ELENA
“Where’s Aiden?!”
The question ripped from my throat, wild and raw. It wasn’t a question, really. It was a scream. A plea. A command wrapped in terror.
My voice echoed across the wreckage of the room—the overturned furniture, the broken glass, through the blood that still hovered in a haze over the bodies of the dead.
Derek turned fast, already pivoting to Brock and Joe, his eyes feral with urgency.
“I told you to get the boy!”
Brock’s brows furrowed, scanning the room again like he expected to find Aiden hiding behind a piece of furniture. “I didn’t see him!”
Joe looked stunned. “I—I thought he was with you.”
Time stopped.
My blood turned to ice.
And then I ran.
I didn’t wait for anyone to tell me what to do, didn’t ask permission or wait for backup. I just ran, barefoot
