Chapter 12

NATHAN

The night pressed down like an old, familiar burden, the kind of heaviness I’d long accepted as part of my life, the kind that seeped into your bones when you weren’t looking and stayed there, quietly simmering, long after the cause of it had passed. I sat in a corner booth of that dimly lit bar—one of those places that tried too hard to be unassuming but reeked of desperation, of lonely souls finding solace in shot glasses—and I swirled my drink, the amber liquid catching the flicker of overhead neon lights, and I thought, not for the first time, that maybe I’d made a colossal mistake.

Carrie’s face hovered in my mind, unbidden but unavoidable, the way her eyes—green like leaves catching the first shimmer of morning light—had softened even when she’d tried so hard to act like she didn’t care, like she was just another spoiled princess with too much money and too little sense, and how, in the quiet spaces between her laughter and her rage, I’d seen glimpses of something far more fragile, something that unsettled me in a way I wasn’t ready to face.

I sipped the whiskey, felt it burn down my throat like a poor substitute for the ache inside me, and told myself that what I did was right, that letting her go—letting her run back to New York with her designer bags and her stubborn pride—was the only way to untangle the mess we’d made of each other, but even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it for the lie it was.

The phone buzzed against the table—an angry vibration that cut through the haze of regret—and I snatched it up, my heart hammering with something close to dread, because hope was a dangerous thing, and part of me, the foolish part, wanted it to be her.

But it wasn’t.

It was Gary.

And his voice, rough and urgent, carved through me like a blade. “Nathan. You need to get here. Now.”

“What’s happened?” I asked, the words scraping out of my throat as I was already grabbing my keys, already throwing down cash, already pushing through the sticky door that groaned in protest.

“She’s in trouble,” Gary said. “Again.”

I was in the truck before he’d finished his sentence, the engine roaring to life under my hands like it could sense my urgency, and I didn’t ask for details—I didn’t need them—because I knew, deep in that place I didn’t like to visit, that whatever had been haunting Carrie hadn’t finished with her yet, that ghosts didn’t let go just because you wished them away, that sometimes they found you no matter how far you ran.

The city blurred past, lights streaking like smudged stars, and Gary’s words repeated over and over in my head, growing louder with each mile: “She’s in trouble.”

I skidded to a stop in front of Edward Smith’s building, my boots pounding against the polished marble floor as I stormed inside, and there was Gary, standing with his arms crossed and a look on his face that told me everything before he even opened his mouth.

“She’s gone,” he said simply, and for a second, the world tilted under my feet.

“What do you mean, gone?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Left twenty minutes ago. Alone. Security says she was calm, but you and I both know that doesn’t mean shit.”

I clenched my fists, felt the tension coil in my shoulders. “Where was she going?”

“No clue. But Nathan—” he handed me a piece of paper, folded neatly, too neat, and my gut twisted before I even opened it.

The handwriting was familiar, too familiar, that jagged scrawl that looked like it had been carved into the page rather than written.

You can’t hide forever, princess.

I crushed the paper in my fist, my pulse thudding in my ears.

“She didn’t tell you anything?” I asked, though I knew the answer already.

Gary shook his head. “She’s good at pretending she’s fine. But this? This feels different. This feels... personal.”

And there it was—the weight of it, settling over me like a dark cloud. I had walked away thinking I was protecting her by keeping my distance, by not getting too close, but all I’d really done was leave her exposed, and now the past was circling back, hungry and relentless.

“She’s still in danger,” I said quietly, mostly to myself.

Gary clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Go get her, man. Before it’s too late.”

I didn’t waste time thinking—I drove, fast and reckless, my mind flipping through every conversation, every look, every quiet moment where Carrie had almost told me something real but had swallowed it down instead. I should have pressed harder. I should have made her talk. But it was too late for should-haves now.

I checked every place I could think of—her favorite coffee shop, the quiet park near her apartment, even the damn bookstore she liked—but there was no sign of her, and the longer the night stretched on, the more the fear clawed at my insides, cold and sharp.

And then my phone buzzed—a text, from an unknown number.

Pier 27. Come alone.

The air seemed to thicken around me, every instinct screaming that this was a trap, that I was walking straight into something dark and ugly, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was Carrie.

I floored the gas, the city a blur of light and shadow, my thoughts tangled and fraying at the edges. The pier loomed ahead, a stretch of crumbling wood and rusted metal, the kind of place where bad things happened and no one asked questions, and as I stepped out of the truck, the wind bit at my skin, sharp and unforgiving.

“Carrie!” I shouted, my voice echoing into the dark.

There was no answer.

But I knew she was here.

Somewhere.

Waiting.

Or being kept.

And I wasn’t leaving without her.