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I hit the turnoff to the private road, the tires crunching on gravel. The trees lining the driveway whisper in the wind, soft and cold. My stomach twists as the house comes into view.

Something’s wrong. I don’t even see it yet. I just feel it.

I throw the truck into park, leap out before the engine fully shuts off. “Laney!” I call as I jog up the steps.

No answer.

I reach for the doorknob—and pause.

It’s cracked open.

My pulse spikes.

I push inside, eyes sweeping the entryway, calling her name again. “Laney?”

Then I see it.

Her phone.

Smashed.

The screen is shattered, the casing splintered near the bottom like it was ripped out of someone’s hand. It lies just inside the doorway, abandoned. Wrong.

“Shit,” I whisper, crouching to pick it up.

Nico steps in behind me, instantly alert. He doesn’t ask permission—just starts moving through the house like a soldier clearing a perimeter. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Back hallway.

“Clear,” he calls quietly.

But my panic’s already sprinting ahead of me.

I run through the house myself, like I’m going to find her curled up in a corner I somehow missed.

Nothing.

No Laney.

No note.

No sound.

Just Merlyn.

Sitting by the fireplace, ears up, eyes watching me.

Alone.

I drop to my knees in front of her. “Where is she?” I whisper.

The dog gives a soft, distressed whine. I notice now—her fur’s sticking up. She’s alert, tense. Agitated.

My mind races. How did someone get in? Why would they take her? Who the hell would—

Then the realization crashes in like a goddamn freight train.

Could Randy have taken her?

Tasha Monroe is the other option but I quickly dismiss it. This isn’t her style and she wouldn’t have worked so fast. She thought taking my freedom was her revenge so she had no reason to go after Laney.