Chapter 26
DANE
I 'm halfway back to my car, checking my texts. There's one from Milo.
Milo: Still no movement from Sarah's phone. Same coordinates.
I stare at the text, something cold slithering down my spine. Phones don't stay put for that long, especially those who belong to college students.
The streets around me blur as my mind maps possibilities. Best case: she's sleeping late, despite the schedule Milo pulled up showing she should be in class. Worst case... well, there are too many worst cases I don't want to contemplate.
Dane: On my way to check Sarah's dorm.
My phone buzzes again.
Milo: So... break-in successful? Shouldn't be posting your bail money right about now?
I smirk despite myself. Typical Milo—half worried, half impressed.
Dane: Still a free man. For now.
Milo: How'd it go in Creepy McRichboy's apartment?
I slide into my car, the leather seat cool against my back. The memory of that sterile apartment makes my skin crawl.
Dane: Too clean. Fucking immaculate. Like a staged home nobody lives in.
I start the engine but sit there, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
Dane: Something's wrong with that place. No personal items. No sign of Sarah. It's like he sanitized it.
Milo: Cameras installed?
Dane: Yeah. Four of them. Living room, bedroom, kitchen, hallway. Should give us full coverage.
I don't say I'm afraid it's too late.
Milo: Already tapping in. Feed looks good. I'll monitor 24/7 and set alerts for motion.
I pull into traffic, the afternoon sun glinting off glass towers. Everyone going about their normal lives while somewhere out there, Sarah Keller might be in danger. Or worse.
Dane: After looking at that place, I have to check on Sarah.
Milo: You should. Good luck.
NYU's campus buzzes with life—students racing to class, sprawled on lawns, living their normal lives. The gray stone buildings tower around me as I navigate the main quad. Their innocence is jarring after seeing Langford's sterilized floor.
The dorm building's security is a joke. I slip in behind a laughing group of freshmen without a second glance. The elevator smells like weed and cheap perfume as I ride to the fourth floor where Sarah's room is located.
Room 417. I stand outside the plain wooden door for a moment, listening. Music plays softly inside—some indie pop shit I don't recognize. I knock three times, firm and authoritative.
The door swings open to reveal a young Black woman with box braids pulled into a high ponytail. She's wearing sweats and glasses perched on her nose. Her expression shifts from neutral to guarded the moment she sees me—a strange man at her door.
"Can I help you?" Her voice is careful, defensive.
"I'm looking for Sarah Keller. Is she in?"
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Who's asking?"
Smart girl.
"My name's Dane Wolfe. I'm a private investigator." I don't flash a badge—don't have one to flash—but my tone carries enough authority that people rarely question it.
"Sarah's not here." She starts to close the door.
I put my hand against the frame, not forcefully, but enough to stop her. "When's the last time you saw her?"
The suspicion in her eyes deepens. "Why do you need to know that?"
"Because I'm concerned. Sarah's been spending time with someone… dangerous." I lower my voice. "A wealthy man named Brian Langford."
Something changes in her expression—recognition, followed by unease.
"You know him?" I press.
She hesitates. "She mentioned interviewing for an internship with some hot-shot guy. Wouldn't shut up about it actually."
"When did you last see her?"
She crosses her arms. "Two days ago. She said she was going to meet someone about the internship." A pause. "She hasn't been back."
The cold feeling in my gut solidifies into ice. "Has she been answering texts? Calls?"
"No. Which isn't like her. I figured she was staying with a friend or..." She trails off, the implication hanging between us.
"Or with a man," I finish for her, thinking Sarah's phone must be on silent or this girl might have heard it. "Did she say specifically where she was going?"
"No. Just that it was about the internship. Listen, is Sarah in trouble? Should I be worried?"
I consider lying, but decide against it. "I don't know yet. But I am. Look, if she contacts you, don't tell her about me. Just let me know immediately." I hand her my card. "Any time, day or night."
She takes my card like it might bite her, holding it between two slender fingers.
"If she calls you, it probably won't be from her personal phone," I say, watching her reaction carefully.
Her brow furrows. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't she use her own phone?"
"Because I think her phone is still here. In your room."
She stares at me, eyes widening slightly. The look people get when reality shifts under their feet, when the normal world shows its teeth.
"That's... that's crazy. She takes that thing everywhere. Sleeps with it under her pillow."
"If you search, you'll find her phone is in there." I nod toward the door, not breaking eye contact.
Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. Like a fish suddenly contemplating the concept of water. "How would you know that?"
I don't answer. People fill silences with their own fears better than I ever could.
She backs into the room, eyes still locked on mine. "This is seriously fucked up. Who are you really?"
"Someone who wants to make sure Sarah is all right."
That lands hard. Her face pales, and she unconsciously clutches my card tighter.
"Look around," I say quietly. "Under her mattress, maybe. Or in a drawer. Somewhere it wouldn't normally be."
It's always fascinating watching someone's worldview crumble in real time. The safe, predictable college existence with its manageable problems—grades, hookups, hangovers—suddenly revealing the abyss that was always just beneath the surface.
Isn't that how life works? We build elaborate stages to perform on, pretending the darkness isn't waiting in the wings. Most people go their whole lives never seeing the machinery behind the curtain. Lucky them.
"Call me when you find it," I say, stepping back from the doorway. "And whatever you do, don't tell anyone I was here. For Sarah's sake."
She nods mutely. I can already see her planning to call campus security the moment I'm gone. Not that it matters. I've planted the seed.
I turn and walk down the hallway, my reflection distorted in the safety glass of the fire extinguisher cabinet. Twisted. Warped.
Accurate.
Or maybe less so since I met Lila. Gog, I need to protect her. It seems I have failed Sarah, but I won't fail Lila. I can't. She has become too important. Fuck, if I didn't know better, I'd say I'm falling in love with her.