Page 99 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

“I’ve never really had many friends. Kind of by choice,” I whisper.

“So when I moved to New York, I knew I’d only make maybe one, if that.

” I twist the lion’s beaded necklace. “Then I befriended Ben, and he felt like a million friends in one, you know? Like he was…everything.” I bang my head back against the door.

“And now he’s gone. And I’m not saying you’re my friend—obviously we’ve barely interacted, but your silly-string offer was nice. So thanks.”

“What’s your number?” She’s unpocketing her phone.

I give her a look. “You don’t have to take pity on me?—”

“I’ve wanted to hang out with you for weeks.

There aren’t that many girls around our age in this building, and not to pat myself on the back too hard—I get along great with introverts.

You can reject me a thousand times, and I won’t take offense or ever stop inviting you.

I’ll just be excited for the times when you do appear. ”

She makes friendship seem easy like Ben does…or did. I tell her my number. The blip of elation coming, then going. He’s not here. I’m making friends without him. Already moving on without him? It’s only been fucking hours.

Joana sees my crushed expression. “The silly-string is always on the table. I’ll place an online delivery. Have it sent to the lobby asap.”

As fun as it’d be, I could never trash their apartment knowing Beckett has OCD. Given his extreme privacy and how much Ben cautioned me when he shared his brother’s medical history, I highly doubt Joana knows he does either.

“There’s nothing to retaliate,” I swallow hard, then I place the dried flower back into the letter with so much care. Refolding the paper, slipping it into my bookbag.

“Texted you my number.” She pockets her phone, then grabs her ice pack. “You said Ben is gone? Was this a breakup?”

“No, it’s…he’s missing, I guess—not kidnapped,” I add quickly. “It’s hopefully nothing serious.” Hopefully. I sit up higher at an encouraging thought. “Your older brother is Charlie’s bodyguard, right? Oscar Oliveira?”

“That’s him.”

“Would he tell you where Charlie is if you asked?”

“Oscar? Fuck no. He won’t even tell other bodyguards where he is when he’s protecting Charlie. I’m a world-renowned secret keeper, but my brother is on another level. It’s impressive.”

“Fuck,” I slam back into the door. “We can’t find Charlie. I thought maybe he’d help.”

“Charlie is king of the assholes, so don’t set your hopes on him.” She rises to her feet, then hesitates on leaving. “You’re waiting for the Cobalt brothers, aren’t you?”

I nod at the same time Beckett and Tom come bounding out of the elevator, and I jolt up beside Joana. She says a quick goodbye and “text me if you need anything” before walking backward to her apartment, then spinning fully around and vanishing.

I’m stuck on how Beckett and Tom sprint down the hall.

I gather my stuff off the ground as Tom charges for the door. While he unlocks it, he’s speaking to me, but I just nod a ton, unsure of what he’s saying. Seeing their urgency, their fear for their little brother up close, I’m not processing this well.

I still wear his ballcap. I’m hugging a backpack with a pregnancy test, his stuffed animal son, and a goodbye letter—and all this time, I had the piece of the puzzle, the one morsel of info, that could’ve kept Ben here for his own good.

I knew he planned to move.

And I never told anyone.

Guilt and turmoil crash against me, and as Tom disappears inside, I train my focus on helping. Find Ben. Find Ben. It’s mission critical.

Except as I step forward, I freeze right outside the apartment. I’ve never really been here without Ben. The door swings back in my face, until Beckett clasps the frame.

He’s standing just inside the doorway.

His sweaty hair falls over a rolled blue bandana. His skin reddened like he rubbed makeup off in the car ride here. He pushes the door open wider for me with his back. Letting me inside. Waiting for me.

Remorse, guilt, anguish contort my face. “ I knew. I knew, Beckett. He told me he planned to leave New York. I should’ve told you. I should’ve said something?—”

“You couldn’t have known what he was really thinking,” Beckett says deeply.

“Trust me, you aren’t the only one revisiting every conversation you’ve had.

” He does this thing where he tries to pick up my gaze off the floor.

He chases after it, and it reminds me of Ben.

Is everything going to remind me of him?

I set a harsher, narrowed look on Beckett to steel myself. “We’ll find him. We have to find him.”

He says a single word in French, then tells me, “Together.” He stretches his arm into the apartment, showing me the way.

I go inside, Beckett right behind me. He flicks on the kitchen lights. Tom is rummaging around the couch, searching for any signs or clues.

The apartment is spotless. Like Ben was careful not to interact with any object, any of their possessions, anything he could accidentally break before he left.

My stomach bubbles with nausea again. Especially as Beckett finds a piece of paper and a phone beside the espresso machine.

“He left his phone?” I shake my head at myself, furious with myself.

I take off his hat in a huff and shake out my bangs.

He left his phone. He never lied to me. He basically insinuated he’d go off the grid, but I thought he’d eventually come back!

I thought he’d commune with nature, find whatever he was searching for, and stay in touch with his family.

This…this is not that.

“Unlock it, Beckett Joyce,” Tom says hopefully. “We can check his texts.”

Beckett has a hand to his eyes.

“What?” Tom’s voice spikes. “ Open it , dude. His passcode is the day Pip-Squeak died. Or try—try Harry’s birthday. Ten-thirteen. Try ten-thirteen .”

I think Tom is seconds from vaulting over the kitchen island to steal the phone, but Beckett quickly tells him, “He wiped it.”

“No, no,” Tom shakes his head aggressively. “You-you aren’t trying hard enough. You have to try the passcode.”

Beckett approaches Tom at the couch, just to hand him the phone. I join them as Tom turns on the cellphone. A welcome screen stares back. His face fractures for a brutal beat.

The air thickens with tension, making it harder and harder to breathe. “What’s the paper say?” I ask, just as the door flies open.

Eliot storms inside, shrugging off his peacoat quickly like he’s up in flames. Torched to a deadly, incinerating degree. “Any word on Charlie?”

“He’s in Prague for the weekend,” Beckett answers, as Tom snatches the paper out of his hand. “He delayed his trip last night when we went to the frat.” So Charlie is in Prague right now? Great. That helps us…not at all.

I watch Tom skim the note, and he staggers dazedly backward, then drops down to the couch.

“What’s it say?” I ask Tom, but he’s staring off into space, incoherent.

Beckett’s eyes are reddened.

Eliot steals the paper from Tom’s loose grip, then glares at the words. “Not to admonish the missing, but our dear brother has the second most aggravating handwriting of us.” He passes the paper to Beckett. “Please.”

Beckett stares at the note and reads out loud, “‘ I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you for being the best brothers …’” He can’t finish.

“ Beckett ,” Eliot forces.

I take the paper from him to read the rest. “‘ Thank you for being the best brothers a little brother could ever hope for and have. I’ll write to you in a week. Don’t worry about me.

You don’t need to find me. I need to be on my own.

’” I manage to keep my voice level. “He ends with French and his name.”

Beckett says the French part to Eliot, then translates for me, “Forever your brother, Ben.”

Tom bows forward, his distraught face in his hands, then he pops out to say, “The granola, check—check the cupboards, Eliot Alice. See if he took his granola.” His voice cracks with his features.

“Okay, we—we just follow the crumbs. We’ll find him if we follow the…

” He collapses backward as he loses breath to speak, like he’s been shot in the chest.

It hurts so badly to watch. I’ve loved Ben for months. They’ve loved him for nineteen years.

Eliot sinks beside Tom. Wraps an arm around him. “There is no crumb we won’t follow, brother. We will find him.”

“What about logging into his accounts?” I ask. “Seeing what flight he booked?”

“Our parents have people working on tracking him,” Beckett says, “but he might be untraceable. We don’t think he took a commercial flight.

Or if he flew at all. No one knows how many people Ben has been in touch with or who they even are.

He could’ve called in favors or paid people to discreetly get him where he needs to go. ”

He’s broke, but maybe this is why. He always intended to move before the end of the semester. Maybe he paid them in advance.

“Did he leave you anything?” Beckett asks me.

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, a letter. You can read it in case you think he says anything that could help find him. Just…just be careful with the pressed flower.” I dig through my backpack in my arms, emotion clouding my gaze.

My pulse is out of whack, and I end up losing grip and dumping half my things onto the floor.

Tiny pieces of candy scatter everywhere.

“Shit.” I kneel, finding the letter under spilt Jolly Ranchers.

Ugh, I don’t want to fucking cry right now. I wipe my wet eyes with my bicep.

Beckett and Eliot crouch down to gather loose pieces of hard caramel candies and rolling jawbreakers.

Then in slow-motion, I witness Beckett grabbing the slim blue box off the floorboards.

How is this happening? You’re a mortal among gods, of course your luck is shit.

I am being asphyxiated as Beckett and Eliot glance from the pregnancy test to me.

I snatch it from Beckett’s hands. “It’s just a precaution.”

“So you don’t think you are?”