Page 108 of The Rust in Her Hair

Doyle nods slowly, like he's filing that away. "When did you last see her?"

I let myself actually think about it, or pretend to, my eyes drifting up toward the ceiling.

"The fundraiser," I say. "About a month ago. There was a gala to highlight the new exhibit." I bring my gaze back down. "That's the last time I saw her."

"It’s my understanding that she would normally come here rather often," Doyle says as he pulls a small notebook out of his front breast pocket. He opens it with a flick of his wrist. "Mr. Van Houten’s assistant, Calla, told me that Ms. Van Houten used to come down here at least twice a week."

I shrug, fighting the urge to tell him it was much more often than that. "I’m not sure. I was friendly with her when I saw her, but I spend the majority of my day working in my office."

"Did it alarm you that you haven’t seen her in over a month, when you say she came in so regularly?"

"It's strange." I hold his eyes, because looking away now would be worse. "I noticed she wasn’t here. But it’s not my place to go asking after the chairman of the board’s daughter." I spread my hands. "I mean, it’s not like I have her number. I wouldn't even know how to reach her."

Doyle studies me again, and I feel sweat prickle down the small of my back.

The silence stretches, and I can't stand it, so I fill it.

"How are her parents?" I ask, glancing at Winston. "They must be beside themselves."

"They’re holding up," Doyle says, but his tone is weirdly flat. "As best they can, under the circumstances. They’re both very worried, especially Mrs. Van Houten."

"Of course." I shake my head. "God, of course." I push on, because talking feels safer than being watched. "Do they have any idea where she went? Was it, I mean, did someone take her? Or was she snatched? Or…." I shrug again, pretending like I don’t have a clue what to think.

Doyle takes a slow sip of his coffee before he answers, watching me over the rim of the cup.

"The family's working theory is that she ran away," he says. "There was an arranged marriage in the works. A good match, by all accounts. Ms. Van Houten was quite excited about it." He sets the cup back down. "But omegas are known to be nervous creatures. Her parents' fear is that she got cold feet and took off."

Excited about it.

I have to physically stop myself from reacting, because I can’t help but wonder if the person she was meant to marry was the same one who hurt her.

"I didn’t know she was betrothed," I say, somehow keeping my voice very light. "Who was she to marry?"

Doyle's eyes stay flat on mine. "That's not something I'm at liberty to discuss."

I want to demand this assshole tell me, but it would just look suspicious. So instead, I nod slowly, like I'm taking it in.

"Of course," I say with as much respect as I can muster, but it’s getting so damn hard to keep my temper in check. "Have her parents gone to the police to report Lyra missing?" I ask, refraining from adding that any decent parent would have already done that. "Is her face out there? I haven't seen anything on the news, and if she's been gone a month⁠—"

"The family would prefer to keep this private for now," Winston cuts in, gently, from behind his desk.

I turn to look at him. "Private?"

"They're confident she'll come home on her own," Doyle says. "A young omega, first time out on her own. No money, no phone. These situations tend to resolve themselves. Her father is confident she'll turn up when she's cold and hungry, and tired of proving a point."

And that's what finally does it.

Heat climbs up my neck and into my face.

It doesn’t matter that I know Lyra is safe. It’s that her parents sent a man in a cheap suit to quietly ask around instead of putting her face on every screen in the city.

"It’s been a month." My words come out sharper than I mean them to. "She's a young omega, alone, with nowhere to go, and you're telling me the plan is to wait? She could be lying in a ditch somewhere. She could have been forcefully mated by god knows who. Hell, she could be dead, and you're all sitting on it because it's a private matter?"

"Owen," Winston hisses my name like he’s offended for Lyra’s family. "I'm sure the Van Houtens know what they're doing. They love their daughter. This is being handled the way they see fit."

I open my mouth, ready to share exactly what I think of Aldric fucking Van Houten.

But I'm supposed to be a casual friend, and Doyle is watching me, and Winston signs my paychecks, and all it will do is get me fired or worse.