Page 16 of Unspoken

At some point, I admit that trying two shirts on shouldn’t take this long. The worry claws its way in, sharp and uninvited. What if something happened to the little shit?

I rise from the couch and stride over to the fitting rooms.

"Alexander?" I call out, my voice swallowed by the muted sounds of commerce. Silence answers back, a void where there should be the rustle of clothing or the creak of a fitting room door.

I approach one of the girls folding clothes in the corner, my gut twisting with a sense of urgency I can't shake. "Excuse me. I’m looking for a… young man who was here trying on some items. Tall, on the skinnier side, blond messy hair, green eyes. Black stud in his ear. British accent."

The girl is no older than twenty with a nametag that readsJenny. She pauses what she’s doing and takes a moment to think.

"Ah, yes." She points toward the end of the row. "He went into that room over there."

"Thanks," I mutter and head in the direction she indicated. My knuckles rap against the door. Once. Twice. "Alexander? Are you there?" No answer. The lack of response grates on my nerves like a blunt knife. "Alexander!" I try again, louder this time. Nothing. "Sasha?" I call, gentler. Saying his name in this form feels invasive. As if I have no right. "Sasha, it’s not funny anymore. Come out," I order.

Again, my plea is met with silence.

With a swift move of my shoulder, born from years of having to act quickly, I shove the door open. The small space is empty, lifeless as a ghost town. The shirts he picked up to try on are tossed on the bench.

A chill runs down my spine, not because of fear, but frustration. Or maybe fear. I can't tell yet which one it is. The situation isn't clear.

Back at the front, Jenny's eyes are wide with confusion when I approach her again. "He’s not there. Did you see where he went by any chance?"

"I... I don't know," she stammers, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her store-issued vest.

"Someone must've seen something," I snap, unable to conceal the edge in my voice.

A colleague of hers, overhearing the exchange, rushes over to chime in. "I saw him leave through the other exit. The one by the women's department. There are two of them in the dressing room."

"Tall, blond hair?"

"Yeah." She gestures in the direction opposite of where I came from.

"Shit. Was he alone or with someone else?"

"Alone."

I storm through the fitting rooms and out into the women’s department. My steps are heavy, a thunderous rhythm against the polished mall floor.

I’m pissed off now. My limits are tested.

I need to remind myself about the massive hospital bill I’m yet to pay as I’m rushing past the rows of cocktail dresses and racks of expensive shoes.

Alexander is nowhere to be seen.

Little shit played me.

I exit the store and yank my phone from my pocket to dial his number. Each ring is a hammer strike against my patience. No answer. Just the mocking echo of a digital void.

Switching gears, I pull up the tracking app Ivan had me install—a secret leash for the wayward pup I'm supposed to keep in line. A blip pulses on the screen, steady and mocking, just outside the shopping center in the sprawling chaos of the parking lot.

The pressing crowd around me dissolves into a blur as I push forward, driven by a mix of anger and duty.

Outside, I weave between the cars, like a predator on the hunt. My grip tightens around the phone. The blip pulses closer now.

"Gotcha," I mutter under my breath as I spot the familiar blond hair and the defiant stance of my charge that reeks of privilege and rebellion. His back is turned to me, a mistake he won't have time to regret.

"Hey!" I bark out, my voice loud. And this time I don’t intend to hide my wrath. He doesn't turn, not at first, but I'm already on him, my hand clamping down on his arm with the force of iron jaws. I spin him around to face me.

"Let go, you animal!" he spits, trying to shake me off, but I'm immovable as stone.

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