Chapter 19 Beckett
Beckett
She doesn’t look back.
That’s how I know.
I’m standing by the door with my coffee going cold, watching her cross the threshold like she’s late for something.
Bag over her shoulder, head down, moving fast. She saw me.
I know she did. But she didn’t stop, didn’t say morning, didn’t do any of the things a person does when they’re planning to come back.
She just left.
And something in the way she moved—the set of her shoulders, the angle of her chin, the way she didn’t even hesitate at the door—
I’ve seen flight before. That wasn’t retreat. That was escape.
I set the mug down. My hands are steady but my chest isn’t.
Locke told us last night. All of it. The kiss, the way she froze, the way she grabbed her bags and bolted the second Kyron opened the door. He told us because that’s what we agreed—no secrets, not about her, not about this. We’re too close to the edge for anything less than full transparency.
But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know we talked about it, doesn’t know we’ve been waiting for her to come downstairs, doesn’t know we spent half the night figuring out how to make this easier for her.
She doesn’t know any of it.
Because no one’s seen her since. Not a word, not a text, not even footsteps in the hallway. Silence, and now this.
I take the stairs two at a time.
Rane’s door is first. I don’t knock. Just shove it open, hit the lights.
“Get up.”
He’s blinking at me, half-asleep, confused. “What—”
“Everyone. Kitchen. Now.”
I don’t wait for a response. Kyron’s door next, then Vaelor’s. Locke’s already opening his by the time I get there, reading something in my face that makes his jaw go tight.
“What happened?”
“Kitchen.”
Five minutes later we’re all there. Vaelor’s at the counter, hands moving on autopilot—coffee, mugs, the familiar rhythm of morning. But his eyes keep flicking to me. They all keep flicking to me.
Because I don’t do this. I don’t slam doors and yell and drag everyone out of bed. That’s not who I am.
Which means they know something’s wrong.
“She’s gone,” I say.
Silence.
Kyron sets down his phone. “What?”
“What the hell do you mean she’s gone?” Rane’s voice pitches up.
“She’s here.” Locke’s already moving toward the stairs. “She’s sleeping. She’s—”
“No.” I step into his path. “I watched her walk out the door less than ten minutes ago.”
He stops. Stares at me.
“Why didn’t you fucking stop her?”
“It’s not my place.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“Locke.” Vaelor’s voice cuts through, low and steady. “Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.” But he stops moving. His hands are fists at his sides, knuckles white. “She’s out there alone and he just watched her leave.”
“She might be ours.” The word scrapes coming out, but I say it anyway. “But she’s still her own person. I can’t force her to stay. None of us can.”
“So what, we just let her go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Vaelor’s stopped pretending to make coffee. Rane’s got one hand pressed flat against the counter like he needs it to stay upright. Kyron’s watching me with that sharp, assessing look he gets when he’s running calculations I can’t see.
“I couldn’t be sure,” I say. Slower now. “Can’t be. But my gut says she’s not coming back.”
Vaelor meets my eyes. “Your gut’s not usually wrong, is it?”
“No. It’s not.”
More silence. The kind that presses down.
Rane breaks first. “So what do we do? Are we just going to sit here talking about it?”
“We need to get her back.” Locke’s voice is rough. “Obviously we need to get her back.”
“Of course we do.” I look at Locke. He’s the one most likely to blow past me and out the door. “But we need to do it right.”
“Is there a right way here?” Rane asks.
“Yes.”
They wait.
“Because if we don’t do this right,” I say, “we may lose her before we ever had her in the first place.”
No one argues.
No one has anything to say to that.