BRYCE
I was in Sloane's car before my brain fully caught up with what was happening.
She drove fast. Too fast. Weaving through traffic like the laws didn't apply to her. Maybe they didn't. Maybe when you were Sloane Pierce, nothing applied to you.
My phone was clutched in my shaking hands. I'd tried calling Mira six more times. Voicemail. Every single time.
"Tell me exactly what your mom said." Sloane's voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before violence.
I forced myself to think past the panic clawing at my chest. "She said Mira left work at six. Was supposed to pick Mom up from her nursing shift and come to my place for dinner. They were going to be there by seven."
"And?"
"Mira never showed. Mom tried calling her. Nothing. Went to Mira's apartment—door was open. Place was destroyed. Mira's purse was there, her phone was smashed on the floor, but she was gone."
My voice cracked. "Mom found a note."
