There’s no catch. That’s what I wanted to tell her. There’s no catch, there’s no trick, there’s just us, and we’re not going anywhere.
But I didn’t say it. None of us did. And now she’s gone.
I cut through the east quad toward the meeting point. We agreed to regroup every twenty minutes, share what we’ve got, adjust the search grid. It’s inefficient but it’s better than five of us running in circles while she slips further away.
The morning air is cold. I didn’t grab a jacket. Didn’t think about it. Just moved.
My chest is tight in a way I can’t shake. I’m not panicking yet, but I’m close. It’s that feeling you get when you’re holding something fragile and you feel it start to crack.
Where are you?
I’ve asked the question a hundred times in the last hour. But there’s no her. Just silence and empty paths and the growing certainty that we fucked this up before we even had a chance to get it right.
I round the corner by the old stone benches and nearly slam into someone.
He’s moving just as fast as I am. Looking around the same way—head turning, eyes scanning, body tight with the same urgency I’m carrying. He’s not out for a walk. He’s searching. Just like we are.
Trey.
We both pull up short. For a second we just stand there, catching our breath, sizing each other up.
We’ve all noticed him. Hard not to, after orientation. After the way he looked at her. None of us have said it out loud, but we’re all thinking the same thing—wondering if he’s part of this. Part of us. Wondering what it means if he is.
Right now, I don’t care. Another set of eyes can’t hurt.
I open my mouth to say something but he beats me to it.
“Have you seen her?” The question comes out rough. Desperate. Not the voice of someone who’s casually concerned.
“You’re—”
“Nova. Have you seen her? I need to find her.”
The pieces click into place. Not just orientation. Not just proximity alerts and bureaucratic bullshit we’ve been ignoring. He’s here. Looking for her. Covering the same ground we are.
“Fuck. So it’s true.”
He shakes his head, already scanning the path behind my shoulder. “I don’t have time for this—”
“No. She took off this morning. We’re looking too.”
“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. The gesture is jagged, frustrated. “Silas and Harrick—”
My stomach drops.
“What did they do?”
“I don’t know exactly.” His voice is rough. “But whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I came around the corner and she was already running. They were laughing. Harrick said something about ‘she’s gone, and that’s all that matters.’”
I’m going to kill them.
“Come on.” I turn back toward the meeting point. “This way.”
He follows without arguing.
We walk fast, not quite running. I can feel him beside me—the tension radiating off him, the way he keeps scanning the paths like she might appear around any corner.
“How long have you known her?” I ask.
