Page 122 of Boulder's Weight

"Your ribs?—"

"Are fine," he cuts me off. "I'm not letting you go alone. Not with Benji out there somewhere."

I want to argue but know he's right.

Besides, there's no time. She sounded stressed, which means she needs help.

Luckily, Zorro comes striding in at just the right time.

He frowns when I explain the situation but immediately assigns two prospects to escort us to the café—Lashes and Rooster.

"I should tell Amara," he says, already reaching for his phone.

"There's no time," I insist. "Astra sounded desperate. Tell Amara we'll be careful, but we need to go now."

Zorro nods and waves us off to go do what we need to.

The ride to the café is tense, one prospect—Rooster—driving while the other—Lashes—keeps a careful eye on our surroundings.

Sam sits beside me in the backseat, his face concentrating on everything around us as he scans every passing car, every street corner.

Something feels off from the moment we pull up to the café.

The lights are on, but there's no movement visible through the windows.

No cats lounging in their usual spots.

No Astra moving between tables.

They haven’t wanted me at CatsandJava because of everything going on with Benji—said it was too much of a risk… but sitting around at the clubhouse is killing me.

Rooster draws his weapon as he slides out of the car. "Wait here."

"Like hell," I mutter, already opening my door.

Sam catches my arm. "Kelsey, if something's wrong?—"

"Then Astra needs me," I finish, pulling free of his grip. "These are my friends, Sam. I'm not hiding in the car like some weak little bitch."

Lashes curses under her breath but heads in with me as we approach the café, keeping her body between me and the street. "Stay behind me, both of you."

The door is unlocked, which strikes me as strange immediately.

Astra always keeps it locked after hours, only opening for regulars she knows by name.

The little bell jingles as we enter, the sound jarring in the eerie silence.

I call out her name, my voice sounding too loud in the empty space. "Astra?"

There’s no answer.

The café looks normal at first glance—chairs tucked neatly under tables, counter wiped clean, coffee machines gleaming.

But the silence is wrong.

No purring cats, no soft jazz playing from the speakers, none of the warmth that usually fills the space.

Sam murmurs. "Where are the cats?"

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