Warehouse Twelve-B rises out of it like a waiting beast. Corrugated metal walls groan in the wind, the windows are boarded up, and the padlock is thick enough to anchor a ship.
Jonathan lifts two fingers as we approach it.
Liam peels left, Owen takes the right, and I head straight for the door, every step a drumbeat in my chest. My pulse has gone feral—hammering, skipping, and threatening to tear straight through my ribs.
“Matt,” Jonathan grunts, low and pissed off, behind me. “Control yourself. We don’t know what’s inside.”
Control is a joke, a fantasy. Trying to hold it is like trying to cage a hurricane with my bare hands.
Liam gives the all-clear as Owen swings the bolt cutters. Metal snaps as the padlock clatters to the floor, hollow and sharp, like the warning bell of a disaster.
We slip inside as one unit.
Cold hits first—brutal and immediate, sinking past skin and muscle, straight into bone. The warehouse smells of iron and mildew, dust hanging thick in the torchlight like static. Crates loom in the shadows. Abandoned machinery squats like carcasses. Somewhere in the dark, water drips.
“Over here,” Liam calls softly from the back corner. “There’s something on the ground.”
My heart lodges in my throat as I make my way to him, my boots sounding too loud against the concrete. I stop dead when I see what he’s found.
Silver high heels that cost a small fortune.
The same heels I kissed that night in Lyon.
I lift them with trembling hands. My lungs seize, refusing air. My fingers burn from the tremor ripping through my body. She was here, that much is undeniable. And the thought of her in someone else’s hands—someone who would hurt her—makes the floor tilt, my stomach dropping straight through it.
“Matt,” Jonathan calls, cautious, like he’s bracing me against something I can’t see. “This is a clue. She was brought through here this morning.”
Too long.
“They don’t have a real head start,” he continues, firmer now, choosing his words carefully. “She hasn’t even been missing twenty-four hours going of what you told us.”
The words hit, but they don’t settle. Not at first.
“Hours are everything in a place like this,” I grind out, pulse roaring in my ears. “Every minute—”
“I know,” he cuts in quietly. Not sharp, but pointed. “Believe me, Matt.I know.That’s exactly why I know this is a good thing.The less time they’ve had with her, the fewer places she could be. Fewer transfers. Fewer hands. Fewer chances for them to disappear with her.”
“It’s still too damn long,” I mutter anyway, because logic doesn’t stop the images clawing their way into my head. If logic were in the room right now, I’d know better than to bitch about hours when Jonathan had to mourn Helen for years. But all I can see is Lily—wide-eyed, terrified, fighting back while someone drags her farther and farther away from me.
Jonathan doesn’t point out the elephant in the room; he just holds my gaze, jaw clenched tight, lips pursed as understanding flashes behind his eyes.
“But not too late,” he says. “Not even close.”
A ringing starts in my ears, low at first, then swelling, drowning out the room. My vision tunnels in and out around the edges. My hands won’t stop shaking.
“Matt.” Jonathan’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, grounding me, but barely. “Look at me.”
I can’t. My pulse is a violent, punishing thing and my knees threaten to give.
“She might’ve slipped the shoe off on purpose,” Liam says quietly. “Left us something. She’s a fighter. You know that better than anyone.”
A sound tears out of me—half breath, half something animal.
“She shouldn’t have to be,” I choke, dropping to a crouch as I clutch the heel to my chest for one fleeting second. “I should’ve—fuck—I should’ve never let her out of my sight.”
Jonathan crouches in front of me, forcing eye contact. His voice drops, firm and unyielding. “This isn’t on you. And you won’t save her by breaking apart. Wearegoing to find her.”
His gaze doesn’t waver.
