Page 71 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

No meows demanding breakfast.

No claws demanding scratches.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, my insides twisting as I toss the blankets back and stand.

But Violet’s not hiding in the corner or sitting on the window sill. And she’s not under the bed.

Or in the bathroom.

Or in my room.

She’s not anywhere.

Cold twists my insides.

“I’ll look in the living room,” River says. “You check the kitchen.” I nod and we hurry down the hall, but before I can make it into the kitchen, she skids to a halt. “Oh no. Thorn!”

I’m already moving, already see Violet huddled beneath the coffee table.

River carefully scoops her up and Violet’s head lolls back, her body too damned limp and still.

“Fuck,” I grit out.

“Take her,” River murmurs, carefully passing her over. Then she rushes out of the room.

I sit with Violet in my lap, my heart thundering against my ribs, worry gnawing at my bones.

She’s too warm.

Too limp.

Too quiet.

“Chrissy?” I hear River say. “We need to take Violet to the vet. Can you recommend one?”

Violet gives a pathetic little meow and presses closer against me.

River kneels beside me, her phone pinned between her shoulder and ear as she carefully lifts Violet’s lip, looks at her gums. “They’re pale,” she says and pauses, listens. “Okay, yes. I know where that’s at. Thanks, Chrissy.” She hangs up, locks her eyes with mine. “Let’s go.”

The knot in my chest loosens a tiny bit at the certainty in her tone.

Like she doesn’t even question whether she’ll come with me.

Like even though this is bad, really bad, she’s right beside me.

Like even though I might be bad?—

Enough.

We get dressed, grab the carrier, tuck Violet inside it, and rush down to the garage.

The drive feels too long and my tension grows with each block that goes by.

“Fuck,” I growl when we hit yet another signal.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, taking my hand.

“She’s just a baby.” I hate that my voice breaks, that I can barely think straight.