Kiera gets out, slow and deliberate. Her shoulder brushes mine as she passes, close enough to feel the heat, but her eyes are fixed forward as she heads toward the entrance to the grocery store. “Don't get used to it.”
Inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and pop shit is playing softly through their speakers. Kiera grabs a cart and immediately veers toward produce. “If Cam eats like this,” she mutters, tossing kale in, “no wonder he’s constantly on edge.”
“I survive on caffeine,” I say. “He’s doing better than I am.”
We move aisle by aisle, getting essentials: bread, milk, eggs, toilet paper. Things neither of us comments on because talking about milk brands feels oddly intimate after everything else. I catch her watchingcouples pass by. Normal couples having playful arguments, kids begging for cereal. “You miss it?” I ask quietly.
Kiera looks at me, considering the question. “I don’t know if I ever had it.” That fucking lands heavier than it should. The same answer I would give if asked.
We reach the freezer section. She pauses, staring at the doors as if they might bite. “Hey,” I say softly.
She shakes it off. “Sorry, cold air. Brain glitch.”
I step closer without touching her. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
She smirks, the playful look back. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning to.” She grabs a box of frozen pizza and tosses it in the cart. “Emergency food.”
“Excellent choice,” I say. “Good snack for late-night fuel.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous and need to eat better.”
“And yet,” I reply, leaning in just enough for her to hear, “you came with me.” Her cheeks warm.
At checkout, she insists on paying. I let her. Not because I couldn’t or really wanted to let her. But because she needs normalcy, to feel like she still has some say in something. Back in the truck, bags rustling between us, she exhales long and slow. “That helped. I needed the breather.”
“Good,” I say. “Because we’re probably not going to get more of it for a bit.”
She glances over, softer now. “Thanks for not treating me like glass.”
I meet her gaze. “You’re not fragile, Thorn. You’re sharp. People just keep grabbing you wrong.” Something unspoken passes between us. Understanding. I start the engine and pull back onto the road, a war waiting at home.
The house feels wrong the second we step inside, like we interrupted something. I set the grocery bags down slowly, scanning the space like my body already knows what my brain hasn’t caught up to yet. The living room is untouched. No laptops or half-drunk coffee lying around. No Cam-shaped chaos humming through the walls. Kiera stops beside me, voice rising with panic. “Where are Cam and Lila?” I don’t answer right away, listening. The silence isn’t peaceful. It’s scraped clean. “They would’ve said something if they left,” she continues, quieter now. “Lila doesn’t just disappear.” I move into the kitchen. The table’s clear. Chairs pushed in. One mug overturned near the sink, coffee dried dark against the counter as if it had been knocked over in a hurry. My phone buzzes. My stomach drops before I even open it.
Unknown number: You came back sooner
than expected.
Kiera’s watching my face. “Sterling,” she says, so lightly it's almost a whisper. I open the message.
Unknown number: They were cooperative.
That made it easier.
My jaw clenches.Anger, building up until it feels like my chest is about to explode. Another vibration.
Unknown number: You’re going to want
to listen carefully now.
I don’t respond, refusing to give them the reaction they want. Kiera reaches for my arm. “What is it?”
“They fucking took them,” I say flatly. Saying it out loud makes it real. Makes the air feel thinner. “They fucking took Cam and Lila.”
Kiera’s breath catches, sharp and quick. “No. Cam would’ve…”
“He didn’t have time.” I scan the room again, seeing it clearly now. The missing gear. The cleared drives. The way the house feels staged. “They wanted us gone. They waited until we were the most vulnerable.” My phone buzzes again.
Unknown number: Don’t try to find them
