Sienna's P.O.V.

By five-thirty in the morning, I was already regretting getting out of bed. Not because I was tired. I was always tired. It was the dream.

That stupid dream had followed me all the way to work, sitting in the passenger seat of my ancient Corolla like some unwanted ghost. Every red light gave my brain another excuse to replay Zane's grin, Maddox hanging off my shoulder, Roman waiting in the library, Kai probably hiding behind a screen somewhere, and Knox laughing so hard during Zane's going-away party that soda came out of his nose.

I hated that memory the most because it wasn't bad. Bad memories came at you with knives out. Good ones waited until you were tired, crawled under your ribs, and reminded you there had once been a version of your life worth missing.

"Not today," I muttered as I parked behind Harlow's Diner.

Butter had stared at me like I was personally betraying him when I left the apartment. I promised him extra chicken later, which was ridiculous because he had no concept of promises and would absolutely scream at me whether I brought chicken home or not. Honestly, I respected that about him.

The back door was still locked, so I waited under the buzzing yellow light until Mr. Halpern shoved it open from inside. He took one look at me and frowned.

"You're earlier than early."

"Congratulations. You witnessed a miracle."

"Coffee's not ready."

"Then what exactly do I pay you for?"

"You don't pay me at all."

"Sounds like a management problem."

He snorted and stepped aside. Mr. Halpern was somewhere in his late fifties, permanently tired, and allergic to personal questions. Those three qualities made him one of my favorite people.

Not a friend. I didn't really do friends. But favorite people? Sure. That felt safer.

I tied on my apron, shoved my phone into the front pocket, and checked the little metal cash box hidden inside my locker. Seventy dollars, two bus cards, one prepaid phone still sealed in plastic, and copies of the documents I would need if I ever had to leave in a hurry. Most people kept gum and deodorant in their work lockers. I kept an exit plan. Normal. Totally fucking normal.

By six, the regulars started drifting in: old men who complained about coffee prices even though they ordered the same thing every morning, two nurses from the overnight shift, and a construction crew that left enough crumbs behind to build a second diner. Routine was good. Routine didn't ask questions, and it didn't drag me backward ten years.

"Morning, sunshine."

I looked over my shoulder to see Macy tying her apron around her waist. "You're disgustingly cheerful."

"It's six-twelve. Some of us don't hate mornings."

"Some of you are deeply disturbed."

She grinned, bumped her hip against mine, then looked more closely at my face. "You look like shit. Bad night?"

"Thank you, and no."

"That's not what I asked."

"Close enough."

Her expression softened, and I immediately hated that look. People did that when they thought they were one gentle question away from opening me up and finding all the ugly parts. Macy had learned not to push too hard, but she hadn't learned not to care. Annoying woman.

While she grabbed coffee mugs, she said, "You know, you always look like you're waiting for somebody to kick the door in."

My hand stopped for half a second before I reached for the sugar packets. "Maybe I'm waiting for Ed to finally pay his tab."

From booth three, Ed lifted his coffee. "I heard that."

"You were supposed to."

Macy laughed, then lowered her voice. "Deflect all you want. You're still doing it."

"And you're still asking. Which one of us is the slow learner here?"

That finally got her to let it go, but the comment stayed with me as I carried mugs to booth two.

That was the problem with staying anywhere too long. People noticed patterns.

I had been in this town almost two years, longer than I had stayed anywhere since I left him. Long enough for Mr. Halpern to know I hated being scheduled past midnight. Long enough for Macy to know I never talked about family. Long enough for Brooke to decide my refusal to overshare meant I thought I was better than everyone. Long enough to get comfortable.

Comfort was dangerous. I knew that. Apparently, I needed the universe to remind me.

Brooke came in fourteen minutes late wearing enough perfume to stun a horse. Mr. Halpern looked at the clock, she looked at him, and neither said a word. I hid a smile behind the coffee pot.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"Sometimes my face does that."

"At me?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

Macy made a choking sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh. Brooke glared at both of us and went to clock in before six-forty in the morning somehow turned into a workplace war.

The breakfast rush hit twenty minutes later. For the next hour, I didn't have time to think about dreams or old friends. I moved from table to table, balancing plates, refilling coffee, shouting orders toward the kitchen, and mentally calculating which regular would complain if their eggs were even slightly wrong.

That was why I liked the diner. When it was busy enough, there wasn't room inside my head for anything else.

"Table seven says this isn't what they ordered," Brooke snapped, appearing beside me with a plate of pancakes.

I looked at the ticket, then the plate. "Because it isn't. You wrote blueberry pancakes. They're holding a Denver omelet."

Brooke stared down at the food. "Kitchen fucked it up."

"Then take it back."

"I'm busy."

"So am I."

She shoved the plate toward me. A year ago, I probably would've taken it. Maybe even apologized while I did. That thought irritated me more than Brooke ever could, so I pushed the plate gently back toward her.

"No."

Her eyebrows climbed. "You always help Macy."

"Macy asks."

Brooke glanced around like she expected somebody to step in and make me cooperate. Nobody did.

"You've changed," she muttered.

I almost laughed. She had no fucking idea.

"Take the omelet back, Brooke."

She spun around and marched toward the kitchen.

Macy slid past me carrying orange juice. "That was hot."

"Please don't make it weird."

"No promises."

I shook my head and went back to work. By ten, the rush finally died. My feet hurt, my stomach was growling, and the dream from that morning had been successfully beaten into submission by coffee orders and human incompetence. Perfect.

I was wiping down the counter when the phone rang. Mr. Halpern answered it near the register, listened for a few seconds, then glanced toward me.

"Who's asking?"

My hand slowed.

"No," he said. "I don't give out employee schedules." Another pause. His expression flattened. "I said no."

He hung up, and the diner suddenly felt too quiet.

"Who was that?"

"Guy asking if you worked here."

My fingers tightened around the rag. "What guy?"

"Didn't give a name. Asked for Sienna Vale, then wanted to know when you were on shift."

Macy's face changed. Brooke, who had been pretending not to listen near the soda machine, suddenly became very interested in us.

I forced myself to breathe normally. It could be nothing. A customer. A debt collector with the wrong person. Somebody looking for another Sienna Vale. Too many possibilities.

"You give him anything?"

Mr. Halpern looked offended. "No. Number was blocked too."

"Okay."

Macy frowned. "Okay? That's creepy as hell."

"It is."

"And you're not worried?"

I tossed the rag into the sink. "Worrying doesn't change anything."

The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't take them back.

Mr. Halpern leaned against the counter. "You need me to call somebody?"

"No police."

His eyes narrowed.

"It's probably nothing," I added.

"People don't call diners asking for employee schedules for nothing."

"I know."

That came out quieter. Macy folded her arms, and I could practically feel the questions coming off her. Who are you hiding from? Why don't you want the police? Why do you always look ready to disappear?

I pulled out my phone instead. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing unusual. That should've made me feel better. It didn't.

I checked my bank balance and mentally added the cash at home, the emergency money in my locker, and the gas in the Corolla. I knew exactly how long it would take me to pack everything that mattered. Twenty-two minutes if Butter cooperated.

Thirty-five if he decided the cat carrier was an assassination attempt.

"You're doing it again," Macy said.

"Doing what?"

"Planning an escape in your head."

That made me look at her.

She shrugged. "I have eyes."

For a second, I didn't know what to say. Then the bell over the front door rang and every muscle in my back locked. I turned. Just Ed. He had forgotten his newspaper. I almost laughed at myself. Almost.

Instead, I grabbed a fresh pot of coffee. "Break's over."

The rest of the shift went by without another call. No mysterious man walked in. No black SUV parked outside. Nothing exploded. By three-thirty, I had almost convinced myself I'd overreacted. Almost.

I counted my tips in the employee bathroom, split the cash between my wallet and the hidden pocket inside my bag, then checked the back alley before stepping outside. Empty. Good.

My Corolla sat exactly where I'd left it. Nothing under the wipers. No broken windows. No one waiting beside it. I let out a breath. See? Nothing. Paranoid idiot. I took three more steps and stopped.

Across the street, in the parking lot of a closed hardware store, a motorcycle sat under the faded sign. The rider was still on it: black jacket, dark helmet, one boot planted on the pavement. Facing the diner. Facing me.

I couldn't see his face or a patch. I couldn't tell if I knew him, but he didn't look away when I noticed him. Neither did I. For one long second, neither of us moved. Then his engine came to life.

My hand went straight to the keys in my pocket as the bike pulled into traffic and disappeared down the road.

I stood there staring after it, heart beating way too hard. Maybe the phone call had been nothing. Maybe the biker had been nothing. Maybe my past had finally taught me to see monsters where there were only strangers. Maybe.

I got into my car, locked the doors, and started the engine. Then I took the long way home.

Sienna's P.O.V.

I did not leave town. I wanted to. By the time I got home, fed Butter, checked every window, and searched the parking lot from behind my blinds like a complete lunatic, I had already planned three routes out of Nebraska. One west. One south. One that changed buses twice before I rented a car under a different card. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and got pissed off.

I had spent too much of my life running because somebody else decided I wasn't allowed to feel safe.

One phone call and one biker I couldn't even identify weren't enough to make me hand over another home. Not yet. So the next morning, I went back to work.

Butter disagreed with my decision. He planted himself on top of my shoes while I was getting dressed and bit my shoelace when I tried to pull it free.

"You are an excellent security consultant," I told him. "Very practical."

He stared at me.

"Fine. If I'm murdered, you can say you warned me."

Butter yawned. Rude. Harlow's was already busy when I walked in. A bus full of retirees had apparently discovered pancakes, and Macy was running between tables with the expression of a woman reconsidering every life choice that had brought her here.

She spotted me and immediately pointed a coffee pot in my direction. "You came back."

I stopped. "Was I not supposed to?"

"After yesterday? I didn't know."

"Neither did I."

That shut her up for about three seconds.

"Did you figure out who called?"

"No."

"The biker?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell me anything useful?"

"No."

Macy sighed. "I walked into that."

"Proud of you."

Mr. Halpern came through the swinging kitchen door carrying two plates. "If the reunion is over, table nine has been waiting twelve minutes."

Macy took one plate from him. I took the other.

"See?" I told her. "Employment. Very grounding."

The first two hours went fast. Too fast to think, which was exactly how I liked it.

Brooke stayed mostly out of my way after yesterday, although she managed to glare at me every time we crossed paths. I considered it personal growth for both of us. Around noon, the diner filled again. That's when table six became a problem.

There were three of them: a woman with perfect hair and sunglasses pushed onto her head, a guy in a polo shirt who had complained about his fries twice, and another man who had spent most of the meal filming everything on his phone. I had noticed the phone earlier. People filmed everything now. Food. Coffee. Themselves pretending to laugh. Normally, I didn't care. Normally, their cameras weren't pointed at me. Macy had table six, so I kept my distance. Then I heard the crash. A glass hit the floor near the booth and shattered. Everyone in that part of the diner looked over.

The man in the polo shirt was standing. Macy was beside the table with one hand wrapped around her own wrist. My stomach dropped. I was moving before I thought about it.

"What happened?"

Macy shook her head. "It's fine."

The guy laughed. "Your waitress needs to learn how to do her fucking job."

I looked at her wrist. Red fingerprints were already forming. My vision narrowed.

"Did he grab you?"

"Sienna—"

"Did he?"

Macy hesitated. That was enough.

I turned to him. "You need to pay and leave."

His mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

The woman at the table snorted. "Oh my God. Are you serious?"

Very. The man filming lifted his phone higher. Great.

Polo Shirt took a step closer. "She spilled water on me."

I looked at his shirt. There was a wet spot smaller than my hand near his hip. Tragic.

"Then we can get you a towel."

"I want the meal comped."

"No."

His face changed. "No?"

"Food's gone. Plates are clean. You've been here almost an hour. You don't get a free meal because some water touched your shirt."

A few people nearby laughed. Wrong move. His face went red. Macy whispered my name. I knew what she was telling me. Drop it. Keep the job. Don't make it worse. I had been very good at not making things worse once. I didn't miss that girl.

Mr. Halpern came out from behind the register. "What's going on?"

The woman spoke before anyone else could. "Your waitress attacked my friend after spilling a drink on him."

I stared at her. Macy stared at her too.

Polo Shirt pointed at me. "And this one threatened us."

Mr. Halpern rubbed the bridge of his nose. For one awful second, I knew exactly what was coming. Customer service. Apologize. Comp the check. Smile.

"Just fix it, Sienna," he said quietly.

There it was. Something inside me went very still.

"No."

Mr. Halpern looked at me. The whole damn diner seemed to look at me.

I pointed at Macy's wrist. "He grabbed her hard enough to leave marks. I'm not apologizing to him for that."

The guy scoffed. "I barely touched her."

"Then it should be easy to keep your hands to yourself now."

His chair scraped back. He stepped toward me. I held my ground. He was bigger than me. Most men who had hurt me had been bigger than me. That fact didn't have the power it used to.

"You're real brave behind a counter," he said.

"I'm not behind one."

His eyes flicked down, like he had only just realized I was standing in the aisle with nothing between us. The man with the phone made a quiet, excited sound. I wanted to shove the phone down his throat.

Instead, I looked at Mr. Halpern. "Do you have cameras in this section?"

He blinked. "Yes."

"Good. Then check them."

Polo Shirt's expression changed. Just a little. Enough. I saw it. So did Mr. Halpern.

He looked at Macy's wrist again, then toward the little black camera over the pie case.

"Nobody leaves," he said.

The woman shot to her feet. "You can't keep us here."

"No," Mr. Halpern said. "But I can call the police if you skip the check."

Polo Shirt swore. I almost smiled. Mr. Halpern went into the office and came back less than two minutes later with a face like stone.

He looked at the table. "Pay your bill. Leave. Don't come back."

The man started talking. Mr. Halpern didn't let him finish.

"I watched you grab her. Pay and leave before I make that phone call."

That did it. The woman slapped cash onto the table. Polo Shirt muttered something about lawyers and bad reviews, and Phone Guy kept recording the entire time. As they passed me, Polo Shirt leaned close.

"You think you're tough?"

My body remembered too many things at once. A hand. A locked door. A voice telling me I would never make it on my own. I didn't step back.

"I think you're leaving."

For a second, he looked like he wanted to test me. Then he noticed half the diner watching. He left. The bell over the door jingled behind them. Silence held for maybe two seconds. Then Ed from booth three raised his coffee cup.

"Well, that was better than cable."

The diner burst into laughter. I covered my face.

"Jesus Christ."

Macy hugged me from the side. I went stiff automatically. She felt it and let go just as fast.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's fine."

"Thank you."

I looked at the red marks on her wrist. "You don't have to thank me for telling somebody not to grab you."

Her eyes got shiny. Nope. Absolutely not.

I pointed toward the kitchen. "Go put ice on that before you make this emotional."

She laughed and wiped under one eye. Mr. Halpern came over after she left.

"I shouldn't have told you to fix it before I knew what happened."

"No, you shouldn't have."

He stared at me. I stared back. Then one corner of his mouth twitched.

"Still employed?"

"I was about to ask you that."

"You threaten all my customers like that?"

"Only the handsy ones."

"Good enough."

That should have been the end of it. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. Around two, Brooke walked into the server station holding her phone.

"You have got to be kidding me."

I was stacking clean mugs. "What now?"

She turned the screen toward me. A video was playing. Me. Table six. Polo Shirt stepping toward me. My voice, clear as day. I'm not behind one. The clip cut right after I told him he was leaving. Someone had added text across the top. WAITRESS HUMILIATES GUY WHO GRABBED COWORKER. My stomach dropped.

"Where did you get that?"

"It's everywhere locally."

"Everywhere means what?"

Brooke scrolled. "Facebook. TikTok. Reels. Somebody put it in the town group."

I grabbed the phone from her. The original upload had more than twelve thousand views. That wasn't viral by normal internet standards. For me, it might as well have been the fucking Super Bowl. My face was visible. Very visible. I scrolled through the comments. Most were cheering. A few were calling me rude. One said the guy deserved worse. Then I saw it. **That's Sienna from Harlow's. She's always been cool when I go in.** My thumb stopped. My name. My workplace. My face. All in one place.

"No," I whispered.

Brooke's attitude disappeared. "What?"

I handed her phone back and reached for mine.

Macy walked in from the kitchen with an ice pack wrapped around her wrist. "What's wrong?"

"The video."

She looked confused. "What video?"

Brooke showed her. Macy's face went pale.

"Oh shit."

Exactly. I opened the local app I barely used and found the clip within seconds. Shares. Reposts. Comments. The whole stupid thing growing while I watched. Yesterday, somebody had called the diner looking for me. Yesterday, a biker had watched me from across the street.

Today, the internet had handed anybody who cared to look a clear photograph, my first name, and the exact place I worked. My phone felt heavy in my hand.

Macy touched my arm, gently this time. "Sienna?"

I locked the screen.

"I need to go."

Mr. Halpern looked up from the register when I came around the counter. "What happened?"

"The video from lunch is online."

He grimaced. "I heard."

"My name is in the comments."

His expression changed immediately. Good. At least somebody understood.

"I need the rest of the day."

"Take it."

Brooke called after me. "Your bag."

I turned. She held it out. For once, there wasn't a trace of attitude on her face.

I took it. "Thanks."

Outside, I scanned the parking lot before moving toward my car. No motorcycle. No strange car. No one obviously watching. It didn't matter anymore. I unlocked the Corolla and got inside. Before I started the engine, I checked the video one more time. Twenty-one thousand views. I refreshed. Twenty-three.

"Fuck."

For five years, staying invisible had kept me free. In less than a day, a stranger with a phone had made invisible impossible.

Sienna's P.O.V.

I should have driven away the second I locked my phone. That was the smart move. Instead, I sat in the Corolla staring at the number under the video. Twenty-three thousand views. Twenty-four. I refreshed again and swore.

"Stop doing that."

My own voice sounded loud inside the car. I threw the phone onto the passenger seat, started the engine, and backed out of the parking space. The plan was simple: go home, grab Butter, get the rest of my cash, and leave before dark. I didn't need a destination yet. I just needed distance. I made it halfway to the exit before two motorcycles turned into the lot. My foot hit the brake. For one stupid second, I thought about yesterday's rider. Then the bikes came closer, and I saw the patches. Inferno's Demon Riders MC. My hands went cold on the steering wheel. No. Absolutely fucking not.

The first rider was broad enough that his leather cut looked painted onto him. Dark hair, beard, shoulders I definitely did not remember from high school. The second was leaner, dressed almost entirely in black, with a calmness that bothered me more than the first man's size. They parked near the edge of the lot. I told myself I didn't know them. Ten years changed people. It could be anybody. Then the bigger one took off his helmet. My stomach dropped. Maddox.

Older. Harder. A scar cut through one eyebrow now, and his hair was shorter, but there was no mistaking that face. The same boy who used to sling an arm around my shoulders and call me Peaches. The same boy who later learned exactly which words hurt me most. The other rider removed his helmet. Kai. My lungs forgot how to work.

He looked different too. Sharper. Less boy, more knife. But his eyes were the same. Dark, observant, always watching too much. For a second, none of us moved. Then Maddox looked straight through my windshield. Recognition hit his face. Not relief. Not happiness. Anger. Well. Good. That made two of us. I shoved the Corolla into drive. Kai stepped in front of the exit lane.

"Move," I whispered.

He couldn't hear me. I hit the horn. Half the diner probably looked out the window. Kai didn't move. Maddox came around the side of the car, stopping a few feet from my driver's door. I lowered the window two inches.

"Get out of the way."

Maddox stared at me. His gaze moved over my face like he was comparing me to some version he kept in his head.

"Sienna."

Hearing my new name in his voice did something ugly inside my chest.

"Congratulations," I said. "Your memory works."

His jaw tightened. "Get out of the car."

I laughed. Actually laughed.

"No."

"Sienna."

"Still no."

Kai appeared near the front corner of the hood but stayed far enough back that I could see both of them. Good. At least one of them had learned something about approaching trapped animals. Maddox hadn't. He put a hand on the roof of my car.

"You disappear for almost ten fucking years, we find you because some asshole posts your face all over the internet, and this is what you have to say?"

There it was. That old Maddox magic. Skip hello. Go straight for the blade.

I looked at his hand on my car. "Take your hand off."

His eyes narrowed.

"Maddox."

He froze. I hadn't called him that since I was a kid. His hand dropped. A tiny victory. I'll take it.

Kai spoke for the first time. "We're not here to fight."

I looked at Maddox.

"Could've fooled me."

Maddox swore under his breath.

Kai ignored him. "We saw the video. We were already in-state on club business."

"Clearly."

"We came to make sure you were okay."

I stared at him. Then I laughed again. This one didn't sound nice.

"That is hilarious."

Maddox's face darkened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounded like."

Kai glanced toward the diner windows. People were definitely watching now. Fantastic. My face wasn't exposed enough today.

He lowered his voice. "Can we do this somewhere else?"

"No."

"Sienna—"

"No."

Maddox stepped closer to the window. "Why are you acting like we're strangers?"

That did it. I turned my head slowly and looked at him.

"You're right. Strangers usually haven't done anything to me."

He went still. Kai's expression changed too, but I couldn't read it.

Maddox recovered first. "Oh, fuck that."

There he was. The boy I remembered.

"You don't get to show up after ten years and act like we did this to you."

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

"I didn't show up anywhere. You blocked my car."

"You left."

"I was taken."

His mouth snapped shut. Kai's gaze sharpened. I could hear my heartbeat. Too much. I had already said too much.

Maddox shook his head. "You wanted to go with him."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"No. I heard the words. I'm trying to understand how somebody with a functioning brain managed to put them in that order."

His face flushed.

Kai said, "Riot."

I looked at the patch on Maddox's cut. RIOT. Of course. Subtlety had never been his thing. My eyes moved to Kai's. GHOST. That one fit too well.

Maddox—Riot, apparently—ignored him. "We were there, Sienna. We know what you said."

My stomach twisted.

"What I said to who?"

He hesitated. That was interesting.

"Exactly."

Kai stepped in before Maddox could make it worse. "We were told you wanted out. That you were done with the club. Done with us."

"By who?"

Neither answered quickly enough. I smiled without humor.

"Wow. Great investigation, Ghost."

His eyes narrowed slightly at the road name.

"Don't."

"Don't what? Read?"

Maddox dragged a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, you're still impossible."

The old words would have hurt. These didn't. Not the way he wanted them to.

"I had to get good at it."

Silence. That one landed. Kai looked at me more carefully. I hated that. I hated all the studying and the measuring and the quiet little calculations behind his eyes.

"You look different," he said.

"So do you."

"No. I mean—"

"I know what you meant."

He stopped. Good. I checked the rearview mirror. The other end of the lot was clear. If Kai moved two feet, I could leave.

I looked at him. "Move."

He didn't.

Maddox folded his arms. "You're not leaving until we talk."

A cold feeling slid down my spine. Not fear exactly. Memory. Locked rooms. Men deciding what happened next. My voice dropped.

"Move. The bike."

Kai saw it. Whatever crossed my face, he saw it. His whole posture changed.

"Maddox."

"What?"

"Move the bike."

Maddox turned toward him. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"We've been looking at her for thirty fucking seconds."

"And she's asking us to move."

Maddox stared at him. Kai stared back. Then Maddox swore and stepped away from my car. Kai moved his bike out of the exit lane. Just like that. No grabbing the door handle. No dragging me out. No surrounding the car. The knot between my shoulders loosened a fraction. Not enough to matter. I put the window up. Maddox slapped the glass once with his palm. Not hard. Still enough to piss me off. I lowered it again.

"What?"

His anger had shifted. There was something else underneath it now. Confusion, maybe.

"You really think we abandoned you?"

I looked at him. For a second, I saw thirteen-year-old Maddox again. Loud. Mean for fun. Protective when it mattered. The kind of boy who would threaten somebody for making me cry, then make me cry himself because apparently irony had always loved me. Then I remembered later. Cold shoulders. Cruel jokes. Doors closed in my face. People I trusted deciding I was the problem.

"I don't think it," I said. "I lived it."

His face went blank. Kai took one step closer, careful this time.

"We thought you abandoned us."

I swallowed. There it was. The part that made no sense. The part I refused to care about.

"Then I guess everybody got what they wanted."

"No," Kai said.

His answer came too fast. Maddox looked away. I hated that my chest hurt. I hated that some tiny, stupid piece of thirteen-year-old me was listening. So I killed it.

"Move away from the car."

They did. I pulled forward. At the edge of the lot, my phone rang through the car speakers. Unknown number. I rejected it. Kai saw. His expression sharpened. Not my problem. I turned onto the road. In the mirror, the two of them stood beside their bikes watching me leave. I should have felt good. I had faced them. I hadn't cried. I hadn't begged for answers. I hadn't let them make one decision for me. That should have felt like winning. Instead, my hands shook all the way to the first stoplight. I gripped the wheel harder.

"You're fine."

The light changed. I drove. My phone buzzed in the passenger seat. Not a call this time. A notification. The stupid video again. I almost threw the phone out the window. At the next red light, I glanced in the mirror. No bikes. Good. I looked back toward the road. Then something in my memory clicked. Kai had taken out his phone while Maddox was arguing with me. I had seen the screen for maybe half a second through the windshield. One name at the top. Knox. And beneath it, just before Kai turned the phone away, two words. **Found her.** The light turned green. For the second time that day, I didn't move until somebody behind me honked.