I'm not.
The screen stays dark, and the silence presses in loud enough to drown out everything except the certainty that whatever comes next is going to change everything.
Please be okay, Red.
My phone rings again. Before the second ring can finish, my thumb slips against the glass. "Demi."
"I don't have anything concrete. Nickolai isn't answering my texts or calls, nor is Mikhail." Her voice drops, and she adds, "But I'm not surprised."
"Why?"
She hesitates a moment, then admits, "We got into it last night."
"The three of you?"
"Yeah."
My pulse ticks up. "Are you with both of them?"
Her voice wavers. "It's complicated. I'll tell you later. I'll keep calling, and when I find something out, I'll let you know."
My shoulders sag, then lock right back up. I fret, "Red never misseswork. He never forgets to call me. This isn't him. If Mikhail has him..." I squeeze my eyes shut, not adding that my father has to be involved.
She acknowledges, "I know. But I need a minute to push. Don't call your dad yet."
I bark out a laugh that doesn't sound like mine. "That's your advice."
"It's not advice. It's a pause. Five minutes. Let me try again."
My voice shakes. "If my father has him..." I can't finish it.
"Give me a few minutes," Demi says, and the line goes dead.
I stare at my phone like it might light back up out of pity. The silence presses in on me, thick and heavy. Red's scent still lingers in the air, clean and warm, and my body reacts to it before my brain can stop it. My thighs ache. My throat tightens. The memory of his mouth at my collarbone flashes sharp and unwanted.
I drag my hand down my face and pull in a breath through my nose, then another. I put my head between my knees, begging for my body to cooperate.
He told me to breathe when I started spiraling last night. He held my jaw and made me slow down.
He said he'd wake me up.
He didn't.
Demi calls back.
I demand, "What did you find out?"
She exhales, slow and controlled. Hurt fills her voice. "Nikolai tried to lie to me."
My stomach drops. "Tried?"
She assures, "I didn't let him. I cornered him. I asked the same questions six different ways. I told him I already knew."
My fingers curl around the edge of the counter until the marble bites into my skin. "Demi."
"Mikhail had orders to pick him up."
The room spins. I catch myself on the counter, breath stuttering in my chest. I ask a question I already know the answer to, which makes my stomach sour further. "Orders from who?"
