Page 162 of Hymns of the Broken

I wish I’d told her she was my favorite person in the world, even when she’s a brat, even when she forgets to text me back for hours because she’s lost behind her camera.

I can’t take the weight of everyone’s eyes on me—Micah’s haunted, tired stare, Riot’s wild pacing, Jasper’s silent grief. My hands shake as I put down my mug, and I don’t even try to hide how quickly I slip out of the kitchen, up the stairs to my room. I locked the door behind me. The house is still noisy with search and worry, but in my room, it’s just me and the crushing silence.

I sit on my bed, pull my knees to my chest, and finally let the tears spill over. Big, hot, ugly sobs that shake my whole body, the kind that taste like regret and fear and guilt. I muffle my cries in my pillow, trying to keep them small, but it’s no use. All I can think is,I should’ve gone withher. I should’ve noticed.Thisis my fault.

There’s a quiet knock at the door. I don’t answer. I can’t.

But the knock comes again, softer. Then a voice—Ash, of course, always the first to break through. “Macee? Hey, come on, open up. You don’t have to do this alone.”

I scrub at my face, but the tears won’t stop. Another voice—Jace, more serious than usual, gentler. “We’re not leaving until you open the door. You can be mad, you can cry, you can yell at us—just let us in.”

I crack the door open, just a little, and they both slip inside, closing it behind them. Ash sits at the end of my bed, swinging his feet, his usual swagger dialed down. Jace sits beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not so close that I feel crowded.

Ash picks at a thread on my blanket, his eyes soft. “We’re all scared. But you know, Sawyer—she’s too stubborn to let anybody keep her down for long. She’s probably giving her kidnapper hell right now.”

Jace nudges me, offering a lopsided smile. “Besides, who else is gonna keep us in line? We need you, Macee. You and Sawyer are the only sane ones in this house.”

I let out a watery laugh, tears still coming, but softer now. “I just… I missher. I should’ve done something.”

Ash wraps an arm around my shoulders gently. “This isn’t on you. Nobody blames you. And when she gets back, you two can both yell at us for being idiots. Promise.”

Jace squeezes my knee. “We’re not going to giving up, and neither are you.”

For the first time since we realized she was missing, I feel a little less alone.

Chapter 26

SAWYER

Thefirst thing I feel is the ache—dull and throbbing, everywhere. My wrists burn. My ankles, too. My head is heavy, thick with a chemical fog I can’t shake off. I blink, forcing my eyes to open, but it’s like moving underwater. Everything’s slow. Wrong.

It’s dark. Not pitch black, but dim, with only a sliver of weak light leaking around the edges of thick curtains. The air smells like dust, sweat, something metallic and old. I try to move, to sit up, and that’s when I feel it—the cold, brutal bite of steel around my wrists. Chains rattle as I tug, panic searing through me in a rush.

I’m handcuffed to a bed.

How long have I been here? Where even is here?

The last thing I remember is the driveway—the van, a hand over my mouth, a sweet chemical scent burning my nose and throat—then nothing.

I test the cuffs, pulling hard, but they barely budge. The chains clank dully against the iron bed frame. My breath stutters, fast and shallow, each inhale catching in my throat as I fight to keep the rising panic from swallowing me whole. I try to slow it—count to four, in and out—but it barely takes the edge off.

That’s when I notice it.

A shape—someone—sitting in the far corner, deep in the shadows. I squint, my eyes still adjusting, and finally see it: a man in a mask, face hidden in darkness, motionless except for the faint glint of his eyes watching me. Just watching.

I can’tsee his face. I can barely make out anything at all. But I know—somehow—I’m not alone. And I’m not safe.

The silence between us is thick, suffocating. My panic spikes, but I force myself to meethisstare, refusing to look away.

My voice is small, trembling. “What do you want from me?”

The mask doesn’t move. The silence is a threat in itself.

And that’s when the genuine fear starts—because I have no idea who he is, if he’s even real, how long I’ve been here, or what’s coming next.

All I know is that nobody knows where I am.

And he’s waiting for me to break.