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Then there’s the matter of if they would do all they can to save her, since apparently every fucking person here has a vested interest in Alize dying. How the fuck did this even happeninsidemy apartment? I’m caught between worry and anger, seconds away from attacking Ezra.
That’s when he looks up at me, and hesmiles.
I’m stuck in a fucking nightmare.
“Oh good, you’re back—”
“Where’s Alize?” I cut him off, barely concealing my rage.
I won’t allow him to slow-walk me into this. He should have texted me all the details.
Ezra’s brows furrow, then he says. “She’s in her room.”
Room?She’s still here, after all this?
My stomach sinks to my soles.
She must be dead. That’s the only fucking way they would still have her here. So I can see her. I rush to her room, but it’s like I’m free-falling through an endless abyss of darkness. My steps aren’t quick enough, my breaths aren’t deep enough, nothing is…enough.
I grip the handle to her room and my meager breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.
Fucking hell.
My thoughts are a disjointed mess, but I find the will to push the door open, if only to confirm it for myself. To see with my own eyes. To see what they’ve done to her to decide how I’m going to torture who did this to her. To apologize for failing her and beg for her forgiveness.
The door opens.
Alize is standing by the window.
She’s alive.
Everything else in my field of vision fades. Everything but her. I rush and grab her shoulders, twisting her to face me. I sweep my eyes over her face, her arms, her legs, trying to find the wounds—her pajamas are soaked in blood.
“Get off me.” She shoves me in the chest. It’s futile, feels like a tickle. She doesn’t even move me an inch.
She isn’t hurt.
At least, not anywhere I can see.
“Are you okay? I thought—” My mouth snaps shut when I see the look on her face. She’s seething likeIdid something. “What happened?”
She tries to wrestle out of my arms again. “Let me go.” She gives out an exasperated sigh. “It was a long night. I need a shower and some aspirin.”
“Where are you hurt?”
“Ask your fucking friends what happened,” she says, jabbing a thumb toward the window.
That’s when I realize it’s open. I give her another skeptical look. She’s whole. She’s coherent, and apart from the bloodstain on her clothes, she looks mostly okay, justdifferent. It’s dried blood too, which means that it must have happened a while ago.
Reluctantly, I let her go.
If it isn’t her blood, whose is it? Alize scurries away to the bathroom quickly, leaving me with more questions than answers. I follow her, hot on her heels. I get to the door before she can close it, but she slams it on my wrist.
I don’t even notice the pain.
“Alize, are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, slowly prying the door open.
She’s on the other side, wide-eyed.
