Page 175 of Cinder
“Please.” The word scrapes out of me.
Something in my face must convince her not to argue, because she stands and disappears through a door behind the counter. By the time she comes back with a manager, my skin feels too tight for my body.
They ask for another form of ID. They ask me to confirm the account. They ask if anyone is forcing me to withdraw the money, and my heart kicks so hard I almost choke on it.
“No,” I lie, because the truth is sitting somewhere near Maple Hill Tower with a five-year-old girl who might be scared and waiting.
The manager studies me for a second too long, then nods to the teller.
“We can release this much today,” he says, writing a number on a slip of paper.
It isn’t everything. It probably isn’t enough. But it’s all I can get.
“Yes,” I say, sharper than I mean to. I swallow and try again. “Yes. Please.”
The manager nods, and the teller’s fingers move over the keyboard again. The seconds stretch, and my heart is beating so hard the room keeps slipping in and out of focus while my thoughts spiral uselessly.
This is my fault.
I should’ve known something like this could happen. I should’ve seen the signs. Been more prepared. But this is what I do. I ignore the cracks until they split something wide open. If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t inserted myself into their lives. If I hadn’t—
“Ma’am?”
I blink. The teller slides three envelopes across the counter, thick enough to make my stomach turn. Too much and not enough for what it’s for. I gather them up, shoving them into my bag without counting.
“Thank you,” I murmur, already turning away.
Back in the car, I lock the doors immediately and dump the bag onto the passenger seat, then turn to start the engine. My hands shake as I grip the wheel, and I inhale sharply. She’s fine.
She’s fine.
“She’s fine,” I whisper again, pulling out of the parking lot too fast, tires squealing slightly before catching.
Maple Hill isn’t far, but every red light stretches unbearably long. I inch forward at the first one, jaw tight and heart racing, resisting the urge to run it. Stacey’s voice replays in my head, and my throat closes as images start forming without permission.
Elle in the back of a car she doesn’t recognize. Elle asking questions in that small, polite voice she uses when she’s unsure. Elle looking around for me or Evan and not seeing us anywhere.
“She’s brave,” I mutter, gripping the wheel harder. “She’s kind. She’s okay, she knows to stay with people she knows.”
What if she thinks Stacey is someone she knows? She knows she’s her mom, so maybe she thinks she’s safe, too?
The thought hits, and I suck in a sharp breath as I take the turn onto Maple Hill Road too fast, the car swaying slightly before I correct. The road narrows as it climbs, trees closing in alongeither side. The old tower rises ahead, rusted and stained against the sky.
I pull up and park on the side of the street, half up against the curb, engine still running for a second before I kill it. The silence that follows is immediate and heavy.
Wind cuts across the open ground, catching in the tall, dry grass and making it whisper. The tower above creaks faintly, and my hands sit on the wheel longer than they should. There are no other cars parked nearby, no sign of Remi’s SUV. No sign of Stacey, either.
This feels wrong.
My phone is already in my hand as I climb out of the car. I should try one more call. To Evan, Remi, anyone.
But then I hear a scrape or something shift inside the tower, and my heart slams in my chest.
“Elle?” I call, and my voice breaks around her name.
There’s no answer, of course there’s not. I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, closing the car door.
“She must be inside,” I murmur. “And if she’s not, then I’ll leave.”
