Page 120 of Mystic's Sunrise

Still nothing.

I twisted the handle. Locked. A curse scraped up my throat as I stepped back, dragging both hands through my hair. “Talk to me,” I muttered, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Please…”

The silence behind that door stopped being silence. It turned into something else. A warning. Too long. Too still.

I pressed my palm flat to the wood, trying to calm the beat of my heart that was now pounding out a fast rhythm in my ears. “Zeynep.” Her name came out lower this time, thick, broken. “Open the damn door.”

Nothing.

My breath hissed between clenched teeth. No more waiting. I stepped back, drove my boot into the door. Wood splintered and gave way with a loud crack, slamming open so hard it bounced off the wall.

The room was empty.

Untouched.

The bed hadn’t been used. The blanket folded. Pillow clean. The small bag of clothes Brenda gave her? Gone.

Ice spread through my chest, settling heavy in my gut like concrete.

I started to turn away, mind already racing, when a flicker of white on the window sill caught my eye. A piece of paper. Folded. Sitting there like a fucking ghost.

I grabbed it, fingers closing tight as my eyes locked on the words.

“It is dangerous… to be too close to something you know you cannot keep.”

Fuck!

I turned on my heel and barreled down the hall, fury and fear crashing together in my chest, burning hot and fast.

“Wake up!” I roared, the sound slamming through the silence like a gunshot.

A door creaked open behind me, Thunder stumbling out, shirtless and rubbing the sleep from his face. “What the fuck—”

“She’s gone.” My voice dropped, but the weight behind it only grew darker. “Zeynep’s fuckin’ gone.”

Thunder froze, blinking away the haze, his expression tightening in real time. “Shit.”

“Wake everyone. Now.”

He nodded, already moving.

The clubhouse came alive fast. Too fast. Like blood racing after a near death hit.

Boots slammed the floor. Doors opened with violence. Voices rose, angry and clipped. That kind of chaos didn’t just fill the air—it sliced through it. Because when someone under our roof goes missing… there’s no such thing as calm.

Devil pushed through the crowd, Chain right behind him. Devil’s stare locked on mine, unblinking. “Talk.”

“She’s gone. Room was locked from the inside. Bag’s gone. Note on the sill.”

Lucy and Spinner rushed in, Lucy’s voice cracking with hope she didn’t believe in. “Tell me she’s still here. Please—tell me she’s here.”

Across the room, Gatsby was already at his laptop, fingers flying. “Checking security footage.”

I stood there, fists clenched, heart slamming so hard I thought my ribs might split open and let it fall out.

How long had she been gone? Was she alone? Had someone else already found her?

The bile rose up before I could stop it.

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