If you think Daze is on your side… You’re wrong.
Bound, with no way to move, Silas’ words echo in my skull on an endless loop. Pain is the only thing strong enough to rival them. God, I just hope nothing’s broken. My shoulder throbs badly enough to be. I can only rock back and forth to relieve the pressure on it as my hands remain tied behind my back, tethered to the chair. I don’t know how long I’m left like this before someone new enters the room. Their steps are slow. Cautious.
“Hey, sweetheart…” The masculine whisper sends terror through my veins.
I tense, scrambling for enough purchase to sit upright. Move. Do something! One detail I notice provides a small tendril of relief—this person isn’t Silas. Their footsteps aren’t as heavy as his, approaching from behind. All I can see is a lengthening shadow painting the floor in front of me. When I strain to turn around, something dark falls over my face, and I’m blind again.
A harsh voice cuts over any cry I start to make, “Don’t move—” I gasp in relief as my hands are freed from the chair, but both of my wrists are seized, and I am yanked upright.
“Where are you taking me?” I croak, swaying to find my balance.
“Easy, little girl,” a man drawls. I feel his hands paw at my shoulder. Then a pinching sensation. I flinch, but he just grips me tighter. “Enjoy the ride,” he snarls while easily manhandling me toward an unseen direction. He’s moving quickly, unconcerned about whether I can keep up.
I can’t. The second I lose my footing, my captor surges forward, even as my knees hit the floor. For what feels like an eternity, I’m dragged over the bare concrete by my wrists. The harsh surface bites into my skin, rubbing my shins raw.
“You stupid bitch,” my captor hisses, wrenching me upright. “Walk—”
“Easy,” another man growls. He sounds further away, his voice unfamiliar. “He said not another scratch on her.”
“Yeah, well, he’s the one who gave her a shiner. Come and help me. Let’s get this over with.”
More footsteps approach, and another set of hands grab me from the side, lifting me off my feet completely. I do my best to fight. Kick. Scream. But with each passing second, every movement gets ten times harder than it should be. My limbs feel too heavy, weighted down…
I’m so dizzy.
“Damn, the shit’s already kicking in,” one of the men says, sounding garbled as if I’m hearing him from underwater. “Help me get her into the truck.”
Suddenly, the air changes, feeling cooler on my skin. I can hear the faint sounds of distant traffic, but it’s nothing like the roar of the city. Somewhere on the outskirts of Westpoint? But where?
Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I land on a hard surface, and the air whooshes from my lungs. A thud echoes like that of a car door slamming, and then the world lurches forward.
My ears ring. I can’t even tell up from down, and the strange sensation weighing me down becomes stronger. Bit by bit, I feel my consciousness seeping away.
Until everything goes black.
* * *
The air feels so heavy. Every breath takes monumental effort, and I give up trying to open my eyes within seconds—but I’m not alone. Nearby, someone gasps.
“Praise be,” they exclaim with audible relief. “She’s waking up.”
“Yes,” a man agrees, his tone grave. “Praise be to the Lord.”
That voice. The low cadence sends a shockwave through my entire body. It’s…wrong. Untrustworthy. As hard as I wrack my brain, I can’t come up with a name yet. Everything is groggy. Blurry.
I try again to open my eyes and only manage to crack them halfway. Through a sliver of blinding light, I can’t make out much. Just formless shadows and bright, painful white.
“Frances? Can you hear me?” Someone gently grasps my hand, squeezing each finger one by one. They feel warm, their touch persistent. Still, some part of me internally cringes. I don’t like it.
After a few more attempts at blinking, my blurred vision finally clears up enough to make out the face of someone sitting next to me. Colton? He looks exhausted, his hair tousled, his usually neat button-up shirt wrinkled. Framing him is a backdrop of pristinely white walls. Alarm jolts through me, giving me the strength to sit up. This room doesn’t look like it belongs in my apartment or even my father’s uptown house.
Except for a narrow bed I’m lying on, a tray table, and two plastic-looking recliners, it’s sterile and mostly empty. On one of the chairs sits a figure whose face is obscured, but I recognize his tall, lean shape right away.
Father. Seeing him makes my chest tighten. It’s as if, overnight, my body reclassified him from a neutral authority figure to...
Someone dangerous. A man who smiles warmly at me even though he knows exactly why I’m here—I remember that much. Silas taunted me—Play your role, little girl. My newest stage is a hospital room, I realize once I get both eyes open. Panic has me glancing down, scanning what little of my body is exposed above a light-blue blanket. My legs kick out on command, and my arms react the same way. Thank goodness.
“You’re okay,” Colton says, stroking the length of my forearm. “Apart from this, anyway—” He gestures toward my left eye. It feels sore when I blink. Something hit me? No, someone. Silas. “And a few minor scrapes and bruises. The doctors say you’ll be fine. No long-term damage.”
I try to speak. “What… What happened?” My mouth is so dry I can barely muster up a hoarse whisper.
“You were attacked. The police are doing their best to track down who did this,” my father says, his voice as commanding as ever. I turn to see him approach my bedside. My breath catches as his features come into view, his eyes hooded. “They will be punished to the full extent of the law. I can promise you that.”
“What were you even doing in that part of town?” Colton asks, still gripping my hand. “You should have told me if you were going to do outreach on your own. I would have—”
“I think Frances needs some rest,” my father insists. His stance is polite enough, but there is no mistaking the authority in his voice. Instantly, Colton sits back, wringing his hands together.
“Yes… Of course,” he mumbles, eyeing the floor.
“The doctors say she will be released tomorrow,” Father continues. “Colton, you can visit her then. I think I speak for us all when I say that home is the best place for her right now.”
“Yes.” Colton nods in deference before he stands and moves toward the door. “I will visit you tomorrow, Frances.”
The second he’s out of view, Father steps closer to the head of the bed, his hands clasped behind him. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal, Frances,” he says. His expression is so utterly blank. I can’t tell even a hint of what he’s thinking. Doubt starts to sneak in among the pain and fear clamoring for attention in my skull. What if I was wrong and he isn’t the vicious monster Hale and Daze seem to believe he is?
There isn’t time to waste, either way. I run my tongue along my lower lip. “F-Father—”
“You should rest,” he says over me, raising a graying eyebrow. “I’ve held off the investigators for now. You can talk to them tomorrow once your recollections are clearer. Do you remember anything?” A rare note of hesitation creeps into his voice, and alarm bells go off in the back of my mind.
If Daze were here, I know what he’d say—Lie.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s all so blurry…”
I slump into the pillows behind me for emphasis and watch his reaction to every word I’ve said. The strange part is how normal he seems. Standing tall, with his stern frown, he appears the way he always has—as the strict, guiding force in my life, never to be challenged. His blue eyes don’t betray a hint of malice.
But as the seconds tick by, I realize something else that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
There’s no warmth in them, either.
“That’s to be expected.” He nods and takes my hand, clasping both of his around it. “You had us worried for a moment. If anything happened to you… I don’t know what I would do.”
“I’m sorry,” I croak.
“I should be the one who apologizes. With everything going on, I haven’t done my duty as your father. That changes now—” He pats the back of my hand, but each seemingly reassuring blow is harder than the last. “Starting tomorrow, you will return home. I want you at Covenant more, by my side where you belong.”
His directives sound eerily like what Silas ordered me to do. Be the good daughter. Smile. Preen. I bite the inside of my lip so hard I taste copper—anything to suppress my reaction. I can’t let him know that I’m uneasy.
Thinking fast, I try to change the subject. “I’m so tired…”
“You were drugged,” Father explains. “The doctors aren’t sure with what, but it should be out of your system soon. You are safe, my child.”
But I don’t feel very safe.
I feel trapped.
Compounding that feeling is a commotion near the doorway to my room. A new figure attempts to cross the threshold only to be stopped by an officer—I hadn’t noticed until now—standing guard. While the cop appears stiff and serious, the other man, dressed in dark-blue scrubs, seems very relaxed and along for the ride. He’s slender, with a friendly, disarming smile that contrasts sharply with the calculation flashing in his eyes as the guard inspects the plastic food tray he’s carrying. Just as quickly as the serious look came, it’s gone before the officer glances back up to usher him into the room.
As he nears, I take him in fully. He’s wiry with black mussed hair and a baby face. He looks barely older than I am, but judging from how his clothing clings to his frame, he’s all muscle.
“Her dinner is here,” he says tersely, his gaze on Father.
“You may bring it to her,” Father commands, unsurprised by the arrival. To my questioning look, he says, “From now on, you will be protected at all times. Frankly, I should have arranged a security detail for you sooner.”
“S-Security detail?” I stiffen in alarm as the orderly steps in front of Father to place the tray on a side table and arrange it over my lap. Before he withdraws, he notices me eyeing his badge and the name and photo displayed—Jet. When I look up at his brown eyes, he pointedly looks at the tray he’s positioned in front of me. Is he trying to tell me something? Before I can question him, he’s stepping back.
“Enjoy your meal,” he says while eyeing the tray as he walks backward toward the door before retreating into the hall. I turn my focus back to Father and his demand for guards.
“I don’t… Is that really necessary?”
“Necessary?” Father’s voice deepens, and a sense of foreboding washes over me. I’m on dangerous ground. “Keeping you safe is my main priority,” he says. “Never again will I forsake that duty. Try to eat. I will discuss your discharge with the doctors. Excuse me.”
He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I deflate, utterly confused.
Did you think your little disappearances had gone unnoticed? Silas had taunted.
This was as sure a sign as any that he hadn’t been bluffing. For whatever reason, he conspired with my father. To what aim?
Desperate for a distraction, I inspect the food tray, finding nothing appealing. I start to push it away, but it doesn’t slide the way it should. Puzzled, I lift the edge of it and find a bulky slip of paper taped to the underside. This must be why the orderly, Jet, kept staring at the tray. Did he leave this note behind?
My fingers tremble as I peel it off. Somehow, I doubt it’s a menu displaying tomorrow’s meal choices. Sure enough, as I unfold it, a block of unfamiliar handwriting spells out a simple, blunt message—Daze is alive. Stay put. He’ll come for you.