Afterlight (Fanfiction) ✓

chapter thirty-two

Jay

     THE front door hung ajar, creaking softly as the wind pushed against it. An icy draft swept through the house, chilling me to the bone. The emptiness inside gnawed at me, twisting my stomach into knots. This wasn't the warm, chaotic haven I'd left. Something was wrong—very wrong.

"Princess?" My voice cut through the eerie silence, sharp and uneasy. No answer.

As I stepped into the kitchen, my gut twisted further. The room carried the unmistakable signs of being used, but not in the usual way. A pot of water sat on the stove, condensation fogging the lid, though the burner had been turned off. Plates and utensils were scattered across the counter, as if someone had been in the middle of cooking and just... stopped. Even the table was set, waiting for my return.

On the cutting board, half-chopped vegetables lay abandoned, the knife still resting at an angle, its blade glinting in the low light. A tea towel had been dropped onto the floor near the sink, crumpled and forgotten. The faint scent of garlic and onions hung in the air, mingling with something else; a trace of fear, maybe, or the cold emptiness that had settled into the house.

This wasn't Chloe's style. She never left things half-done, never walked away without finishing what she started. My unease deepened. The signs weren't just of someone leaving suddenly— they were of someone being forced to leave.

Chloe?" I called again, my voice harder now, echoing in the quiet house. Still no answer. My eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of a struggle, but it was just subtle enough to make me question everything.

My hand tightened around the edge of the counter. The air felt suffocating, heavy with something unspoken. Every inch of this kitchen screamed that she hadn't left by choice. And the realization hit like a freight train, knocking the breath out of me.

Heart pounding, I hurried to the security console, fingers trembling as I tapped the screen. Static. The cameras had been disabled. Someone had planned this. I fought to keep my panic from spilling over. Losing control wouldn't help her. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Violet Noir's number with an unsteady hand, forcing myself to think clearly. She was Chloe's only real connection here besides me. Maybe they'd gone out. Maybe this wasn't the nightmare it felt like.

The phone rang twice before Violet answered, her voice bright and carefree. "Jay, what's up?"

I leaned against the counter, the cool granite grounding me for a split second. "Have you seen Chloe today?" I kept my tone steady, but I could hear the tension in my own voice.

A pause. Too long of a pause. My grip tightened on the phone. "Uh..." she faltered, her usually bubbly tone deflating. "Hold on. I'll get Nick."

Panic clawed at my chest as I listened to the muffled shuffle of her handing the phone off. The sound of air rushing through the speaker made my pulse quicken. My gut churned. If she wasn't answering me, something was very wrong.

"Jay," Nick's voice came through, rough and direct. "What's going on?"

"Do you know where Chloe is?" The words came out as an order, sharp and biting.

There was a pause, a low exhale. "Romano?" He sounded surprised, caught off guard. Right. I hadn't told him everything—hadn't explained that Chloe was no longer a target, but something more.

"Nick." My tone dropped, heavy with warning. "Tell me what you know."

"Shit." His curse sent a chill down my spine.

"What. Is. It?" I gritted my teeth, my patience snapping. My free hand curled into a fist against the counter.

"I think I know where she is. I'll head over to you. Give me ten minutes." His voice was clipped, and before I could demand more, the line went dead.