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I keep thinking about the clinic Lucia’s designing, the gym we’ll build together, and the life we’re constructing from the rubble of who we used to be.

Even though my hands are raw and my back aches, I’ve never been happier. The smell of fresh paint and new wood floods my lungs. Quite literally, I’m shaping our future with my hands.

I text her around four with clumsy fingers.

Coming home. What do you want for dinner?

I get no response. She’s probably with a patient. I shower, change, and drive home with the windows down and the evening air cool against my skin.

A quick debriefing about Bruno’s whereabouts holds me back in the main villa. Nico runs through the latest surveillance reports, Billy presents his analysis of the shell company financials, and I contribute where I can while checking my phone under the table every few minutes.

Four thirty. Nothing from Lucia.

Five o’clock. Still nothing.

By the time the meeting breaks and I return to our quarters, her radio silence has grown teeth. I text again, then call. The screen shifts, prompting me to leave a voicemail. I text once more, keeping the words casual even as my chest clenches.

Six o’clock.

The worry stops gnawing at the edges and opens into a maw that swallows me whole.

Then I call the hospital. Dr. Webb informs me she left hours ago. I walk over to the compound’s clinic to see if Lucia headed there after her shift. She sometimes does when someone’s seriously ill. I find Jenna reorganizing supply shelves with the focused energy of someone keeping her hands busy to avoid thinking.

“She never came in today,” Jenna says before I’ve even opened my mouth. Her eyes flick to mine and away again, so quickly that I almost miss it. “I thought she was with you at the community center.”

The cold fist in my chest clenches. I’m in the car in a flash, racing through the compound gates. My mind cycles through possibilities with the merciless speed of a man who knows exactly what he’s afraid of.

I try to convince myself I’m wrong. She’s probably just playing a prank or running errands. She could have even fallen asleep at the community center, lost in her plans.

Her apartment is my first stop, but Lucia’s black Honda Civic is nowhere on the street, and the dark windows show no sign of life. The community center is my next thought. When I arrive at the uncompleted building to find the front gate unlocked, I’m immediately on edge.

I draw my gun and rush inside, searching nooks and crannies on every floor.

Each empty room hits my chest like a fist.

Some walls are up on the third floor in the living and bedroom areas. Hurrying in the living area, I stand in the center as light spills through from the east-facing windows.

Still no trace of my Lucia.

My phone buzzes with a message, and I stop breathing. For one second, I hold the screen face down against my palm.

If the message is Lucia telling me she’s fine, I’ll feel ridiculous for the last twenty minutes I’ve spent panicking.

I tap my screen to illuminate the text.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. Please don’t look for me.

My hands go cold. My heart races, and I can’t do anything other than stare at the screen.

I call her immediately. The phone rings five times, then six, then goes to voicemail. I call again and again, and each time, I get her recorded voice asking me to leave a message in a professional tone.

I hang up and text her once more.

Lucia, call me. Now.

The reply comes too quickly.

I have nothing to say to you.