Page 174 of Seeking Shadows

My eyes get heavy.

“Happy birthday, bro,” I mumble.

“Happy birthday, sis.”

My eyes blink. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then, I register where I am.

The basement.

The place where I was born.

My bed is still in the same spot. The little TV is still there, though I doubt it works. Children’s storybooks, the small table we used to study on—every detail remains untouched, frozen in time. I haven’t seen this place in years. Not since I moved in with James.

The weight around my wrists makes my stomach drop. Chains. I follow the cold metal links down to where they bolt me to the floor. My limbs feel like lead, my mind a fog.

Sedatives. Enough to keep me sluggish. Weak. Too powerless to escape.

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to focus. My fingers tremble as they reach for my neck. If I can just get to my necklace—if I can call Laura—everything will be fine.

But my skin is bare.

Nothing is there.

Shit. Shit.

There’s no way to warn her. She’ll have to notice my absence. But how long will that take? We don’t see each other often.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been here. Hours? Days? Long enough for the world outside to keep turning without me. Long enough for no one to notice I’m gone.

Then, I see him.

Zane.

He’s sprawled out, motionless. My pulse spikes. The chain rattles violently as I lunge toward him, metal scraping against the floor, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. Our old mattresses aren’t far apart, and by some miracle, I manage to reach him.

His leg is in a cast. Bandages cover his body. Someone took care of him.

I hover over him, my fingers trailing over his skin. Cold. Too cold. My chest tightens as I press my palm against his chest, waiting—no, pleading—for movement. A sound. Anything.

Then, there it is. A weak rise and fall.

Breath.

"Zane," I whisper, my voice raw.

No response.

My fingers slide up his jaw, brushing over the stubble, tracing the shape of his lips. They’re cracked, dry, but warm. My heartbeat is frantic now, my own breath shaky as I lean closer.

"Zane, please listen to me."

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat. His lashes twitch. Then, slowly, his eyes crack open.

The blue is dull. Unfocused. But he sees me.

He sees me.

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