Page 12 of What We Become

I want to live.

I want to keep all of it—every hard-won sensation, every stupid joke, every time Milo kisses me and calls me kitten, every time Micah pulls me into his lap in the middle of a conversation because he needs me there, every time Knox presses my head to his chest and holds me. I want Holden’s hands on my face when I least expect it, his voice in my ear. I want Eli to spank me and hold me, I want⁠—

The foam touches my neck.

Warm. Thick. Rising.

I let out a sob, and my chin lifts. The foam presses against the underside of my jaw, and that’s when I feel it.

The cameo.

The velvet band around my throat, the antique pendant resting in the hollow between my collarbones. Holden’s gift. The choker I’ve worn almost every day since he clasped it around my neck to cover my rope scars, hiding the damage, making beauty from brutality.

The choker with the tracker inside it.

I freeze. For a second the panic burns up in a white flash. The cameo. The tracker. The guys—my guys—could find me. If they’re watching.

If they care enough to check.

Of course they care.

But will they know it isn’t just a girls’ night out? A random stopover? A . . . whatever?

Will they guess how close the dark is?

How final?

I throw my head back. “HOLDEN—” I croak, nothing left in my voice but static. “MILO, HELP, PLEASE⁠—”

The foam bulges against my mouth, and I turn. “KNOX! MICAH! ELI! SOMEONE!”

Hold on, Sage. Just hold on.

I wrench my face sideways, finding a sliver of air. “Please be watching,” I beg as the foam touches my lip. “Please.”

I seal my mouth shut. Breathe through my nose—short, shallow, rationed. The fumes make my nostrils burn. My eyes stream tears that have nowhere to go in the dark.

I think about Knox at the door.

“Have fun, Fury.”

He’d kissed me like a man who expected me to come back.

The foam rises over my lips.

I stretch my neck as high as I can, chin tilted to the ceiling.

Breathe.

The dark presses in from every direction.

Please.

Please find me.

FOUR

KNOX