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“What?” she asks. “You did, honey. You had me scared straight. I was ready to go right to war for you, shotgun and all.” She places a hand over her heart, saluting with the other.

“I know. I’m sorry, Jane,” I say.

“Honey, you know that if you’re having panic attacks again, you can tell me. We can work through it together, just like we always do,” she says, grabbing my full attention as I sit up a little straighter. Memories rush to the surface, and I attempt to push them down before they have the chance to drag me under.

Your past can no longer harm you. Breathe, Lydia.

“No, Jane,” I say, shaking it off. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, dear. If you say so.”

“Actually,” I say, remembering that I did have one question for her. “You haven’t seen anyone going through my drawers, have you?”

“Well, no, I don’t reckon I have,” she says, pausing and tilting her head. “Don’t tell me Nicki has been going through your things again. Lydia, you know that I told you to come to me if—”

“No, Jane. Nothing is missing. I was only wondering, is all.”

She eyes me with a skepticism that has me instantly regretting not telling her the whole truth. I can’t put Jane in danger. What if the person who left this note is dangerous? She’s been too kind to me. I can’t pull her into this.

“Alrighty, then,” she starts. “Well, honey, I have a client coming in a few. You enjoy that muffin and help yourself to another when you’re done.” She leans down to kiss me on the cheek before leaving her office.

“Thanks again, Jane. Love you!” I call out behind her.

I don’t know what I did to deserve the love that Jane has given me. That woman is a Cancer through and through. She’s nurturing, protective, wise beyond her years, and not afraid to take down anyone who crosses her loved ones. The traits that make her entirely herself are the same ones that I’m afraid of. If I told her the truth, she’d make it her primary mission to get to the bottom of whoever sent the note. She’d put herself directly in the line of fire for me, and I can’t have that.

I lean over and take the note out of my pocket, unfolding it and flattening it out against the armchair of the love seat. As I read it over one more time, I search my memory for anything that might help me decipher who left it.

S? Who could that be? Sloane, Sabel, Sonus, something else entirely? You don’t remember, but we do. I turn the words over in my head, a slow unease building as I wonder if this connects to the frequencies Sonus pushed through Reverb’s music.

I was among those affected by the frequencies. According to Riven and Sloane, I was more affected than the average listener. I can’t recall anything odd when I search my memory, only that I felt entirely consumed by the music. I guess memory loss isn’t totally out of the question when it comes to Sabel. After hearing everything that sick woman did to Sloane and Riven, I wouldn’t put it past her.

I stare down at the note again, rereading the address. North Hollow Storage Co. is about twenty minutes outside of the city. I shove the sticky note back into my pocket, deciding that I have to go there. I have to see what’s inside. While I’m no detective like my best friend, I do consider myself gifted in other ways. I refuse to include said best friend, even if her expertise in the matter would be beneficial. Sloane is finally happy, and I’m not going to pull her from that place. This plan feels right. It feels like I’m being drawn to whatever this is.

Standing, I toss the empty water bottle and head back into the salon. After I finish up with Carly Joe’s client, I’ll pay a visit to unit 8C. I pull out my phone and send a quick text before heading to the older brunette waiting in my chair.

I know I said I wouldn’t involve my best friend in this, but that doesn’t make me a complete idiot. I’ve seen this movie, and I’m definitely not going alone—assuming Mr. Big and Broody will accept my invitation.

6

Callum

Lydia Aston is a walking migraine with glitter.

I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my sweats as Kai and I drag Dorian’s lifeless body down to the crematory. Why does Sonus Corp have a fucking crematory? Beats me. I’ve added the question to the long list of things that should have been giant red flags waving at us since we set foot into this place. But as creepy as the thought is, I’m currently thankful for a place to dispose Dorian Reilly.

Once Kai and I exit the elevator to the lower level, we pull Dorian out and drop him in front of a large iron enclosure. Kai does most of the work, since my left hand is basically useless to me right now. I walk over and start the oven, letting it heat to the necessary temperature. While waiting, I pull out my phone to check my messages. When I see that I have one from Lydia, I nearly drop the phone.

Lydia: Hey sunshine, I need a favor. And before you say no, please reconsider. I have to do something, and I need a big, strong man to help me do it. Don’t worry, I’ll repay the favor. Thanks in advance!

I roll my eyes and groan, rereading Lydia’s message. Her texts are always so fucking weird and cryptic. I can never tell if she’s being serious, or flirty, or trying to get on my last fucking nerve. I’d bet she probably needs me to do something trivial as hell, like check her plumbing or something. Doesn’t she have anyone else she could ask? A brother? A father? Another fucking guy who isn’t me? I rub the back of my neck, pocketing my phone without responding.

“Everything okay, man?” Kai asks, eyeing the pocket I shoved my phone into.

“Yep,” I say back, not willing to discuss my private life with fucking Malakai Vale. The dude has a hard-on for his goddamn therapist, which makes him literally the last person I need to be taking relationship advice from.

“Look, man, if you wanna talk about Lydia. I can—”

“No,” I growl, interrupting him.