I swallow hard, my mind replaying those brutal surveillance clips he showed me. I definitely don’t want to end up in any of those.
He slides a sheet of paper across the desk.
“Here’s your routine. Hour by hour. Stick to it.”
A perfectly structured schedule. Detailed to the minute. Choreographed like a performance.
Very him; controlled to a fault.
I stare at it. “And what happens when you know they’re coming? When they actually make a move?”
Talia clears her throat, voice precise and clipped—like she’s rehearsed this part.
“The team, myself included, will be in position. Cam will shadow your movements. The second they strike, we neutralise. It’ll be fast. You won’t even need to see it happen.”
Her hazel eyes flick to mine completely steady.
“But you have to follow this schedule. No improvising. That’s how we keep you alive.”
I nod, slow and silent. “Then we find Darcy,” I say—more to steady myself than anything else. I need to believe there’s still a thread to follow. Still a chance.
Cameron’s gaze doesn’t waver. “If we get this right—if we get you clear—then yes. I’ll do everything I can to track her. But I won’t lie to you. These networks are fast. That’s how they stay hidden.”
He leans forward, voice low like it’s been rake over coals.
“The moment a girl is taken, she’s moved. From one location to the next, over and over. No patterns. No trace normally. That’s why this has to go exactly to plan. We only get one shot at this.”
“Okay, it sounds like a plan. Count me in.”
I try to focus.
Their conversation buzzes around me—strategy, timing, extraction routes—half of it sailing straight over my head. Acronyms and shorthand and contingency codes that mean nothing to someone who still burns toast on a good day.
But my phone won’t stop vibrating. A relentless, pulsing buzz in my pocket, over and over again.
I grit my teeth, trying to stay locked in, nod like I understand the stakes, the plan, the invisible chessboard they’re building.
Still—it buzzes again.
And again.
On the fourth cycle, I give in. Yanking the phone from my pocket with a sharp sigh, already bracing for whatever’s waiting on the screen.
I try to school my face into neutrality, but the second I see it… my stomach dips.
Hard. It’s Adam, again.
I see you got yourself a new boyfriend. Slut.
He’s still going?
Of course he is. Why would I ever believe he’d stop? He’s just like my uncle—different brand of poison, same malicious rot beneath the skin.
And now I’ve dragged that filth—clinging to me like something I stepped in—straight into Cam’s world. As if Manticore wasn’t enough of a nightmare, let’s add my jealous, possessive ex to the mix for a bit of extra chaos.
Perfect.
Cam hasn’t said a word. But he’s seen the bruises. Took one look and didn’t flinch. Not that we were exactly in the position for a heart-to-heart at the time… not with him tied to a chair and all.
