Whispered Shadows

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Empty Seat

Ryder

The city streets blur around me as I speed toward the movie theater, my grip on the steering wheel tight, knuckles white. My mind races, thoughts colliding in a chaotic mess. Noa. Where the hell is she?

I can't help but glance at my empty passenger seat, the one that has become hers. Over these last few weeks, Noa has been in that seat almost every day.

She has to be here. It's the only place I can think of that means something to Gia that we haven't already checked. As I pull into the parking lot, my chest tightens with unease.

We reach the street where the movie theater stands, dark and foreboding. The lights outside are dim, the neon flickering like it's holding its breath, just waiting for something to happen. I slam my foot on the brake, the truck skidding slightly as I park in front of the entrance.

What if something happened to her? What if she's hurt? I know Noa. She will fight. She will do whatever it takes to survive.

I don't know what to expect. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to find. We get out of the truck, the night air biting at my skin. It's colder than it should be this late, the chill sinking into my bones. Asher pulls his jacket tighter, but I don't even notice. I'm too focused on the building ahead of me, the doors looming like a gateway to whatever nightmare Noa's found herself trapped in.

The theater's main doors are slightly ajar. I hesitate just for a moment, then push them open with force. They creak on their hinges, the sound breaking the eerie silence of the night. I take a deep breath before stepping inside.

The lobby is still. Too still. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting an off-putting glow over the empty space. There's no sign of Noa. No bag was left behind. No coat. No shoes. Nothing.

Empty

"Noa?" I call out her name, my voice too loud in the silence.

The theater is silent. No voices. No familiar buzz of excitement from the crowd. Just the faint hum of the overhead lights and the smell of stale popcorn in the air. My eyes scan the rows of seats, expecting to find her sitting there, maybe checking her phone or reading something, like she always does when we're here. But there's nothing. No one.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. The panic I'd been trying to suppress starts to crawl its way up, spreading like wildfire.

I walk ahead, Asher a few steps behind me, his presence like a constant reminder that I'm not in this alone. Still, I can't shake the feeling of loneliness. The unease gnaws at me. I need to find Noa. And I need to find her now.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I can't help it. The panic claws at me, rising from the depths of my chest. "She was supposed to be here."

Asher steps in after me, eyes scanning the room. "No sign of her," he says quietly, as though I couldn't tell. He doesn't need to say it, but the weight of his words sinks in anyway.

I walk farther into the lobby, eyes darting between the abandoned ticket booth and the darkened hallways. The panic begins to bubble up my throat, a choking sensation that I can't fight. "Noa? Are you here?" I shout again, louder this time, but my voice just falls flat. It feels like the air is swallowing me up.

Asher is quiet, though I can feel the tension rolling off him like a storm ready to break. He's not the type to show it, but even he's starting to look more anxious.

"I don't like this, Ryder," Asher mutters, his eyes shifting around the space. "Something's off."

"I know," I growl. "I know."

I continue moving through the lobby, my boots clicking sharply against the floor, the sound too loud in the silence. I head toward the hallway leading into the theaters. The doors are shut tight.

"She's not here," Asher says from behind me, though I don't need him to tell me.

The tension between us thickens as I push open the door to the first theater. Empty rows of seats greet me, all in neat, silent lines. The screens are dark and lifeless.

There's no sign of Noa.

I can't breathe.

The air feels thick like it's pressing down on me from all sides. I can't get enough of it. My chest is tight, my heart pounding so loud I can feel it in my throat. Noa. She should be here. I need her to be here. But the theater is empty. Too empty. It doesn't make sense. Where is she?

I can't think straight. My hands are shaking as I run them through my hair, eyes darting around the room, scanning every row, every seat. She's not here. She's gone. My stomach lurches.

Noa, where are you?

I pace back and forth, my boots clicking on the cold floor, but it feels like the sound is miles away. My vision blurs and my heart beats faster. Too fast. I try to breathe, but it's not enough. The air is thick and heavy. The walls feel like they're closing in. I need to calm down. I need to think.

But I can't.

Why isn't she here?

I shouldn't have let her go out alone. I should've been smarter. I should've been able to figure it out before this. I should've known. The panic claws at my insides. I can't control it. Can't control anything. I'm losing her, and I don't know how to stop it.

My legs feel like lead. I stumble, almost falling, but I catch myself on the back of a seat. I try to steady my breath, but it's no use. My lungs feel like they're being squeezed like there's no air left for me. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus. I can't lose it. Not now.

Not when she needs me.

The darkness of the theater is suffocating. The silence is too much. It's wrong. My chest heaves, each breath too shallow. The pounding in my head is deafening. I can't breathe. I can't think.

I can't lose her. I can't.

I feel the panic creeping up on me, threatening to overwhelm me. I stagger, taking a step forward, but my legs are shaky and unsteady. I grip the back of a seat harder, trying to ground myself, trying to keep my balance.

I need to find her. Now.

Then, out of nowhere, a figure steps out from behind one of the columns near the exit. My gun aims straight at that person. Asher is standing a few feet behind me doing the same thing.

My pulse races as I take in the shape of the person in front of me. They're wearing a hoodie, their face half-shadowed under the fabric. But something about the stance, the posture—I know this person.