Page 50

T he party is starting outside the chapel, not quite bleeding inside just yet. My orange mask is over my face, the light glowing faintly against my phone.

I stand dead center in the chapel, glaring at the blinking dot on the tracking app. Sable’s dot.

It says she’s here.

“She’s in the fucking chapel,” I mutter to myself.

I can feel it, the sharp edge of anger rising in my chest. My fists curl at my sides, nails digging into my palms. If he hurt her—if someone so much as laid a finger on her—God help them.

I’ll rip them apart.

“Sable!” I call out. It echoes off the stone walls, swallowed up by the towering arches and stained glass.

No response. Just the distant thrum of the party.

I start moving, eyes sweeping every inch of the space. The pews, the altar, the darkened corners where the shadows seem to breathe. She’s nowhere.

But the dot says she’s here.

Maybe she’s playing some game, and I’ll find her laughing in some stupid hiding spot.

But deep down, I know better. Sable doesn’t play games like this. Not tonight. Not when the stakes are this high.

I pause, my eyes narrowing. Then it hits me.

The catacombs.

I stride to the back of the chapel, past the heavy velvet curtain that sways. Behind it, the door to the catacombs is set into the stone wall.

I reach for the handle, giving it a quick turn.

Cold air rushes out, carrying the scent of damp stone and earth.

“Sable!” I shout, my voice ricocheting through the narrow corridor.

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but silence. Then?—

“Silas.”

Her voice, soft and trembling, drifts up the stairs like a lifeline. My gaze snaps to the bottom, where she’s standing.

She’s gripping the railing like she was just walking up the stairs. Her eyes are wide, and for a second, relief washes over me. She’s okay.

“I—I got locked in the basement,” she stammers. “Someone locked me in. I didn’t?—”

Before she can finish, a hand shoots out from the shadows, grabbing her arm and yanking her back.

“Ow, what the fuc?—”

My blood turns to fire.

“No!” The roar tears from my throat, raw and primal, as I launch myself down the stairs. Two at a time, my feet barely touch the stone.

Adrenaline surges, drowning out everything but the need to get to her. To protect her.

At the bottom, holding Sable like a goddamn trophy, is him.

His grip is iron around her, his other hand holding a knife to her throat. His face is twisted in a sick smirk, eyes blazing with some unhinged satisfaction.

“Stay back!” he spits. The blade presses tighter against Sable’s skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

I stop, my hands raised, though every fiber of my being screams to rip him apart.

“Let her go, Jeremy,” I say. “Now.”