I follow him. The door creaks as we step into the night. The cool air greets us, crisp with the scent of pine and the faint smoke from someone’s fireplace down the street.
Empty. No Wren on the porch swing, no familiar laugh in the yard.
“She’s not here.” Simon’s voice is clipped, his jaw tight. He’s already pulling his phone from his pocket, scrolling to her name. He presses call.
I wait for the sound of her ringtone, hoping it’ll echo somewhere close. Nothing.
“It went straight to voicemail,” he mutters, shoving his phone back into his coat pocket. His eyes are flashing with worry, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour. I can almost see the list of possibilities he’s working through.
We head back in, and my parents look up immediately, reading our expressions before we say a word.
“Is everything all right?” my mother asks, her brows pinching.
“She’s not here,” I tell her, guilt threading through every word. “I think she slipped out without saying anything.”
Simon clears his throat. “She wasn’t feeling well earlier. Maybe she just needed air.”
Beau shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. His voice is sharper than usual. “No, she wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling us.”
The look on my father’s face hardens. “Then you boys need to go find her. Now.”
I glance at my mother, and she’s already rising from her chair, brushing her hands on a dish towel.
“Go,” she says firmly. “Don’t worry about us. Find her.”
I feel like a kid again, being dismissed by my parents. But there’s no hesitation this time.
I mutter an apology, a promise to explain later, and we’re all moving at once, bundling into Beau’s truck, gravel crunching under our boots as we climb inside.
“Where would she have gone?” Beau asks, starting the engine. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
Simon shakes his head. “If she felt sick, she might’ve gone home.”
“Café first,” I say. My voice is a command more than a suggestion.
The drive feels longer than it should; the truck is too quiet, except for the hum of the tires. Every scenario runs through my mind.
Did she faint somewhere on the walk? Did someone stop her? The thought twists like a knife in my gut.
We pull up in front of the café, and my heart sinks immediately.
The place is dark, with chairs stacked neatly inside; the “Closed” sign hangs in the window. No light, no Wren.
Simon tries her again, but it goes straight to voicemail. His muttered curse cuts through the silence.
“Maybe she went to Norah’s?” I suggest clinging to the hope. “They’re glued together half the time.”
Beau’s already pulling away from the curb, turning us toward Norah’s street. My pulse hammers in my ears, each block dragging longer than the last. When we pass by, the windows are dark and there’s no car in the driveway.
I can’t take the silence anymore. “Simon, maybe she’s at the hospital. Can you call? Just—just in case.”
He doesn’t argue. His phone is out in seconds, dialing the front desk. I hear his professional tone kick in, but his knee is bouncing restlessly. The answer comes quickly. He hangs up, shaking his head.
“She’s not there. No one’s checked in tonight under her name.”
Beau curses, slamming his palm against the wheel. “Where the fuck is she?”
I’m gripping the door handle so tight my knuckles ache. My mind is clawing at every possibility, but they all circle back to the same raw fear—she’s out there, alone, and not answering us.
