Oliver
Remind me again why I ever let Lyra leave my bed after I finally got her there with nothing between us.
I don’t have a fucking clue. Maybe it was the way she looked at me.
Those wide, pleading eyes, all sweetness and soft voice, like she hadn’t spent the entire day letting me ruin her until she forgot how to breathe.
Those goddamn puppy dog eyes. I folded the second she blinked.
The number of times we had sex today should be studied. Archived. Put in a textbook. Who would’ve thought my perfect little Dollface would be so open and needy? Like she’d been waiting for me to finally stop holding back with her. I drove her back to her dorm anyway. Reluctantly.
The second she stepped out of the car, it felt like someone yanked something out of my chest and walked away with it.
My heart is in her goddamn hand.
I don’t go home right away. There’s too much noise circling her, and I’m sick of it. Serena. Molly. Blaine. Every name feels like a threat. Lyra deserves everything she came back to Willow Hill for, and if she can’t have that, then at least she gets safety.
I have Serena meet me in the library, where there are people. Public is the only reason she’s breathing. That and the promise I made. Also, I’m not alone with Serena, out of respect for Lyra. Something I learned from Callan yesterday, when he gave me what he called relationship advice.
Serena walks in, no flirtation this time, just a tight face and stiff shoulders. “You wanted to see me.”
“Sit.”
She drops into the chair across from me, arms crossing. “What is this?”
“This can go easy, or it can go difficult,” I say. “You decide.”
Her eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I lean back, resting my forearm on the table. “Have you been sending Lyra threatening messages?”
She blinks. Once. Twice. Real confusion lining her face. “What? No, she asked me the same thing. I don’t…”
“You sure?” I cut her off, not caring for explanations or questions.
“Yes,” she snaps, then glances around like she suddenly remembers we’re in public. “Why would I do that? You made it clear what you would do if I stepped out of line.”
I watch her. I watch her hands. Her eyes. “Did you go into Lyra’s room and leave a note?” I ask.
Her chair scrapes as she stands. “No. What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses. “This is what you dragged me here for? More about your precious Lyra. News flash, it's not all about her.” She turns and begins to walk away from me.
“Serena,” I call, still not moving. “Did you really see someone leave the dorm the night Leo died?”
She stops mid-step and looks back like I’m stupid. “Yes. Blonde hair. The same jacket Lyra wears. The brown one with the zip-up.” Her mouth tightens. “I thought it was weird. I was wrong.” Then she walks away.
Someone wanted Serena to talk. Someone wanted Lyra on the edge of suspicion. I stay on campus with Callan a little longer until I see Lyra’s light turn off, then make my way back to my car. I sit with the tracker app open on my lap.
Lyra is in her dorm—no movement for forty-five minutes. Last activity was fourteen minutes ago. Probably asleep. Good. She needs rest. I lock my phone and stare at the forest in front of me for a long second.
A vibration snaps my focus.
Callan:
Molly is missing.
My fingers move fast, but before I can reply, Archer's name hits my screen. I answer. “Tracked Molly. She’s in Blaine's dorm.”
“Okay, what else?”
“I tracked Blaine’s phone as well.”
“Archer, I don’t have time for this.”
“Blaine is currently at the cliffs Jade supposedly died at.”
“Really?” Interesting. Maybe I had Blaine pegged wrong. Love can make you do crazy things, and if he found out what Jade did to Lyra, would Blaine be capable of something like that? Guess it’s time to find out.
“Send me the location.”
Me:
Meet at my car.
It’s not long before Callan is jumping into the front seat. “What's going on?”
I pull out, hoping Lyra, for once, stays where she should be and sleeps. “You’ll never guess where Blaine is?”
“He isn’t with Molly?”
“Nope.” I make the quick drive to the cliffs, shutting off my headlights as we approach. We silently get out of the car and make our way to where Blaine stands overlooking the drop-off.
I clear my throat, gaining his attention as he jumps, turning around so fast he stumbles. “Fuck!” He pushes his hood back, eyeing us. Then his face goes ashen.
“Reminiscing?” I muse.
“I…no. I’m.” He eyes us then, like he doesn’t care anymore, and shrugs. “Yeah, something like that.”
“So, you did kill her. That’s surprising.”
“Yeah, well…”
Callan, behind me, chuckles.
“I couldn’t stand by anymore watching her hurt Lyra.”
“Careful.” I raise my eyebrow. “It would be wise not to say her name. I get it, you love her, but don’t remind me unless you want to be the next one off that cliff.” I motion my head behind him.
I watch his Adam's apple bob, and it brings me joy seeing him squirm. “So why come back? It's suspicious.”
“I don’t know, after Molly hit Lyra, it made me rethink some things.”
“Going to kill Molly next?” Callan surmises.
“Probably.”
“Has Molly been stalking Lyra? Since you’re so close, you would know.”
“No, she wouldn’t do that, trust me.”
“Yeah, not going to trust you,” I say.
“Molly is a lot of things, but she wouldn’t go that far.”
“You do know what Molly did to Lyra a year ago, right?” Callan questions.
“Yes, but there is more.”
“Does it involve Lyra?”
He shakes his head. “Well then, I don’t care.”
A light from my pocket has us all glancing down. I pull it out, lighting up the space around us. Tracker update. Lyra’s location just went live again. Moving. My blood turns to ice. She’s driving.
I open the map and zoom in. She’s heading toward Willow’s. For half a second, I think maybe she’s just coming back because she realized she can’t sleep alone anymore, just like I can’t.
I check my call log. Missed call from Lyra. My throat closes.
“Fuck.”
I hit her name.
It rings.
Again.
Again.
Voicemail.
“What's going on?” Callan is suddenly in front of me, but I don’t see him; all my focus is on her dot.
I call again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Four times. Nothing. My hands go cold. My pulse is too loud in my ears. I should’ve been on campus. I should’ve been under her window, watching as I promised myself I would. I look back at the map.
Her dot disappears.
“No.”
I copy the coordinates. My thumb hitting Archer’s name.
He answers on the first ring. “Oliver,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “It’s two a.m. What the fuc—”
“Get me images of Lyra’s last location now.”
That wakes him up. I hear the shift, sheets, the scrape of a chair. Keys clicking a second later. “Pulling it up,” Archer says, suddenly all business.
I’m in my car before he finishes the sentence. Engine roaring. Callan jumps in with me, and then another door. Blaine.
“Give me ten seconds.” More keys. A low curse.
“Archer.”
“One second,” he cuts in. “Hold on…hold on. Got it!” I put him on Bluetooth.
My stomach tightens as I speed to her location. Archer exhales once like he’s locking in. “Keep going half a mile—there’s a split in the road. Stay left. Around are dense forests. The beach is probably two miles north. Nothing else around.”
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. All the emotions I've observed, watched in others, read about, and studied are suddenly rushing in like a fucking tidal wave trying to drag me under. It’s like being shot at and not knowing how to protect yourself from the pain.
My throat goes tight. The trees open for half a second, and my headlights catch it. Metal. Glass. The shape of a car on the shoulder. My chest caves in.
“I’ve got her,” I whisper, and the words don’t even feel real as I slam the brakes and the world lurches.
I kill the call before Archer can repeat my name. The car jerks to a stop so hard my chest hits the seat belt. I sit there for a second, frozen.
“Holy fuck,” someone says, but it’s muted by the pounding in my ears.
My throat closes like my body is trying to hold my heart inside my ribs by force.
I shove the door open and jump out. Her car is across the shoulder, driver’s side crushed in, the door hanging open.
My eyes go straight to the seat. To the floor.
To the steering wheel. To anything that might prove she’s here.
She’s not.
Blood streaks the frame.
No, no, fuck no.
I step closer. “Lyra.”
I whip around, scanning the shoulder, the ditch, the dark line of forest beyond the road. My eyes burn. My vision blurs at the edges. I force the panic down, try to turn it into something useful.
My head turns toward the trees again, and my throat tightens so hard I taste metal.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what the fuck to do.
And for the first time in my life, I understand what real fear is.
Not the kind you use.
Not the kind you inflict.
Not the kind that sharpens you into a weapon.
This is different.
This is hollowing.
This is agony.
Because my Dollface is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if she’s alive.