“What’s happened?”
I can’t do it. Can’t survive the next thirty seconds. My heart is hot and sticky in my throat, clogging my airway. “He’s nowhere. He’s fucking nowhere. But he’s going to surface and he’s going to hurt one of them when he does. And Mack … Mack saw Ophelia and …”
And I’m not there to hold her, to walk her to her lectures. I can’t keep her safe.
“Alex, stop. Good, okay. Now breathe.Breathe.”
I manage a sorry excuse for a deep breath. “Mack visited Ophelia, and she got an anonymous text, and it … it’s a photo of us. Abadphoto. And this could be the end of her.”
“Ophelia is stronger than you’re giving her credit for. She can hold her own. Tell me about the photo at lunchtime. I have another appointment in two minutes.”
The small crack in my voice fills me with disgust. “I can’t make it to lunchtime.”
There’s a smile in his voice when he next speaks. “Tell me about that at lunchtime.”
A small, disbelieving snort slips between two ragged breaths. “I struggle to like you sometimes.”
His laugh is genuine. “Survive until lunch, Alex. Then we’ll talk more. And ask Jacqueline for decaf for the rest of the day.”
I hang up, puffing a slow exhale from my cheeks, drawing random lines in my notebook. My heart rate slows gradually. This whole situation is laughable—me, twenty-three, sitting behind a CEO desk with no idea what I’m doing and a crushing sense of existential dread.
I breathe for another moment, sketching a robin in the corner of my page until I’m calm enough to join my call. I switch my camera on and attempt to tame my unruly hair. “Sorry I’m late.”
I’M ON THEtreadmill at 11 p.m. with Mia crunching through a bag of chips beside me when she mumbles something. I slow the treadmill to a jog. “Huh?”
“Who’s Brendan?”
I hit the Stop button. “Why?”
“You’ve got two missed calls from Brendan. You got a boyfriend?”
An uneasy sense of alarm prickles my nape. I already know from the late hour and the fact that it’s Brendan calling and not Mack that it’s probably something serious. I pray to a god I’ve never believed in that Ophelia is unharmed. I grab my water and my phone from where they sit beside my sister. “I need to call him back.”
“Is it work stuff?” she asks, holding the bag of chips toward me.
I shake my head at the bag, trying to catch my breath. “Get yourself to bed, M.”
I head out the kitchen doors and into the garden outside, pacing the length of the small space while the phone rings and rings. It’s unbearable. I call him for a fifth time, raking a hand through my hair. I fire Belladonna a text asking her if she knows if Ophelia is okay.
Belladonna
Let her go, Alex. She’s the human equivalent of wet cardboard.
Great.
When Brendan picks up, I half expect him to have been shot, or for someone to be holding him hostage, or something. Heneverfails to pick up immediately. His voice is muffled when it comes. “Sorry, was refilling my cereal bowl. Do you think they’re putting less marshmallows in Lucky Charms?”
We’ve put people on the moon, yet we can’t punch people through the phone line yet. Science is letting us down. “You’re thirty-five, Brendan. This better be fucking good,” I grit out. “Is she okay?”
“Ophelia? I think so, yeah. Can you see my screen?”
I look down at my phone, where Brendan has started sharing a photo. It’s blurry, like the camera it was taken on was greasy, but I’d recognize Sorrowsong’s distinct glasshouse swimming pool anywhere. “Yeah, I see it.”
“Ophelia got sent this. Only just told Mack about it.”
I zoom in on the small screen, realizing why he’s showing me it. Ophelia is in front of the door to the pool, glancing over her shoulder like she knows she’s being watched. Even with the low quality, I can make out the worry on her expression. “When was this taken?”
“Yesterday.”
