Page 45 of Monsters Carve Thrones

She blinked. “Seven. Fine. And you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t stopped since she went missing,” Nico muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You look like you’re about to eat the goddamn laptop.”

The cursor blinked.

A code cracked open. One of the backdoor ports I’d planted weeks ago in a logistics firm tied to Waylon’s old network. My heart kicked once in my chest. I leaned closer.

Coordinates. Flight paths. Timing.

My blood started to buzz.

“I have something,” I said, voice low.

All three of them straightened.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, flipping the knife one last time before palming it. Eyes sharp now. Hunter mode.

“Private jet. No call sign. Landed outside Moscow six hours after she was taken. Manifest is scrubbed, but someone paid off customs under the name‘Redshift Logistics.’That’s one of Waylon’s fronts. He used it back when he and Moreau were moving girls and drugs out of Russia.”

Laura went still. “You think that’s where she is? Do you think she’s being...trafficked?”

“No,” I said slowly, “This is too personal. He wouldn’t traffic her. He’d more than likely keep her…” I trailed off, trembling at the thought of what he could put her through. “For himself.” I clenched my jaw so tight that it could shatter. I cracked my knuckles and pulled up a secondary server I’d infected months ago. “If this fucker made a single mistake, I’ll have him.”

***

I woke to the sound of nothing. No traffic. No voices. Just the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint creak of old floorboards settling beneath the silence.

The glow from my laptop had gone dark, screen asleep. My neck ached from how I’d curled into the corner of the couch. I shifted slowly and winced.

Across from me, Laura was curled beneath a throw blanket, one arm tucked beneath her cheek, the other still wrapped around a half-empty bottle of wine. Her makeup had smudged, mascara dried like bruises under her eyes. Kieran was stretched out at the other end of my couch, boots still on, mouth slightly open, breathing deeply. Nico had taken the chair in the corner, head leaned back, arms folded, scowl still carved into his sleeping face like he hadn’t even let go in sleep.

It was three in the morning.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up, muscles protesting. My hand hovered over the laptop, but I didn’t touch it. Not yet. The bedroom door was cracked open up the stairs, seemingly waiting for her to return. I stared at it too long, a horrid burn crawling from my heart up my throat. My gaze snagged on the soft cotton robe she always left on the hook beside the door. For a moment, I thought of going up there and laying on the bed. But the pain was already crushing my throat, and I didn’t want to wake everyone with my sobbing.

So I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did… I’d smell her.

And for a few seconds, I’d believe she was back. That I’d roll over and find her there, curled into the sheets like nothing had happened. I’d kiss her shoulder, and she’d hum that little sound she made when she was half-asleep.

But she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t anywhere near here.

And if I let myself believe she was, even for one second, I wouldn’t survive what came after. So I stayed on the couch, surrounded by the only people in the world I trusted, and stared into the dark like I could will her back with nothing but the force of my grief.

“I’m coming, baby,” I whispered. “Just hold on.”

***

ADELA

I didn’t know what time it was. Not anymore. The only light in this room came from a bulb that buzzed and flickered every so often, like it was debating whether to die or keep onsuffering. There were no windows, no clocks, just stone walls, stale air, and a cold concrete floor that had become my prison.