Living room next. The fire has died to ash, gray and cold in the hearth. Her jacket isn't draped over the couch where she left it last night. The blanket lies undisturbed, still neatly folded on the arm of the chair.
Kitchen last. No coffee brewing. No dirty mug in the sink. Not even a note propped against the ancient coffee maker we'd joked about replacing.
Just... nothing.
My chest constricts as reality sets in. She's gone. Really gone.
Think, Logan. What did you miss?
I scan the cabin again, this time with tactical eyes. No sign of struggle. No displaced furniture. No scuffmarks on the floor. If Granger had come for her, there would be evidence. She would have fought. Left me a signal. Something.
But there's only the clean, methodical absence of her presence.
Which means...
She chose to leave.
The thought hits like a physical blow. I brace one hand against the kitchen counter, remembering how she felt in my arms last night. The way she kissed me like she was trying to memorize every moment. The intensity in her eyes when I made her promise to keep herself safe.
Fuck.
She planned this.
Even as she lay beside me, even as she let me hold her, she knew she was leaving.
And I missed it.
I grab my shirt from the back of a chair, shrugging it on with sharp, angry movements. My jacket follows, the familiar weight settling across my shoulders like armor. Keys next—snatched from the hook by the door.
The morning air bites as I step outside, winter still clinging to the shadows between the trees. My breath fogs in front of me as I scan the ground, looking for tracks, tire marks, anything that might tell me which way she went.
But the frost has erased whatever trail she might have left.
I slide behind the wheel of my truck, the engine roaring to life with a turn of the key.
Gravel sprays as I reverse, tires finding purchase on the frozen ground. The road stretches ahead, a gray ribbon cutting through the pines.
My hands clench the steering wheel as I drive, eyes constantly moving. Scanning the tree line. Checking mirrors. Looking for any flash of movement, any sign of her.
But Iron Hollow wakes slowly, quietly, like it doesn't know something vital is missing.
The Forge looms ahead, solid and imposing against the pale morning sky. I park haphazardly, leaving the driver's door open as I stride toward the entrance. My boots echo against steel and concrete as I move through the facility, checking every corner, every room.
Caleb looks up from the training mat, surprise flickering across his face. "You're early?—"
"Have you seen Sloane?"
He straightens, concern replacing the easy smile. "No. Why?"
"She's gone."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. Caleb's expression shifts, understanding dawning in his eyes. He grabs his comm unit, already moving.
"Knox," he barks into the radio. "We've got a situation."
The response is immediate. "Location?"
"Main hall. Sloane's missing."
