I check my watch. Quarter past ten.
I left my apartment at 2:30 a.m. I’ve been gone for eight hours. The choke took me out at the museum. The needle in the garage took me out again. I have a vague, blurry memory of a sharp sting in my arm before the lights went out for good.
By now, the cleaning crew at the museum has found...
I pause. Found what?
I remember the men in black tactical gear.Team 6.I remember the foam that turned the blood pink. I remember the man putting the lilies in a trash bag.
There is no body. There is no blood. There are no broken shards of glass.
But my car. My car was in the alley. It’s a silver Audi. My father bought it for me. It has a built-in GPS tracker.
And my phone...
A surge of hope rushes through me. My phone.
Technology is my father’s greatest weapon. He tracks everything. He has the “Find My” app on my phone linked to his security detail’s dashboard. He insisted on it when I moved out. “Safety,” he called it. “Surveillance,” I called it. “I need to know where you are, Iris, in case enemies of the court try to get to me through you.”
I hated it then. I resented the digital leash.
But right now, I don’t care what it is. It’s a beacon.
If my phone is active, his security team can see it. They will pull carrier pings, call in favors, and turn my disappearance into a manhunt.
I scramble to my feet, my hands flying to my pockets.
Empty.
I check my back pockets. Empty.
The pockets of my sweater.
Nothing.
I pat myself down, feeling my waistband, scanning the floor where I woke up.
Maybe it fell out onto the bed?
I tear the sheets off the mattress. I shake the pillows. I drop to my knees and look under the bed.
“Where is it?” I gasp, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “Where is it?”
Then, the memory hits me.
The car ride. The rain. The window lowering.
I see it vividly now, the memory cutting through the haze of the drugs.
I remember him holding my phone. The screen lighting up with a notification. He shoved the device through the gap in the glass.
I didn’t see it land or hear it smash, but I remember the window sealing shut.
You don’t exist anymore,he said.
My hands drop to my sides. I sink back onto the carpet, the strength draining from my legs.
Gone.
