Page 160 of Hymns of the Broken
The second Jasper’s face changes, my stomach drops. Jace’s words echo—“the range”—and I know, before anyone says it out loud, that something’s fucked. Really fucked.
Jasper’s already out the door, boots pounding the hallway. I’m on his heels, Micah calling out updates behind us, Silas barking orders on the phone, voice sharp as a blade.
We hit the porch in a frenzy, the cold air snapping at our faces. Jasper’s calling Sawyer’s name over and over, the sound raw and desperate. He breaks left, heading for the barn and the path that leads out to the range. I sprint after him, lungs burning, heart thundering so loud it drowns out everything else.
“SAWYER!” I shout, voice cracking. “Sawyer, answer us! Come on, Hellcat!”
Nothing but wind, gravel, and the echo of our panic.
Micah’s in the driveway, phone to his ear, rattling off coordinates and commands, his face ashen. Silas moves like a ghost, eyes scanning the tree line, hand on his gun, every muscle tense.
Jace and Ash race past with Macee, all of them shouting her name, fanning out across the yard and the drive, checking behind the cars, the barn, the brush near the fence.
Jasper spots something first. His shout is pure terror.
“Here! Her phone—she dropped her fucking phone—”
I skid to a halt beside him.Herphone’s in the dirt, screen cracked, still lit up with Jasper’s last text. I pick it up with shaking hands, bile rising in my throat.
Silas swears hard and mean. “There are tracks in the gravel. Boot prints, and…fuck, a van? I’m calling it in. Now.”
Micah’s already running data, his laptop slung under one arm, breath coming in ragged pants. “It’s not good. Whoever spoofed Jasper’s number is damn good. We had a camera catch just the front end of the van—white, older model, but it didn’t catch tags. That’s all we have for now. It looks like it was planned.”
Jasper drops to his knees, clutching Sawyer’s phone like a lifeline, eyes wild. “No. No, no, no—”
I squeeze his shoulder, barely holding it together myself. “We’re gettingherback, man. I swear. We’re not stopping. I’ll burn this whole fucking county down if I have to.”
But as I stare out at the empty land, the wind tearing through the trees, all I can hear is the echo of her laugh—and the sickening possibility that we’re already too late.
The fear is a living thing now, but it only takes a heartbeat for it to turn into something sharper. Rage. Determination. Jasper stands, knuckles white around Sawyer’s phone, jaw set in a way that means someone’s about to pay.
Silas is already on the phone, voice cold and professional as he rattles off orders to the private security company and local sheriff. “We need a BOLO on a white van—late model, no plates. Get eyes on every camera between here and the highway. Now.”
Micah’s fingers fly over his laptop, hacking into local traffic cams, his panic morphing into focus. “Give me five minutes. I’ll have every gas station, stoplight, and corner store pinged for movement. They’re not invisible.”
Jace grabs my arm, breath coming in hard, fast bursts. “We need to call Riot’s band too. Dex, Shade, Milo—they’ll have eyes on the streets. The more people watching, the more ground covered.”
Ash jogs over, already dialing a number. “And I’ll call everyone I know at the local venues. Sawyer’s face goes to every greenroom, every security guard, right fucking now.”
Jasper’s voice is ice and hellfire as he turns to me. “You stick with Micah. Get every camera, every ping. I’m going out with Silas to check the roads.”
I nod, adrenaline surging. “We’ll findher. No matter what.”
Micah looks up, meeting my eyes. “I swear, Riot. I’ll find this fucker. He’s not getting away with this.”
Jasper presses Sawyer’s phone into my hand, his voice rough but steady. “If anything comes through—anything—you call me. And if you find out who it is before I do? Tell them I’m coming.”
He and Silas take off, engines roaring, tires spitting gravel as they tear down the drive. Jace and Ash disappear in the other direction, already making calls.
I stay close to Micah, watching every screen, heart pounding, praying to any god that’ll listen that the next ping is the clue we need.
We’re not giving up. Not for anything.
Not until Sawyer’s back in my arms and whoever took her is bleeding for it.
JASPER
The cab of Silas’s truck smells like old coffee and sweat. We’ve been driving for hours, headlights slicing the black, scanning every turnout and ditch along the county road. Gravel pops under the tires. Silence stretches between us, heavy as concrete.
