Page 138 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“How?” I ask, already thinking it through. A group that large can’t disappear by accident. Thirty women have phones, cars, bank accounts, families, and friends. Each should leave a trail even if she doesn’t intend to. If they fled together, one of them would have called by now. If they were injured, a hospital would have a record. If they died, there would be bodies.

So what the fuck is going on?

“Did the tunnel collapse?”

“No. Burning debris broke through parts of the ceiling, but the main passage held.” Thomson drags a hand over his face. Grime remains beneath his nails. “The fire department cleared it. The police searched it twice. Our people went through again after they left.”

“Search it again.”

His hand falls to his side. “I spent fourteen hours down there yesterday. Your father finally sent two Brothers to drag me out. We checked the main passage, the service tunnels, the chapel branch, every exit that hasn’t been sealed for decades.”

I look at the mud on his shoes again. Not mud. Soot and pulverized stone ground together beneath the soles.

“The tracker,” I say, desperately grasping for anything that might help. “What happened to Laurel’s tracker?”

“It stopped transmitting during the fire.”

The beeping accelerates beside me. I draw another breath, forcing air through lungs that refuse to expand.

“When?”

“While everyone was in the tunnels.”

“Where was the last signal?”

“The main passage, near the eastern branch.”

The passage leading toward the old chapel ruins. No collapse. No body. Only a signal that existed one second and disappeared the next.

I press the heel of my hand against my eyes. “Could the heat have damaged it?”

“Maybe. It wasn’t designed to withstand those temperatures.” Thomson takes another sip and I wonder if that’s all he’s been living on while I was sedated. “Water could have shorted it. Enough stone or metal between the tracker and the receiver could block transmission. Or enough distance. Its range has limits, like all trackers.”

“Silas could be blocking it again,” I offer, remembering how Silas severed the connection when he had Laurel inside the Faraday cage on his bus. He could have done it again, but why would he take half a class of Sisters as well? If he wanted ransom, he would have made contact by now, and the success of Devil’s Dust means money is unlikely to be his motive.

My left palm aches as I brace my hand on the mattress. A row of stitches crosses the center, the skin swollen and bruised around them. The wound brings back the dagger between our hands, blood gathering over the blade, and Laurel curling her fingers around mine after I loosened my grip enough to let her leave.

She chose me.

Less than an hour later, I let her hand go.

She told me to leave. Pressed her palm to my chest and sent me back for my father, but that doesn’t change what I did. I turned away from her in a tunnel filling with smoke and flame, trusting her to keep moving while I answered someone else’s call.

It’s not the first time.

During the attack, Laurel told me to help Rebecca, and I obeyed because The Order was under siege and duty demanded it. She went into the Vault without me. This time my father called, and I left her again.

Both times, she gave permission.

Both times, I took it.

I told myself I was protecting everyone I loved, but the result is always the same. When duty pulls in one direction and Laurel stands in the other, I leave her behind.

Now she’s gone.

The pressure in my chest becomes unbearable, a pain no amount of oxygen could correct. I promised she would be my first bond and my last. My only bond. That promise means I can no longer choose everyone else and expect Laurel to survive until I return.

I catch the edge of the tape securing the IV.