I press my fingers into my palms, letting the pressure ground me. Quiet tears slip down my cheeks. I don't try to stop them.
Dr. Lane suggests gently that we both go home. Rest. They'll call with updates the moment anything changes.
We leave the office slowly. In the hallway, Mr. Ravenshaw turns to me. "Adela, you need to go home," he says, softly but with that careful, exhausted authority he usually reserves for the courtroom.
"I'd rather stay," I admit.
He places a hand on my shoulder. "He's stable for now. Staying won't change anything for him, but it will drain you." He pauses. "Do you know where his car might be? I think he left it on campus. Could you bring it back to the house?" He holds up a key.
I open my palm, and he places it there.
Maeve appears at my side and squeezes my hand. "We'll go find it."
Mr. Ravenshaw's eyes soften. "You've been a kind girl, Adela. Thank you. Get some sleep. I'll call you the moment I hear anything."
I step forward and hug him quickly, my voice muffled against his coat. "Thank you."
Maeve drives us away from the UW Medical Center, toward campus. We check the first parking structure by the hospital, winding slowly through each level, scanning every row.
"Not here," I say.
We head north, curving along Montlake. Husky Stadium rises to our left, then falls behind us. She turns into the lots near the IMA, the large facility where students train. I have visualized my life here for so long.
"Are you okay?" Maeve asks.
She knows me too well.
"I can't pull out of my transfer," I say quietly.
We pull into E12, the main lot. It's packed. Lake Washington stretches beyond the lot in gray ripples. She drives slowly down the first row while I scan.
Then I see it, tucked in the middle of a row.
"There," I say. My hand is shaking. "That's it."
She pulls up beside it. I step out and use the key fob. It unlocks.
"Follow me?" I ask.
She nods, already texting the guys to stand down. "They weren't on their way yet."
I stand beside his car for a moment, studying it. Something tugs at the back of my mind. It was parked at that house on Nob Hill the last time I saw it. I remember the tension the night I was introduced — Cody was on edge. And I have no idea if it was because of the team.
They wouldn't touch him.
They're teammates.
They're not monsters.
I push the thought down and get in.
The leather steering wheel is cold. Cody's letterman jacket is folded neatly in the backseat. He was so proud the day he made the UW team. He'd slid the jacket over my shoulders, kissed my hair, and told me it looked better on me. There’s a photo wedged between the center console and the seat — him, me, and all our friends at Puget Sound, laughing somewhere sunny. His school bag sits in the passenger seat. Books. Notebooks. His laptop. His world, waiting to return to him.
I want to know what happened to him. I hate having no answers.
I navigate out of E12, cross the Montlake Bridge, and merge onto 520. The floating bridge stretches across a dark Lake Washington, city lights reflecting off the water in wavering lines. We wind east, into Bellevue — into the kind of neighborhood where houses hide behind iron gates and the driveways are long enough to lose yourself in.
I find Judge Ravenshaw's street. The gates open automatically when I pull in. His car isn't here, so he must still be out. I park Cody’s car, leave the key in the cupholder, transfer into Maeve's car, and don't look back.
