Justin – POV
The streets blurred past me.
I drove like a man possessed, barely blinking, barely breathing, just chasing shadows.
Every light, every corner, every block felt wrong. Empty. Too quiet.
She wasn't answering her phone.
I wasn't even sure she had it with her.
She left without her bag. Her shoes. Just vanished like the night erased her.
The kind of disappearance that made my skin crawl and my hands itch to grab something—someone—and demand answers.
But no one had any.
Not the old lady I bribed down the hall.
Not the front desk.
Not even the cameras—I checked, hacked into them myself.
Nothing.
She was just… gone.
And my gut knew exactly where she'd go.
Not because it made sense. Not because she wanted to.
But because trauma is a leash.
It always drags you back to where it started.
Home.
Fucking home.
That house. That man. That woman who pretended not to see.
I slammed the gear into park two blocks away.
