He looks between the glowing screen and my face, hoping I’ll tell him something different than what he already knows. I shake my head slowly, jaw tight. “No. Nothing. But she tied her phone into the network before she left. She knew we’d wake up and come straight here. My guess is our avenging angel is leaving us breadcrumbs, hoping we follow the trail.”
My fingers fly, muscle memory sharpened by fear. “If she agreed to a swap—if she went alone—where is she meeting him? And where does that leave Kimber?” My stomach knots as the words leave my mouth. “This could be a setup.”
“You think?” Emerson snaps, already knowing the answer. Dean won’t release Kimber out of mercy. He’ll use her the same way he always does—to force Berk to bend.
I switch screens and start pulling everything her phone synced before she walked out the damn door. As the data rolls in, one thread lights up like a fuse being sparked.
“I’ve got something.” I stab a finger toward the screen. “There. An unknown number at the top of her message history.Active. The last response was less than an hour ago. She’s been talking to this number… negotiating whatever the next steps are.”
The scrolling stops, and my heartbeat slams against my ribs. “Let me pull the number into our system and cloak it. If this is Dean—and I’d bet my life it is—we can’t tip him off that we’re tracing him. We need him blind. Completely unaware.”
Rowan’s breathing changes beside me, the sound of a man trying not to explode. I grab his wrist, grounding him. “You need to text her,” I tell him. “Right now. Ask her where the fuck she is. If she’s already with him, he’ll be watching her phone… and it’ll look suspicious as hell if we aren’t freaking out that she’s gone.”
His eyes sharpen with immediate understanding. “He expects her to keep us in the dark,” he mutters. “We have to play along.”
“Exactly.”
“Got it,” he snaps, and he’s already typing before I finish breathing the word.
He fires off message after message. Some filled with fear so real it shakes his hands. Some laced with fury, demanding she answer him. Others begging her to come home before it’s too late.
Even from here, I can feel the desperation bleeding off him.
Off all of us.
And the only thing that keeps me from snapping the keyboard in half is the fact she’s still leaving us pieces of her path.
She wants us to follow.
And we fucking will.
Chapter Fifteen
Rowan
I cannot believe her.
The rage hits first, hot and choking, then the fear of it slices through me even sharper. After everything she promised… after swearing she wouldn’t walk into hell alone again… she did exactly that. Every vow she whispered, every soft look she gave us, feels like a slap now. Not because she lied, but because she chose to protect us instead of herself.Again.
She left breadcrumbs. Fine. Cute little digital hints and trails tucked into the system Ronan is tearing through like a rabid wolf. But she still went alone. And that part makes something ugly and possessive snarl inside my chest.
When I get my hands on her—if she isn’t hurt, if she’s still breathing—I’m going to strangle her and kiss her, and I honestly don’t know which one will win out first. Both feel justified. Both feel necessary. Because Berkley Monroe does not get to give herself up like she’s expendable. Not to Dean. Not to anyone.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing again because sitting still feels impossible. My heart is a hammer, my skin too tight. The war room fills with the sound of Ronan typing, Emerson’s breath hitching every so often, and the beeping of the monitor screens updating.
Ronan mutters under his breath as he works. “Come on, baby… what did you leave for us… what did you set up…”
He’s the only one of us calm enough to think clearly right now. Well, appears calm, since he’s vibrating with the same fury I feel, but he channels it differently. He focuses. Calculates. He sees angles before anyone else does and has always been the one who thinks sideways when everyone else looks straight ahead.
If there’s a trail, Ronan will find it.
I stand behind him, watching code and coordinates flash across the screen. He isn’t just tracing her messages; he’s dissecting every digital breadcrumb she tied into the system before walking out the door.
Bryce’s phone finishes dumping its last scraps of data while Berk’s satellite tracker feeds into the map. And he’s got what he believes is Dean’s number lighting up—pings hopping between cell towers like a goddamn lifeline.
Emerson hovers next to us, silent, fists tight enough that his knuckles have gone bone-white. His entire body trembles when Ronan announces a new ping. His fear for his sister wraps around our panic for Berk until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Ronan doesn’t look away from the screen when he says quietly, “We’re going to find her.”