My phone buzzes. Nash's prospect, from the house. A photo. Our porch. The flowers are gone. Someone came back for them.
Chapter 46
Sloane
Thecallcomesaftermidnight. I'm awake, lying in the dark of one of the spare rooms above the clubhouse, Knox's arm heavy around my waist. The mattress is thinner than ours. The sheets smell of detergent and someone else's cologne. But Knox is warm against my back, and the compound is quiet. For the first time today, the walls feel thick enough to hold.
My mind won't stop. Chicago. The Blackwell. My father.
Knox's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He shifts, thumb swiping without sitting up.
"Yeah." A pause. I feel him go still. "When?" Another pause. "We'll be ready." He hangs up. I wait. Letting him gather whathe needs to say. His hand finds mine in the dark. "That was McKenzie."
My stomach clenches. "What happened?"
"Anna wants to come. To Chicago. For the walkthrough."
I sit up, pulling away. "What?"
His hand settles on my knee. "She volunteered. Wants to walk the building. Help with the layout."
"No." Sharper than I mean.
"Sloane—"
"She doesn't need to do that. We can handle the layout without her. McKenzie has blueprints. Phoenix has—"
"She wants to."
I flatten my palms against my thighs, staring at the wall. "Why would she want that?"
"McKenzie said she needs to walk through it empty. On her terms."
"She shouldn't have to."
"No. But it's her choice."
I shake my head, eyes burning. "We were too late."
Knox sits up behind me. Hands on my shoulders. "You tried," he says, voice low.
"We were too late." My voice cracks. "I got Tobias. We went back, and she was gone. They'd moved her and by the time we got there—"
"Sloane." He turns me, cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You tried to save her."
"And it got me sold," I whisper. "My father found out I tried to help her. That's why he was going to put me in the next auction." His jaw hardens. He knows this. I've told him before, in pieces, on nights worse than this one. But saying it out loud costs the same. "That's why I was at that bar. That's why I met you."
His thumb strokes once. "I know."
"I should have been smarter. Faster."
"You were twenty-four years old fighting a system built by men who buy silence for a living. You did what you could."
"I should have done more."
"You tried to save her and your father sold you for it. That's the kind of thing that would break most people. You ran instead."
I lean into his chest, cheek flat against his sternum. The heartbeat under my ear is steady. Mine isn't. "She was so young," I whisper.
