Silver-haired girl dragging an almost-unconscious Henry. She moves slow but steady, murmuring something as he struggles to walk. They’re heading toward a beat-up Ford parked near the edge of the alley, right in front of the docks.
She opens the passenger door, and he collapses into the seat, deadweight.
“Do we stop her?” Beau whispers, low and unsure.
I don’t answer. Truth is, I have no fucking clue what this is. Beau leans forward too much and the dumpster creaks under his weight and she stops, “Hello?” She turns around, and we kneel into the darkness.
We wait until I hear her door close. I move on instinct, dropping to my knees. I crawl through the grime, the cold seeping through my jeans, every inch forward making my pulse hammer harder, the club still thumping behind me, but it’s her movement in front ofme that has my full attention, making sure she doesn’t see or hear me.
I reach the cracked taillight and slide my phone into place, tracker active. I keep low, hardly breathing, waiting for her to drive off. My fingers tighten around the bumper in case I need to launch away.
The radio kicks on with some bubbly pop song, far too cheerful for whatever this is, and her voice slips into it. She's singing along without missing a word, the sound light and carefree. It’s almost worse than silence. She taps the wheel in time with the beat, and for a moment I’m not sure which is stranger, what she’s done, or how damn at ease she is with it.
Her car rolls away, and I don’t move until the red glow of her taillights disappears down the street. We run straight for the SUV. I slide behind the wheel, pull up the tracker, and follow from a safe distance.
“This is weird, right?” Caleb asks from the backseat, leaning between us. “Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this is really fucking weird.”
Beau chuckles, shaking his head. “Silver girl drugged Henry and took him.” He grins. “Wasn’t that kind of our plan?”
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. My forearms flex with the strain, veins standing out. My jaw locked so hard the muscles twitch. I hate when plans fall apart, but I hate it more when someoneoutside of us gets involved.
My mind spins through every scenario. A kink? An old victim getting justice? Something else entirely?
“She’s heading to the woods,” Beau says, pointing at the map glowing on the screen. “The fuck is she doing out there? There’s nothing but old hunting cabins no one’s used in years.”
What the hell is going on?
“You think it’s a trap?” Caleb mutters.
My teeth grind as my jaw tightens. The muscle ticks in rhythm with my pulse.
“Maybe he knows—”
I shake my head. “No way. Beau wipes every trail. Henry’s never seen us, doesn’t know we exist.”
“She stopped,” Beau says quietly, tapping the blinking red dot.
We park off-road, far enough not to be noticed. The air is colder here, still and heavy, clinging to my skin. Every breath leaves a pale wisp that fades into the dark.
We move in silence, heads down, dressed in black from head to toe. We are like shadows slipping through the trees, the darkness swallows us whole, and the crunch of branches underfoot becomes the only whisper of our presence. My heartbeat feels too loud, thudding against my ribs, matching the rhythm of my steps.
“Eiden,” Beau whispers and points up ahead wherea faint, flickering light glows between the trees. It pulses, disappearing when the wind shifts the branches, reappearing again seconds later.
We get closer, it’s an old hunter’s cabin, the type of place you come to hide something, or someone.
I catch the faint smell of old wood and cold metal, the musty rot of a place that’s been abandoned for years.
We circle it, guns in hand, trying not to make a noise. My adrenaline sharpens every detail, the scratch of fabric as Caleb shifts his stance, the sound of Beau’s exhale behind me. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready.
We creep toward the broken window, and we see her move inside. Her jacket’s gone and she’s wearing a tight plastic jumpsuit that hugs every curve. The kind you wear to avoid leaving DNA behind or paint a house, and I’m sure she’s not here to remodel anything.
I look to the far wall, and I see him. Henry, tied up with his hands cuffed in steel above him, legs spread and pinned to the wall. He’s naked from the waist down.
“What the fuck?” Caleb breathes. “Is this some twisted kink?”
I don’t answer, instead my eyes roam around the space: the cabin’s been stripped bare, no furniture except a steel table and matching chair, the floors and most of the walls are covered in thick, wrinkled plasticsheets, taped down like she’s preparing for a slaughter.
“She’s going to kill him.” And I don’t give a fuck if she does. I want to see how far she’ll take it, how deep she’ll cut, how she’ll make him beg.
