She didn’t even light it.
A shiver rolls down my spine that has nothing to do with the October cold. Every instinct I’ve spent years honing—every survival skill learned on the wrong side of the law—screams in unison.
Something is very, very wrong.
I’m back inside before I consciously decide to move. The bar noise crashes over me like a wave, disorienting after the silenceof the street. Atticus is still playing. The crowd is still swaying. The world keeps turning like nothing has changed.
But something has.
I spot Mason emerging from the hallway that leads to the back exit. He’s alone. His expression confirms what I already know before he even opens his mouth.
“She’s not out back. I checked everywhere—the alley, the parking lot, even walked down toward the?—“
Judah appears at Mason’s shoulder, drawn by some invisible thread of concern. “What’s going on?”
“Phoenix.” The word comes out harder than I intend. “When’s the last time either of you actually saw her?”
They exchange a glance. Mason’s face has gone pale.
“She went outside after the song,” he says. “I offered to go with her, but she said she’d be fine. That was…” He checks his phone. “Almost twenty-five minutes ago.”
The cigarette is still in my fist. I hold it up so they can both see.
“Found this on the sidewalk, right outside the door.”
Mason reaches for it, then stops himself. His hand is shaking. “That’s her color.”
“It’s unlit.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, clinical in a way that means my brain has shifted into crisis mode. “She went outside to smoke. She had the cigarette. And then something happened before she could light it.”
Judah’s face has gone hard, all that gentle warmth replaced by something sharp and dangerous. “You think something bad happened.”
It’s not a question.
“Judah.” I lock eyes with him, and whatever he sees in my expression makes his jaw clench. “I need you to watch the bar.”
“Dom—”
“Mason.” I turn to find him already vibrating with barely contained energy, ready to bolt. “You follow me.”
“Where?”
“We’re going to check the security footage.”
The cramped space behind the storage room that Derek laughingly calls an office is just large enough for a desk and filing cabinet.
The computer whirs to life with a protesting groan. Mason hovers at my shoulder, close enough that I can feel heat radiating off him, smell the anxiety rolling off his skin in waves.
“Come on, come on…”
The security program loads. Four grainy feeds fill the screen—front entrance, back door, parking lot, and the section of sidewalk directly outside the main windows.
“There.” Mason’s finger jabs at the screen. “That’s the front. Can you rewind it?”
My hand is already on the mouse. I drag the timeline backward, watching the footage play in reverse. People walk backward out of frame. A car un-parks itself from the curb. The shadows lengthen, then shorten, then lengthen again as I search for the right moment.
“Stop.”
Phoenix appears on screen.
