Page 169 of Hymns of the Broken

The sun is just barely up, gray light spilling across the floor. I haven’t slept, just drifted in and out, every time waking up hoping I’d find her curled up between us like always.

But she’s not here.

She’s nowhere.

Riot and I both ended up in my bed anyway, neither of us saying a word. We just needed it. Her spot in the middle is empty, but we each lie on our sides, facing it. The sheets still smell like her. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it’s just another morning after a long night on the road.

But it isn’t.

She’s gone, and the world’s gone cold with her.

We don’t talk. There’s nothing to say. Every breath feels like a prayer, every heartbeat a question with no answer.

Then the door bursts open. Silas stands in the doorway, eyes burning, adrenaline in every word.

“We have something.”

Both Riot and I freeze. For a second, I think I imagined it.

But then we’re moving—fast, clumsy, not even bothering with shoes. We scramble out of bed, hearts pounding, and tear down the hallway toward the living room.

The placeis a mess of laptops, maps, phones, and coffee cups—a war room if there ever was one. Everyone’s awake now, eyes wide, hope and fear mixing in the air as Silas calls out to Micah.

Micah’s hands are flying over his keyboard. “Cameras. North side of the county. There’s a late-model white van that matches the tire treads from our drive. I just pulled a plate off a traffic cam at 2 a.m.”

Riot’s voice is rough, desperate. “Can you trace it? Can you get us there?”

Micah nods, eyes wild. “I’m trying. Give me five minutes.”

Hope, raw and sharp, slices through the numbness.

If there’s even a chance—

I’ll burn the world down to get her back.

The living room is electric—everyone glued to Micah’s laptop, hope and adrenaline making time blur. We barely breathe as Micah follows the van’s trail, cursing every time the signal blips. Riot and I hover behind him, fists clenched, hearts pounding.

Then the back door bangs open. Dex walks in, Shade and Milo right behind him, Dex clutching a plain white envelope in his hand.

“We found something outside,” Dex says, his voice low, eyes wide. “On the table by the kitchen door. It’s addressed to you and Riot.”

Micah shakes his head, panicked. “That’s impossible. I was watching the cameras all night. No one came near the door.”

I snatch the envelope from Dex’s hand, ripping it open with shaking fingers. Inside is a single photo—a grainy shot of Sawyer asleep on a narrow bed, her hands and feet shackled, her face pale but unmistakably alive.

My world narrows to that image. The chains. The helplessness.Her.

Riot grabs the photo, eyes wild, knuckles white. His whole body shakes as he flips it over. Scrawled in sharp, angry handwriting is a single sentence:

She was never yours.

Riot’s voice breaks, pure agony and rage. “That sick fuck. He’s taunting us. He’s been right fucking here.”

Ash curses, kicking a chair. Jace is pacing, fists clenching and unclenching.

Micah’salready diving into the feeds, voice shaking. “This isn’t possible. Someone hacked the cameras and looped the feed. He’s watching us. He knows exactly what we’re doing.”

Silas puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “He’s not a ghost. He made a mistake, leaving this. We can use it.”