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The lock explodes.

And I stumble inside—and the whole fucking world stops.

Empty.

The room is empty.

Her robe lies crumpled on the floor.

One of her makeup brushes rolls lazily beneath the vanity.

Still moving.

Recently disturbed.

Her tea sits untouched.

Half full.

Still steaming.

And her phone—her fucking phone—sits abandoned on the counter.

I stop breathing.

No.

No.

No, no, no—fuck no!

“AMANDA!”

The roar tears out of me.

Animal.

Primal.

Like something wounded.

Like something dying.

Because I know.

God help me, I know.

Someone took her.

“SECURITY BREACH!” I bellow.

I start tearing the room apart.

Looking.

Searching.

For signs.