’t say anything this time either. By the time we pull into a gas station two hours later, my nerves are strung so tight I feel like I could snap. I cut the engine and immediately pull my phone out.
Three missed calls.
Raff.
And two texts. Both from Raff.
Where are you?
Call me ASAP.
My heart drops so hard it feels like I missed a step on a staircase. I don’t even tell Smoke. I just hit call.
Raff answers on the first ring.
