The Missing Pattern

Unfinished Business Part 11

I woke to the sound of beeping—a constant, rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo through my skull, relentless. The sterile, suffocating smell of antiseptic hit me before the pain did. The buzzing fluorescent lights above flickered in my peripheral vision, cold and unforgiving. The rustle of fabric stirred the air, but it was the silence that slammed into me, heavy and suffocating, as if the world had exhaled and left me stranded.

Everything felt like a prison. My body, battered and bruised, was an aching collection of reminders—of how close I had come to losing it all. My left arm was in a sling, the pain a sharp throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I tried to move, but the weight of it all—my limbs, my mind, the aftermath—kept me tethered to the sterile bed.

But there was something more pressing than the pain.

The silence.

The absence of the chaos that had consumed us. The wreckage of everything that had gone wrong in those last few minutes before the explosion.

I blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog in my mind. The hospital room around me was dim, too quiet, the kind of place that makes you forget the outside world even exists. There was a figure by my side, a hand in mine—Calvin. His hand was warm, but trembling, and it sent a sharp pang of unease through me. His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine as soon as I stirred, relief flashing for just a moment, but it quickly faded into something darker.

"Harper," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a rasp. He leaned closer, pressing a glass of water into my hand, guiding it to my dry lips. The water burned as it slid down my throat, a welcome fire that chased away the taste of smoke and blood, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough anymore.

"Where's Yang?" I croaked, my voice raw, barely a whisper.

Calvin's face tightened, and for a moment, his jaw clenched so hard I could almost hear the bones protest. "Yang's in a coma," he said softly, the words heavy, like they carried the weight of the world. "They don't know if he'll make it."

A cold fist squeezed around my heart. Yang—my friend—my partner in all of this—gone, hanging by a thread.

I turned my head, ignoring the sharp pain that shot down my neck, to find Reese sitting in the corner, her back rigid, eyes hollowed out from sleeplessness. She hadn't slept since the night before—since we barely escaped that hellhole. Her clothes, too, were torn and stained, a testament to the chaos. And then there was that look on her face. That dark, haunted look.

She was clutching a file, thick with papers—our case, the case of the missing girls. I felt my pulse quicken as the knot in my chest tightened. My mind reeled, trying to focus on what mattered—what was left to fight for.

"The girls," I rasped, barely able to push the words out. My throat felt raw. "Where are they? Are they safe?"

Reese's eyes softened, but only for a moment, before hardening again. "They're safe, Kitty. We got them out before the first explosion. They're in protective custody now."

Relief flooded through me, but it was hollow, fleeting. I knew better than anyone. I had seen it too many times—just because they were safe now didn't mean it was over. Far from it.

Calvin shifted, his voice lower, as if testing the waters before he dropped a bomb. "There were only ten of the twelve girls at the warehouse," he said, each word heavy with the weight of what it meant. "Two were never there. Two are still missing."

I froze, my body stiffening. I didn't need to hear the rest. I already knew what was coming.

"And then..." Calvin's voice trailed off, eyes darting to Reese.