Page 242 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Rurik stops struggling from the chair and realizes the phone faces him, and we’re both on video. He squints his eyes for a second before widening when he sees I’m on the other line.

“Briar?” He whispers with relief before shaking again. “Briar! Don’t listen to them! They told me you’re leaving, don’t! Not without me!”

“Rurik,” I whimper, noticing his rough and uneven breathing.

The fear I thought I knew is nothing compared to what I’m experiencing now.

Rurik is hurt. Oh my God, he’s hurt, and it’s my fault.

Your fault. Your fault. He’s dying, and it’s your fault.

I look at the masked man, “Let him go! Tell your friend to let him go! He has nothing to do with whatever this is!”

“Give us the money and leave first,” one says.

“No!” Rurik shouts, his voice cracking. “If you fucking leave, I swear, I will personally open the gates of hell on earth to find you. I’m serious!”

“Shut up!” The man is now standing next to him.

But Rurik ignores him as he continues to shout, “I’m fucking serious, Briar, I follow wherever you go!”

“I said, shut the fuck up!” The man punches him in the stomach.

And then the call disconnected.

I stare at the screen, willing the phone to call itself so I can see Rurik on the other side and make sure he’s okay.

But he’s not. I know he’s not.

Oh, God… His heart, what if it fails him again? I can’t—

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Oh, fuck. No… I need to get a grip.

I need to save Rurik.

But the darkness I try so hard to push into the tight crevices of my brain comes rushing back, and I can barely breathe.

You’ll kill him. I know you will.

No. No, I won’t… Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Briar.”

I gasp, blinking—that voice.

Why does it sound so familiar? So familiar yet… not.

I look around to see the two masked men watching me, their stance rigid and frozen.

“Focus.”

I gasp again, jumping and slamming my back against the wall.

What the… There’s that voice again… What the fuck?

“Amaura?” I cry out.

---