“But why wouldn’t he say anything?” My voice cracks.
Trey reaches for my hand, gives it a light squeeze. “I know. I know it’s not like him. But let’s not panic yet, alright? You know Logan—sometimes he gets in his own head. Maybe he just needed five minutes.”
My thoughts are spinning. He wouldn’t leave me without a word. Not now. Not tonight.
“I’ve got people looking,” Trey says, holding my gaze. “We’ll find him.”
I nod, but my gut twists tighter with every second that ticks by.
The music pounds in the distance, but it’s all static to me now—just background noise behind the thunder in my chest. The longer Logan’s gone, the tighter the panic coils in my stomach.
I’m halfway through scanning the crowd again when a man in a black jacket and radio earpiece approaches our section. He looks calm, professional—but there’s a tightness to his mouth that makes my breath catch.
“Apologies for the interruption,” he says, glancing between us. “Does anyone have a tracker on Logan Dale’s phone?”
My head snaps toward him. “Why? Why would you need to track his phone?”
Sam stands, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “We’re all synced up. Added Mac’s too when she was in the hospital—extra security.”
The guard nods, expression unreadable, and Sam passes over his phone. The guard frowns as he studies the screen. “He’s offsite.”
“What?” I breathe. “What do you mean—offsite?”
The guard hands Sam his phone back. “He’s no longer within the event perimeter. That makes it outside our jurisdiction. If you’re concerned… I suggest contacting local authorities.”
He turns to walk off.
Trey shoots up from his seat, sharp and furious. “What the fuck? Isn’t this exactly what you’re paid for?”
The guard doesn’t even turn back.
I stare after him, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free from my chest. “He left?” I whisper. “Logan left?”
Chace has his phone out now, brows furrowed hard, fingers moving fast. “No. No fucking way. There’s no way he’d leave. Not without saying something.”
“Not without me,” I say, my voice cracking like glass.
Chace looks at me, his face pale under the golden porch lights. “Exactly. He’d never leave you here, Mac. Not like this. Something’s not right.”
A hollow ache opens wide in my chest. My mind starts spiraling—flashes of Logan’s face, the way he held me just hours ago, the way he promised me forever, tattooed my name right over his heart—and now this.
I press a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to breathe through the rising storm inside me.
No one speaks. Not right away.
The music still thumps through the grounds like a living heartbeat, but it feels a world away now—blurred behind the sharp, unnatural quiet that settles over our booth.
Trey’s pacing. Chace is staring at his phone like if he blinks hard enough, Logan’s location will blink back into place. Sam mutters something under his breath and downs the rest of his drink, his jaw tight.
I’m still frozen.
There’s a scream clawing at my throat, but it won’t come out. My body’s buzzing—too still, too loud, like I’m made of exposed wires and static. I glance out at the crowd again, scanning faces, shapes, shadows.
Nothing.
Logan is nowhere.
I grip the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles bleaching white. “Maybe he just... needed air,” I murmur, though the words taste like ash. “Maybe he forgot his phone.”
