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We reconvene at the house as the first rays of dawn begin to paint the horizon a bleak gray. Our eyes are hollow, our shoulders slumped in defeat. The night has yielded no sign of Aria. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.
“We failed her,” Zane says, his voice cracking. “I failed her. This is all my fault.”
Malachi places a hand on his shoulder. “We all played a part in this. Blaming yourself won’t help us find her.”
I pace the living room, my mind racing. Where could she be? What horrors might she be facing while we stand here, useless? The possibilities make my stomach churn.
“We need a plan,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We can’t just wander aimlessly. She needs us.”
Logan nods. “I’ll check with local hospitals and shelters, see if anyone fitting her description has turned up.”
“I’ll hack into the city’s CCTV network,” I offer, my fingers already trembling as I pull out my laptop. “I’ll see if I can spot her on any of the cameras.” The thought of seeing her, even on a grainy screen, brings a flicker of hope.
Malachi pulls out his phone, his expression grim. “I have some contacts in the police force. I’ll give them a call.” He’s calm and collected, but I can see the worry etched into his features.
Zane turns from peering out the window, his eyes haunted. “I’ll check the dojo and give Willow a call. I know they became friends.” His voice is barely a whisper, guilt and regret heavy in every word.
“I’m going to stop at her apartment,” Dash says, his voice tight with fear. He tugs at his hair—a nervous habit I’ve rarely seen.
“Come on,” Logan says, his voice steady. “I’ll drive.” He places a reassuring hand on Dash’s shoulder, grounding him and stopping his bouncing. I watch Logan and Dash depart, their faces etched with determination and worry.
The thought of Aria at her apartment, alone and vulnerable, makes my heart race. What if she’s not there? What if someone else found her first?
I catch my reflection in a window—wild eyes, disheveled hair, a face etched with fear. I barely recognize myself. Taking a deep breath, I force my shoulders back and clench my fists. Aria needs me focused, not falling apart.
As each minute ticks by, I worry that we’ve already lost her before we even had a chance to have her.
I will regret that for the rest of my life.
42
ARIA
I come to slowly, the haze lifting from my mind like fog dissipating under the morning sun. My head throbs, each heartbeat sending a pulse of pain through my skull. The stench of stale cigarettes hits me before I even open my eyes. The room swims into focus, a depressing tableau of faded beige and peeling wallpaper. The stench of stale cigarettes and sickeningly sweet air freshener assaults my senses, clinging to my clothes and hair like a second skin. It’s a perfect reflection of how I feel—cheap, used, and desperate to wash away the memories of the past few days.
Where am I?
I sit up, the scratchy bedspread rough against my skin. Panic flutters in my chest as I take in the unfamiliar room. A small, outdated TV sits on a rickety stand in the corner, and a faded armchair rests near the window. The curtains are drawn, casting the room in shadows, but a sliver of moonlight peeks through a gap, highlighting the dust motes swirling in the air. Snippets of the night flit through my mind—a flash of headlights, the echo of my own footsteps on wet pavement, and the cold, biting air wrapping around me like a shroud.
How did I get here?
I grasp at fragmented memories, each one slipping away like smoke through my fingers. Zane’s angry words echo in my mind. Get the fuck out. I never want to see you again. The bite of cold air as I ran, blind with panic and hurt. After that…nothing. A yawning chasm of lost time that sends a chill down my spine. What happened to me in those missing hours?
My heart races as I try to piece together what happened. How much time has passed? Hours? Days? I glance around, looking for any clue that might tell me where I am or how long I’ve been here. My brain feels sluggish, struggling to emerge from the fog.
As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a wave of nausea hits me. I clutch my stomach, willing the churning to subside. My mouth is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I need water. My hand brushes against something in my pocket—a credit card. Memories flood back, of fumbling with my phone, calling Cayenne in a panic, her calm voice guiding me to this motel. “Use my card,” she had said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I push myself to my feet, swaying slightly as a rush of dizziness washes over me. I steady myself against the nightstand, my fingers brushing against something cool and metallic—a room key. At least that’s one mystery solved.
I make my way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The harsh fluorescent glare makes me wince. I turn on the faucet and cup my hands under the stream, greedily gulping down the water. It soothes my parched throat but does little to quell the pounding in my head.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and recoil, barely recognizing the wraith staring back at me. My usually vibrant hazel eyes are now dull and bloodshot, sunken into dark hollows. Smudged black eyeliner streaks down my cheeks like tear tracks, and my faded pink hair hangs in limp, greasy tangles. The harsh fluorescent light accentuates every flaw, every sign of my recent ordeal. I look like I’ve been through hell, and in a way, I have. I look like hell.
I splash some water on my face, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind.
Think, Aria. What happened after you left Zane’s?
I vaguely remember walking for a long time, my feet aching in my high heels. I remember the chill of the night air and the sound of distant traffic, but everything after that is a blank.
