Silence stretches for a second. Only the soft beeping fills it.
“Where is Kiara,” I repeat, my voice lower this time.
One of the men by the window shifts, Dorian, exchanging a look with the guard at the door.
“She isn’t here,” he says finally. “By the time we found you two on the riverbank, she was gone. You and Adrien were unconscious and hypothermic. We had to choose what we could do in those minutes. That meant getting you two out before anyone else came back to finish you.”
The world narrows to a pinprick.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian adds.
For a moment I don’t feel my head. Or the IV. Or the weight on my chest. Just a cold, clean rage sliding into all the empty spaces. The monitor jumps, beeping wild and fast. The doctor reaches over and turns the volume down.
“Easy,” he says, watching me carefully. “Your brain is injured. You think in straight lines now, or you won’t think at all.”
I stare at the ceiling, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, forcing the rhythm back into something that doesn’t sound like a dying animal.
Grade II concussion.
Two days lost.
Kiara gone.
The doctor’s voice cuts through, quieter.
“You’re going to stay in this bed for at least another forty-eight hours. No bright light. No arguing. No plans. I’ll run neuro checks every few hours—orientation, pupils, coordination. If you behave, you get pain medication that doesn’t make your brain fog worse. If you don’t, I’ll sedate you, and you’ll lose more time. Understood?”
I close my eyes against the dizzy haziness and the slow spin of the room.
“Understood,” I bite out.
He pats my shoulder once, brisk, clinical, and stands.
“Good. Try to sleep. Let your brain settle. You can go do your thing when you can stand up without vomiting.”
He gets up and goes to the other side of the room to Adrien. I gesture to Dorian to come closer but he’s already whispering to me.
“We’re on it already,” he assures me while others relax by a fraction, their silhouettes blurring at the edges of my vision as I let my eyes close. The headache drills on, steady and vicious, but underneath it there’s a single, sharp point of focus.
She’s alive. I know she is.
Four weeks later
Kasien
Present
I pace around the tech room, all the blue screen light stinging my head, threatening to blow it up. The heavy metal in my hand taps nervously against my thigh as I suddenly stop and look at the guy sitting behind the three screens, chilling there like we have fucking time.
I raise my hand with the gun and press the cold metal end to his nape. He freezes.
“What’s your fucking problem, huh? How fucking hard is it to find him!”
My voice blasts out of me so loud I feel the sharp sting behind my eyes, a hot needle driving straight into my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the world from spinning, but when I open them again, he already has his hands above his head, slowly turning to me.
He looks so damn young. Barely older than Natalya.
Terror fills his eyes, eyebrows shaking, pupils blown wide like a trapped animal. I press the gun to his forehead and he shuts his eyes instantly, chin trembling, sweat beading on his upper lip.
