Page 174 of Cinder
I grab my bag. Keys. My card. There’s only one thought left, cutting clean through the panic and the static in my head.
Get Elle back.
That’s it. That’s the only instruction my body seems capable of holding. I slide into the driver’s seat and slam the door, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet street. My hands fumble against the ignition before the engine finally roars to life, and I reverse too fast, tires skidding slightly against the curb before I correct.
Maple Hill. Bring cash. Be alone, and don’t tell anyone. The words loop relentlessly.
Remi would’ve said something.
The thought flashes again briefly, because I know Remi would never just hand Elle over. She would call. She would text.
My phone is in my lap before I consciously decide to reach for it, and I hit Remi’s name with shaking fingers and lift it to my ear, eyes fixed on the road. It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Pick up,” I whisper, my voice thin. “Pick up, pick up—”
“Hey, you’ve reached Remi. If it’s important, leave me a message. If it’s Colt, I’m still not apologizing for what happened to your hockey jersey.”
The beep shrieks through the car, and I hang up and immediately call again. This time it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck!”
I end the call and hit Evan’s name next, praying he’s not on a callout and able to answer. It rings once. Twice. Then his voicemail cuts in too, and a fresh wave of panic crashes through me.
He’s busy. Remi, too. Surely she’s just with the kids, and her phone’s buried in her bag or something. That’s all.
But what if Stacey is telling the truth? What if she really did pick her up early?
I stab at the Maplewood Fire station number next, because Evan told me once that if I couldn’t reach his cell, someone there would usually answer.
It rings until my whole body is vibrating with it. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
“Fuck,” I choke, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.
I can’t just wait around for someone to answer. I can’t just drive around debating whether this makes sense.Because if I’m wrong, if this isn’t some twisted bluff and I waste time trying to untangle it, then Elle is at risk.
One hour. That’s all she gave me. My foot presses harder on the accelerator, and the bank comes into view fast. I pull in crooked, barely checking for cars before I’m out of the vehicle and moving toward the doors.
Inside, it’s cool and fluorescent and absurdly normal. A woman in front of me is discussing mortgage rates, and someone else is filling out a deposit slip. I step up to the counter when it’s my turn, sliding my card and ID across with fingers that won’t stop trembling.
“I need to withdraw cash,” I say, and my voice sounds far away. “Full balance, if possible.”
The teller glances at the screen. “From which account?”
“My personal savings.”
Her fingers pause on her keyboard, eyes flicking up to my face for a second, then to my ID, and I realize I probably look unhinged. My hair’s still messy from bed. I’m wearing Evan’s FD T-shirt under a jacket I don’t remember grabbing.
“For an amount this large, we’d usually need notice,” she says carefully. “I can’t release the full balance in cash today.”
My stomach drops. “How much can you give me?”
She hesitates, then lowers her voice. “I’ll need my manager to approve it.”
