14. Harmony
Harmony
The sun is too bright.
Too hot.
Too loud.
It makes everything feel exposed, like even the trees are watching me fail in real time.
“I already checked this side of the greenhouse,” I mutter, pushing through overgrown ivy that tangles around my ankles like it’s trying to drag me down with it.
“Check it again,” Reese calls from somewhere behind me. His voice bounces off the glass panels and hits me like a slap across the face.
I whip around. “I told you—”
He steps out from behind a tall hedge, sweat glistening on his brow, shirt damp at the collar. He looks as irritated as I feel.
“You told me a lot of things,” he says coolly. “None of them ended with you finding the girl.”
I clench my jaw and keep moving. There’s no time to argue. Damien could be back in an hour. Or a minute. And if I’m not standing at the door with Brooke smiling and presentable, I’m going on that fucking stage instead.
We’ve checked every building. The garage. The old barn. The pool house. The root cellar smells like something has already died in it.
Nothing.
“She’s not here,” I say, spinning in a slow circle near the tree line. My throat tightens as I scan the edge of the woods again, like maybe this time she’ll magically appear. “She’s not—”
Reese grabs my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to make me stop spiraling.
“Look at me.”
I do. I hate that I do.
“She’s here,” he says, voice low. “She didn’t run far. She wouldn’t make it half a mile barefoot. If she’s not here, she’s hiding. Or someone’s hiding her.”
The implication sends a jolt through me.
“Are you saying someone helped her?”
He shrugs. “I’m saying this place has holes. Crawl spaces. Dead spots in the cameras. If I wanted to disappear, I could do it here in my sleep.”
My skin goes cold despite the heat.
“I thought you said you checked the greenhouse cameras.”
“I checked the ones Damien told me about,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something sharp. “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t added new ones.”
A breeze cuts through the trees, and I shiver, rubbing the back of my arms. The sweat there has gone cold.
“She’s going to get us both killed,” I whisper.
Reese’s jaw ticks.
“No,” he says. “You’ll get yourself killed. I’m just the extra body they bury to make a point.”
I don’t laugh. I can’t.
He ’s not wrong.
We stand there in silence, the kind that presses against your chest and dares you to breathe through it.
Then he breaks it.
“We’ll check the maintenance tunnels under the main house next,” he says.
“Those are sealed,” I protest.
“They were,” he replies. “Damien had them reopened last month. Said he enjoyed having options.”
Of course, he fucking did. I follow Reese as he starts back toward the house, every step louder than the last.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I don’t know how much longer I have.
But I know what happens if I fail.
He sells me.
And this time… I don’t think I’ll survive it.
* * *
Monday, 1:35 p.m.
The tunnel smells of copper and mildew. Damp stone walls press in on both sides, and the single bulb overhead flickers like it’s about to give up.
I wish it would.
Maybe if the light dies, I won’t have to see the way Reese is looking at me.
“Careful,” he mutters, grabbing my arm as I trip over a broken tile.
I don’t thank him. I can’t. My heart’s lodged too far up my throat.
We keep walking, footsteps echoing behind us like ghosts trailing our movements. I don’t know what Damien used these tunnels for before, but I know they weren’t meant for escape. They were built for co ntrol. For secrets. For storage… of things that don’t belong in daylight.
“Do you really think she’d come down here?” I ask.
Reese glances at me, his voice lower now.
“If she were scared enough, yeah.”
I swallow hard. “Then we’re running out of time.”
We pass another fork in the path. He hesitates, then nods to the left. I follow. The light hums. My pulse does too. His hand brushes mine.
Neither of us pulls away.
I stop walking. I shouldn’t, but I do. The air is thick. Not just with dust and moisture—but with something else. Something I haven’t let myself feel in months.
Reese steps closer. The space between us evaporates.
My pulse quickens. I’ve felt nothing towards Reese… not until he cornered me in the pantry. Not until he watched Damien use me on the dining table, but now… My brain has short-circuited.
His eyes drag over my mouth, then flick to mine like he’s daring me to stop him.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I whisper, though I’m not even sure what that means anymore.
His fingers slip under my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Neither am I.”
My breath catches. The scent of sweat and cedar fills my nose. His lips hover an inch from mine.
“H-help! Please—somebody!”
Brooke.
We both freeze.
Reese is the first to move, stepping back as if I had just hit him. He blinks, reality slamming back into his expression.
“Go,” he says.
I don’t think. I just run.
My boots slap the concrete. I turn a corner, then another. The cries grow louder—panicked, desperate, coming from somewhere up ahead.
“Brooke?” I shout. “Where are you?”
“In here!” she sobs. “I—I can’t get out!”
I find her shoved behind a rotted wooden door, barely cracked open. She’s crouched in the dark, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. A busted grate is beside her. She must’ve crawled in, then got stuck when it collapsed.
Reese pushes past me and yanks the door wider. “You okay?”
Brooke nods, eyes glassy, arms wrapped tight around her knees. “I heard voices. I didn’t know if they were real…”
I drop to my knees and pull her into my arms. Her skin is cold. Too cold.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, more to myself than her. “I’ve got you.”
Behind me, Reese exhales and mutters something under his breath.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
We found her.
But time’s still running out.
And Damien…
He’s still coming.
* * *
Monday 2:00 p.m.
The walk back feels longer than the search ever did.
Brooke’s between us, her arms tucked in tight, like she’s trying to shrink herself smaller than her already-starved frame.
Reese walks ahead, scanning the treeline like he’s expecting something to leap out.
I trail behind them both, glancing over my shoulder every few steps even though I know what’s waiting is ahead, not behind.
Th e house looms into view like a coffin with a front porch. The windows are shut. Blinds drawn. But the door—
The front door is wide open.
My stomach twists.
He’s home.
Brooke doesn’t notice. Not yet. She’s focused on her steps. One foot. Then the other. Like a baby deer relearning how to walk. I should be proud of her for surviving this long. For holding on.
But I’m too busy praying she doesn’t die for it. The porch creaks beneath our weight.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
His voice is calm. Which is worse. Brooke stops dead in her tracks. Damien is sitting in the wingback chair just inside the entryway, legs spread, arms draped over the sides like a king on a throne he never earned.
I sense Reese tense beside me. His fists clench at his sides.
“I—” Brooke starts, but her words fall apart on her tongue.
Damien stands slowly.
The silence between us stretches, tight and suffocating.
Then, his eyes meet mine.
He smiles.
Just once.
And says,
“You’re late.”