Page 241 of Awakened

I glance down at my stained joggers and worn graphic tee that says ‘Salem, MA, 1692. They Missed One,’ and scowl.

“We aren’t the ones who set it,” Daxen points out needlessly.

Riven snorts. “Fucking obviously. And yes, I already spoke to Gavran when I arrived, so no need to rehash the whole adventure. So what’s the plan?”

He pushes off the frame and crosses the room, coming to a stop in front of us. The expectant look on his face makes me feel about a thousand times more worthless than I already do.

He lifts a single, imperious brow. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

Well… this is awkward.

Riven sighs like we’ve disappointed him, pulls off his suit jacket, and places it across the back of the couch.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thanking the Fates that an actual adult finally showed up. Because the four of us? Fucking useless.

Soren and Caelan are both too emotional to make any plans beyond driving around, searching for a break in the magic firewall. Soren looks about four seconds away from shifting, and Caelan’s been tossing back blood vials like someone announced a nationwide AB Positive shortage. Pretty sure his fangs haven’t retracted once since before the sun came up.

Riven takes a seat next to Dax and surveys the room. “Where’s the little Seer? Have you asked her what’s going on?”

Daxen’s eyes widen. “Motherfucker.”

“I’ll go!” I’m halfway across the room before anyone can voice an objection.

I jog through the castle toward the guest wing, stopping only long enough to ask a staff member to point me to her room. Three minutes later, I’m knocking at her door.

No one answers.

I knock again, wait patiently for twelve seconds, then curl my hand into a fist and knock approximately seventeen times harder. When that doesn’t work, I call out her name.

Nothing.

Well… I’ve got two choices. Option one: I turn around and return to the den of doom empty-handed, forced to face yet another failure and the judgmental stares of my friends and Pack.

Option two…

Fuck it.

This is my house. Technically, I can go where I want. Besides, option one sounds about as fun as voluntarily throwing myself into the wall of flame I have concluded is for real hiding the entrance to Mordor.

Committing fully to my breach of privacy, I push the door open, peek my head in, and squeeze my eyes shut just in case she sleeps without clothes or something. And just to be safe, I call out her name twice more before warily opening my eyes, relaxing when nothing weird jumps out at me.

Satisfied no one’s here, and I’m not going to accidentally replace Daxen on the “Shittiest Alpha Alive List,” I step inside and shut the door softly behind me.

I’ve come this far, after all—no harm in looking around.

The first thing I notice is the faint scent of cherries and brown sugar. The Omega’s perfume is faint enough to tell me she hasn’t been here for at least hours. The bed is made, so she obviously didn’t sleep in it last night, and her clothes are hung up and folded neatly. Even her toiletries are in a nice little row, lined up smallest to largest along the bathroom counter.

I sweep my gaze over the room, searching for literally anything that might give me a clue as to where she might be. She couldn’t have gone far, right? I mean… she basically only talks to Idril—and sometimes Gav—so it’s not like she met up with friends and stayed out all night at a rave.

Think, Vae. When was the last time you saw her?

Yesterday morning? No… it was last night.

I passed her in the hallway downstairs. If I’m not mistaken, when I saw her, she was already dressed for bed. I’m sure of it. I remember checking the time on my phone when she walked by me, that butt-ugly silk robe decorated with floating cat faces billowing behind her.

I do a cursory search of the room. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—my search is fruitless; Branwen’s cursed cat robe is nowhere to be found.

Where the fuck is she?