#unmade

He lived alone, in an isolated area, but nearby and for long enough that he was operating within familiar territory. Physically large. Not much social life to speak of. Demonstrated a strong distrust of law enforcement. Seemed to be perfectly capable of understanding right and wrong. Not much of a criminal record, but criminal records only proved what incidents had resulted in convictions. Not what events had actually taken place in a person's life.

The longer the DeNova case went on, the more Miller and the others became convinced that this was part of something bigger. Maybe a serial, maybe something organized. Whatever it was, it took knowledge and precision to snatch a well-loved, stable college student right off campus and not drop a trace of evidence for months. No strong physical evidence, no loose lips at a bar, and — thank God — no evidence of a body or remains.

So the team knew, both from experience and pure gut instinct, that finding this perpetrator didn't just mean finding Vienna DeNova — though that was, of course, at the top of all their minds, the ultimate goal and current focus. But what it also meant was digging up a trail. Other women. Probably bodies, but maybe not. Hopefully not.

But first they needed him to talk.

The man had been turned in by, of all people, a gas station clerk. Apparently their suspect was a frequent visitor and the clerk watched the news enough to recognize his face. When he'd come into buy some more beer, the clerk had gotten his name off his ID and called it in. Just like that.

That's what Miller loved about this job sometimes. You didn't need big bold heroes or dramatic takedowns. Just a neighbor looking out for their community.

So after months of work and wishing and grinding, their prime suspect sat in the interrogation room down the hall. A final puzzle to solve.

Once they'd figured out his real name, he hadn't been at all difficult to find. He lived in a rural community about thirty minutes out of town. State PD had showed up at his house and brought him in.

Now is when the countdown began. For 48 hours, they could hold a suspect without charging them with a crime — because, to be sure, though he seemed to fit like a glove, they didn't yet have any solid evidence that this man had committed any crime. Miller and the rest were prepping to talk to him and fill in the blanks. Number one, above all: figure out Vienna's whereabouts.

There was a restless energy to the room they gathered in, like they knew the information they needed was just a few steps away if they were able to reach out and grab it. The group was intentionally small: Grant and Miller as reps for the FBI, two reps from the state police, Herring as a witness so she could accurately convey information to the public and Vienna's parents, God willing.

And Carver. For Lakewood PD. But Miller registered him as more of an afterthought.

Carver was not late for once in his life, Miller noted. When Miller himself walked in, Carver was talking to Herring. Bold move. Miller supposed he was trying to act like the incident where she'd dressed him down a few weeks ago hadn't happened at all. Easiest way to keep an ego intact.

"This all works out, you won't even have your television show," he was saying to her. Almost like it was a disappointment.

The television show. Herring had arranged, along with Vienna's tireless parents, for the primetime show Disappearance Files to cover Vienna's case, get even more eyes on it. The filming was coming up soon. Maybe.

"I prefer not to speculate," Herring responded coolly. "Let's stay present and get what we need here."

She was right, of course. As she almost always was. Still, Miller allowed himself the smallest, most infinitesimal moment of imagining Zander's face when he told him. We found her. He'd finally get to tell Vienna herself that they hadn't stopped looking. Not for a second.

Then he pushed the thoughts away. It was nearly time.

There was a live video feed of their suspect sitting in the interrogation room, his large frame almost cartoonishly outsized for the tiny chair they'd provided. That was part of it, of course. Small metal chair. Lights unnecessarily bright. Heat cranked up. Let him be uncomfortable before the conversation even begins.

The plan was simple: send in one agent to rile the guy up, then swap him for someone much more sympathetic. It was very similar to the method they'd used with Lester and some of the others, but it was tried and true for a reason.

Miller was chosen to be the first guy up, the one to get under the suspect's skin. It was a no-brainer, really; from what they could see from what the analysts had dug up so far, the man was as racist as the day was long. Having to deal with a Black man acting as an authority figure, questioning him? Having congenial white faces replace him would be just the shot they needed to nudge him in the right direction.

Miller's job, then, was to treat their suspect with as much disrespect and belittlement as he could while still maintaining control of the conversation. Not exactly a tall order, Miller mused as he looked at the man on screen. Even if he could somehow ignore all the evidence they'd scrounged up that this guy was a racist, misogynistic bigot, this very well may have been the man who had caused so much pain for the community. For the DeNova's. Zander. The department itself, really.

It wouldn't take Oscar-winning acting, in short.

After a quick debrief, Miller went in. The heat hit like a brick wall, but he was ready for it. He intentionally didn't make eye contact with the suspect for a moment, leafing through the papers in the folder he carried like it was more important than the human sitting in front of him.

"Hello?" The man said irritably. Miller held up a finger and continued looking at the papers. He could see the man shift in his peripheral vision. Not someone who was used to being kept waiting, clearly.

Then he let the lavender folder slap down on the table with a THWACK noise. The man didn't jump. Just glowered.

"I'm Special Supervisory Agent Colton Miller," Miller told him, voice loud and clear. "And you're going to be talking with me today."

He could see the contempt in the man's eyes when he finally looked at him. The man spoke.

"I have nothing to say. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Then this should be easy. I have to say though, using an alias when applying for official jobs? Not something I see a lot of innocent men do."

The man rolled his eyes and said nothing.

"'Jon Smyth.'" Miller said it with a smirk. It really was ridiculous. "You really thought you were doing something with that spelling, huh?"

"Last I checked, privacy isn't against the law."

"No," Miller allowed, "but you were going a bit deeper than privacy here, weren't you? Completely unreachable. Even with your face plastered all over the state."

Miller let the silence stretch, but the man simply waited, looking at him impassively. Almost bored.

"Almost makes me think you were avoiding us."

"I prefer to live off the grid," the man said. "I'd barely heard of this girl 'til you called me in."

"Is that so?" Miller's eyebrows raised. "A major crime takes place at the exact spot you worked at last year, and you somehow miss it all?"

"Like I said," the man said flatly, "off the grid."

Bullshit. Even if he'd somehow missed his own face popping up on the news — which Miller very much doubted — anyone in the area with access to a television or a radio or a phone had heard about Vienna DeNova at this point. He moved on, not wanting the man to get mired down in his own lies.

"Tell me about the Lakewood job."

The man tonelessly listed off only the bare bone facts: the dates of his employment, his responsibilities, his work hours. All matched what Miller knew to be true.

"And then you were let go."

"No," the suspect corrected, the slightest bit of irritation edging into otherwise monotone voice. "I quit. Moved on to other opportunities."

"'Moved on to other opportunities,'" Miller echoed, leaning back in his chair with a loose smile. "Is that what they're calling it? I thought you turned and ran once the girls started complaining about you."

He saw it, just the tiniest shift: the man set his jaw. Now they were getting somewhere.

"I don't know where you get your information, but I was never charged with a crime."

"And yet you fled."

The suspect's eyes darkened.

There you are, Miller thought, adrenaline starting to buzz. There's the real you. Come out and play.

"College students are notoriously dramatic. One person says something, and you suddenly have a witch-hunt on your hands. I enjoy a quiet life. So yes, I chose to leave. That says nothing about my character."

"You see, you say that," Miller said, eyes locked with the other man, "but you know we did some digging on you. Seems like you have a trouble holding down a job." The eyes across the table flashed again, and Miller pushed further. "And you know, I can't help but notice, brother, a lot of your exits seem to involve some 'drama' with women."

Color rose in the man's face. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, did it sound like I was implying something? I meant to say it outright. I think you have a problem with women."

Miller saw it, each little sign: the man's nostrils flared, his fists curled, and he got impossibly redder. Miller had found the button. He leaned forward.

"Now, don't go getting upset. I see a lot of guys like you. What is it? You impotent? Can't say I can relate, but sounds like it'd be tough."

The man made a choked scoffing sound. An intentional smirk crawled across Miller's face. That's right, let it all boil over….tell me something to prove how wrong I am….

"Mommy issues are a big one too." Miller's adrenaline jumped as he saw the man stiffen. "Oh shit, don't tell me you've got both?"

The man's face twisted and Miller could tell he was about to leap out of his chair. He shifted his tone completely, no longer mocking but utterly authoritative and in control. "You're going to want to calm down, sir."

Whiplash. Remind him he's still in an interrogation. Remind him that right now, he's small. Then bring in Grant and the good cop team and let him crumble under their sympathy.

The man leaned back, shaking with rage. Miller knew he'd put his finger on something. These guys really were all the same, weren't they?

Silence lay thick in the room as Miller let the suspect catch his breath. The man glared at him over his thick beard — one that he must have grown, Miller assumed, to distance himself from his old picture making the rounds — blue eyes piercing. Oh, he was pissed, alright.

"So." Miller's voice was silky and smooth. "Let's keep learning about you."

He opened the lavender file in front of him. It was stuffed with fake papers to make it look fuller than it was, but the ones on top were real. Miller looked at the first page where the man's real name was displayed.

"Not Jon Smyth. Stephen Jourdain. You prefer Stephen or Steve?"

"I prefer Mr. Jourdain."

"Really? I prefer Steve."

Jourdain exhaled hard through his nose but said nothing. Miller looked up as if the sound had caught his attention.

"You're sweating, Steve. Nervous?"

"It's hot in here." Each word was gritted out through bared teeth.

"Really? I feel just fine."

Miller reviewed Jourdain's information for another couple minutes, letting him stew in the heat and tense silence, until he heard a double knock on the door. The signal to come on out. Well, they must consider Jourdain primed by now.

Miller stood, taking the folder with him. "Well, Steve, as fascinating as you are, I have to get going. Someone's got to oversee your property being searched."

Miller let himself take in Jourdain's furious expression for just a fraction of a second before turning and walking out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The cooler air outside the interrogation room hit like a fresh breeze. Damn bad cop role had all the discomforts. Still, Miller would be lying if he said he hadn't gotten a bit of twisted enjoyment out of toying with the guy. And hopefully it was one stop closer to Vienna.

When he approached the table the team was sitting at, he Miller sensed the grim atmosphere immediately. It was as if someone had popped them all with a needle and deflated all the air out of them. Grant's shoulders were heavy, Herring stared down at the floor. Even Carver seemed more listless than usual.

"What?" Panic suddenly rose in his throat. "Don't tell me — a body?"

"No." It was Grant that spoke. He cleared his throat and continued, "No, nothing to do with Vienna. We just heard from Jourdain's lawyer."

Huh. It threw a bit of a wrench in things, sure, but suspects lawyering up was standard practice. That wasn't all. Miller waited.

"He's on his way, but there's not much to say. There's video of Jourdain at a town hall meeting on the evening of May 9th. It's time-stamped and everything. Never left his seat. Solid alibi" Grant looked at Miller. "Nothing out of order at his house. Nothing strange on his devices, except some conspiracy theories. There's….nothing."

Miller stared at him for a moment. The room seemed smaller than it had when he had walked in just moments earlier. The wheels in his head were grinding in slow motion as his brain forced itself to the conclusion they all already knew: this man, no matter how many boxes he checked, had nothing to do with Vienna DeNova's disappearance.

And just like that, they were back with nothing.

"Fuck."

"I know, it's —"

"Fuck!" Before he knew it, Miller's boot hit the wall next to him. The noise seemed amplified in the small space.

The room went very still. Herring looked stern. The look in Carver's eyes was almost vindicated, like he'd had a theory confirmed.

Miller's eyes briefly fluttered shut. Don't do this. Not here. Not now. Not with them. Not you, the only Black man in the room. When he opened them, it was like a different man speaking. "Excuse me. I…I apologize. I just need a moment."

He didn't leave time to look at any of their faces before he swept out of the room. Beige walls and grey floor passed in almost a blur until he'd weaved his way out of the building. Miller took in a deep inhale of chilled October air, letting him cool him to the bone.

Solid alibi……There's….nothing.

There wasn't even room for it to be a mistake. For one of them to pull something out, some shiny piece of evidence that said, But wait! There's hope!

It was just….done. They hadn't caught a mastermind, or a serial predator, or the kidnapper. He was just some asshole.

And Vienna DeNova was still out there. Still alone. Still suffering. And that, Miller thought, his head starting to throb, was the best case scenario. That was assuming, optimistically, that she was still alive at all.

Cold steel bit his hands as he clutched the railing in front of him, bracing himself against the barrage of thoughts in his head.

He'd done the worst thing he could have done.

He'd let himself hope.

Not on facts. Not on reasonable expectations. Not on anything that, as an investigator, he'd learned was an absolute necessity in managing expectations. No, Miller had let himself hope out of pure desperation, on the longing to bring peace and closure to the DeNovas. To Zander. To the entire community. To Vienna.

He didn't know how much time had passed when the door opened and shut behind him. Grant.

Before he'd even fully turned around to face his boss, Miller was already apologizing, professional face back on.

"Listen, I'm really —"

But Grant just held up a hand. "No need."

And Miller quieted, because he knew he meant it.

Grant stood next to him, lit a cigarette. Times like this, Miller really wished he hadn't quit. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"….others' alright?" he finally asked.

"Disappointed. Just like you. Taking time to process."

Miller snorted. "That's what you call this, huh?"

"Absolutely, I do. And I'd rather have an imperfect human working for me than some emotionless robot, for the record." He glanced at Miller out of the corner of his eye. "You do your best work when you're invested. Even when it hurts."

Miller sighed heavily. "We were all just so sure…."

"We put all our eggs in one basket," Grant agreed. "Hell, I did it right along with you. I wanted this to be the one."

"Me too."

They both stared out at the darkened parking lot for a few minutes, the smoke from Grant's cigarette swirling around them like the tangle of thoughts in Miller's head.

"Going back to work tomorrow is going to fucking suck."

Grant barked a laugh at Miller's blunt statement, and Miller couldn't help but smile a bit at the sound. But thinking about tomorrow, about admitting to everyone that they were wrong, that they were back to square one, made the grin fade quickly.

"I mean….what the fuck do we do now, Grant?"

Grant clapped him on the shoulder, offered him a mirthless grin. "We keep going."

Miller managed to avoid the rest of the team when he went back in to get his things before heading out to his car in the lot. Grant had ordered them all home to rest, recuperate, and come back tomorrow ready to work the case just like they had been. It didn't take away Miller's feeling of a boulder on his chest. But at least they all had space to breathe, theoretically.

He flipped the radio on to fill the quiet. The DJ's voice filled his car, almost obnoxious in its chirpiness, but the words practically hit Miller over the head. He'd almost forgotten what day it was. He glanced at the clock — 8:07— then turned on his blinker and made a U-turn.

The Lakewood sport center parking lot was crowded. Made sense. Basketball was their biggest sport, after all. They'd had that big celebration last spring and everything. Just before….

Miller forced the thought out of his head as he turned his car off. Right now was not the time to be thinking about that. Wait until tonight, or tomorrow at debrief with the team. Right now, he didn't want a trace of grief or frustration of disappointment to show on his face.

The gym was, as the parking lot predicted, very crowded. Students wearing blue and green filled the bleachers. Some wore face paint of body glitter or colored hair extensions. Their world was still turning just as usual. In a way, it felt relieving. He had half expected to see a poster or two commemorating Zander's birthday, but didn't spot any.

Miller found himself a spot on the first level and leaned against the railing. He was late, unfortunately, but not by much — they were still in the first quarter, scores in the single digits, opposing teams trading the lead every few minutes. His eyes scanned the court until he found Zander, sporting his 86 jersey near the far wing.

Miller had never been a basketball player — football had been his sport, his outlet — but he knew enough about the game to recognize that Zander was, objectively, a good player. He was quick on his feet, constantly scanning the court, wasn't afraid to get into the thick of it. Played like a real team player, and earned himself plenty of high fives and fist bumps in the process.

He almost seemed like a different kid out there. He seemed somehow more….alive.

It wasn't until halftime that Zander bothered to look over towards the stands. He was grabbing a water bottle, and had just turned away when he did a double take at Miller. Miller just gave him a casual nod.

Ah, Christ. Miller felt a tug at his heart — Zander's eyes had absolutely lit up, just for a moment, just before he caught himself. The kid arranged his face back into a neutral expression and gave Miller a nod back before turning back to his team.

But Miller had seen it, as he did every so often, when Zander let him. A kid who just wanted someone to show up for him, to see him. And somehow Miller had become that guy.

God, it'd be annoying if Sydney was right.

The second half passed in a flurry of passes and rebounds and shots. Lakewood pulled further and further ahead, Zander sinking more than one free throw in the process. He never seemed to let himself celebrate much. Just nodded like he'd checked something off a to-do list and got back to the task at hand.

By the time the final buzzer blew, Lakewood won with an easy 84-68. The stands erupted in whistles and applause and cheers. Miller clapped along, the centuries-old weight in his bones feeling temporarily lifted. There was plenty of joy in the world. Plenty of good. He had to remember that.

Most of the students filed out of the building to return to their dorms or, more likely, afterparties, but Miller lingered by the exit. What, like he could show up and not tell the kid happy birthday?

A short time later, Zander came out with a few teammates, showered and in fresh clothes. That same expression came over his face when he saw Miller again, shock but a definite degree of excitement.

"Hey — I'll catch up," he said to the other guys, stopping by Miller's side as they nodded and move along.

"I don't mean to keep you from your friends. I know it's your birthday. And, hey, happy birthday."

"Nah, we're doing the birthday shit over the weekend. They've got class and stuff in the morning."

Miller had never known college students to use class as a reason not to party, but he let it slide.

"So…" Zander ran a hand through his damp hair. "You came."

"Of course. Had to see if you could back up all that trash talk." Zander huffed a laugh and looked down at his feet. "Turns out I don't have much of a leg to stand on."

Zander looked up at him with a little grin, and Miller was glad to see what he hoped was pride in it. Before Miller could say anything else, though, Zander practically blurted, “My parents didn’t come.”

Oof. Miller could see the immediate regret in Zander's expression, the urge to stitch back open the wound he'd just opened for Miller. So he kept it cool. just shrugged. “Their loss. You played hard.”

Zander swallowed. “…Thanks.”

Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm, grounding. “Don’t thank me, kid. Just keep showing up.”

He let it hang, hoping it would stick in Zander's brain. Let tonight just be that. He doesn't have to know about dead-end leads or Herring's concern or anything else tonight. Just…keep showing up.

"Now, Mr. Twenty-One, let's go get you a beer. Legally."

And when he saw Zander's smile, bashful but undeniably delighted, he knew he'd made the right choice.

It was about a week later, back at work. Returning after the final lead fell through was, as Miller had predicted, pretty excruciating, but they managed. They'd had to put out the news that their person of interest had been identified but then dismissed. This had led to the typical barrage of disappoint and criticism, the accusations that clearly the team was not doing enough, that they were overlooking obvious clues, or that there may be a grand conspiracy coverup. The usual.

Telling Vienna's loved ones had been the worst. Herring had returned from her meeting with Vienna's parents with a drawn expression and promptly shut herself in her office for the remainder of the afternoon.

Miller had taken it upon himself to tell Zander. It didn't feel right to let him hear about it on the news. He'd expected a blow-up, but Zander just stared at him for a long time, then nodded numbly.

"'Kay. Figures."

Which, to Miller, was worse than any shout or kick could have been.

Now, they were focusing on the upcoming TV special. Disappearance Files was going ahead. A portion of the broadcast was going to be dedicated to their search for the person of interest, but now that this was old news, they were putting together a brief profile to share with the public.

Miller's phone rang. Front desk. He picked it up with one hand while continuing to type with the other.

"Miller."

"There's a young man out here who'd like to speak with you."

Was this not routine yet? Usually Zander just walked back.

"Yeah, we're just letting him through lately, as long as I'm in the building I don't mind—"

"I think you should come up." There was something pointed in the voice that Miller couldn't quite place. His fingers stilled on the keys.

"I'll be right there."

After hanging up, he sighed and ran a hand down his face. Now what? Were Zander's feelings finally bubbling over? Was it one of the cleared suspects back to chew him out?

As he made his way to the front of the office, Miller's mind was only half present. With the leads fallen through, there seemed to be an impossible amount of work to do but also a vast expanse of nothingness in front of them. So much ground to make up. So little tools to do it with.

But when he walked by the front desk and saw the young man standing there, the present hit him in the face like a bucket of cold water. Because it certainly wasn't Zander. Or one of the suspects. Or anyone Miller could have expected to see here, in this place, right now.

It was Conor.

Conor in a way were Miller almost couldn't place him, still quite thin but well-groomed: clean clothes, fresh haircut, shaved face. He looked….good. God, he actually looked good.

He looked at Miller with an uneasy, almost imploring smile, and without warning Miller only saw his little brother looking for approval the same why he had when they were kids.

Miller was sprawled out in a chair beside the table, the very picture of ease. Grant paced back and forth on the other side, steam practically coming out of his ears, while their suspect sat in a chair by Miller.

"It makes sense, Grant. It was a while ago. And," he turned his attention to the suspect, "it sounds like you were going through a lot at that time."

"Yeah." The suspect, a rather slimy guy by the name of Lester, relaxed a fraction. "Yeah, you know, I really was."

Grant scoffed in exasperation, but Miller nodded, his face entirely sympathetic. "You've got all these women telling stories about you, then the construction job at Lakewood dries up, you've got no income….anyone would be stressed."

Lester nodded, looking imploringly at Miller. "Exactly. I was backed into a corner!"

Miller nodded seriously. "You needed an outlet. That's being human, Lester."

"I…I did." Lester glanced nervously at Grant, who let out a frustrated huff.

"You want to sit here and listen to this bullshit — fine. I'm done."

He wrenched the door open and let it slam behind him hard enough that the camera in the corner of the ceiling rattled. A little theatrical, maybe, but Grant always knew how to make an exit. Miller looked a moment at the door before turning backing to Lester, who was jiggling his leg nervously.

"Lester. I didn't want to say this while he was in here, but I think you do remember that night. The storm. Everything."

Lester didn't say anything for a long moment, and Miller wondered if he'd pushed it too far, too soon. But then he spoke.

"….yeah. I do."

Miller's face stayed perfectly neutral, but his heart rate picked up. Here it was. They were on the precipice.

"Tell me what happened."

"I can't, man!"

Lester's restlessness got worse, and Miller decided he needed to bring the temperature down a fraction.

"Lester. Man. Look at me."

He did, reluctantly: Lester's hazel eyes met Miller's dark brown, and Miller felt like he could see another universe swimming inside them. Guilt. Insecurity. Paranoia. Fear. And it was time for him to lay it all down.

"It's just you and me here, now. You can tell me. I know you're not a bad guy. You didn't want to hurt anyone. I can help you, here, but it's time to let it out."

Lester's expression cracked, and Miller knew he had him.

"Okay. I….God. That night, I….I was using, alright? Like you said, it was a bad time. Right?"

Miller nodded steadily.

"And I went out driving. Stupid. This was after the storm, at least."

After? Calculations immediately began to swirl in Miller's head, but he stayed silent, letting it stretch until Lester spoke again.

"It was dark as shit, I'm driving along, I see this girl….I don't even know what I was thinking. But she had a mouth on her, I'm telling you. Rude for no reason! None! And.…" He broke into tears. Miller felt an unease growing in his gut. "I just…I swerved a little. I didn't hit her! I wasn't trying to! I just wanted to scare her! I felt my tire go over her foot, though, and she screamed so loud, I just took off.

"I don't know if she ever reported it." Lester was babbling on, but Miller had leaned back in his chair, his brain now on a completely different channel. "She was this blonde chick. I just — I already had all these other girls on my back! I couldn't stick around and let another one on my record!"

"Blonde?"

Lester looked perturbed that that was all Miller got from his diatribe. "Yeah. Wavy blonde. Kind of girl who knows she's real pretty. And knows you know. You know?"

"Did she look at all like this?" Miller pointed to Vienna DeNova's glossy picture on the table.

"What — no!" Lester looked at the picture of the dark-haired girl in annoyance. "I told you, man, I had nothing to do with that! I don't know shit about that girl!"

"I believe you." On a dime, Miller's voice had lost all its fraternal softness and edged into something bitter. "Stay here, Les."

He left the bewildered man at the table and walked through the door, closing it carefully behind him. Grant was waiting on the other side with some other agents, watching the interaction through a monitor. They looked up at the flesh and blood Miller as he approached.

"You don't make a bad good cop."

"It's not him," Miller said sourly. "That story's too specific. I don't think he has it in him to be that good of a liar, anyway."

"I agree. And we got his phone records out here, his GPS matches the story he gave you." Grant had abandoned the heavy vest he wore for the bad cop role and was sitting at the table with his sleeves rolled up. "We can get him on assault with this, though. With a deadly weapon. You did good work."

Miller grunted, arms crossed across his chest. "And nothing for the DeNova case."

Somewhere within the light purple folders spread across the table was a list of persons of interest, mostly sourced from the list of contractual Lakewood employees they'd only gotten access to a few weeks ago. Since then, the team had been working at a breakneck pace, funneling every resource, every moment into the new set of leads.

It had been hours and hours of overtime and it was undeniably exhausting — but to Miller, it just felt good, like a workout that was making his muscles stronger every day. To have momentum, something to actually work on, was exhilarating.

But…..the list of potentials was getting smaller and smaller. They'd been coordinating with other FBI field offices to track down the people they needed to talk to, many of whom had gone on to find more work in different areas. The majority of them weren't even in the Lakewood area when Vienna went missing. Most of the ones who were had a solid alibi. And the rest, like dear Lester here, just didn't seem to be their guy. At some point crossing the names off the list began to feel less like momentum and more like their pool shrinking all over again.

In fact….

"We just have one left."

It was Officer Donovan who said what they were all thinking. He'd been more or less designated as the representative for Lakewood PD on investigative matters that didn't involve them directly; Miller had a feeling that Detective Carver had correctly assumed the young officer was the one who had the least amount of friction with the team.

"That's not technically true," Agent Herring protested. "We still have several we haven't completely ruled out."

"Well….you know what I mean," Donovan said somewhat dourly.

And Miller did. While it was certainly technically true that they had several people they hadn't eliminated altogether, the general feeling was that none of them truly fit the bill. The team was still keeping tabs on them, as a matter of course, but not a one of them came close to the profile the team had built — a man in his thirties who was relatively socially isolated, calculated, cool under pressure, with access to private property to do whatever ungodly thing he planned to do with Vienna.

Miller tried not to think too far ahead to that part. They'd get there when they got there, and manage whatever it was.

"Maybe. But I have a good feeling about this one." Miller pulled the photo of their remaining person of interest out of one of the folders. The face that looked back up at him was as familiar as the back of his hand now: dark eyes staring out from a face harshly shaped as if carved from stone, capped by a neat, short head of hair.

The man, still nameless to them aside from a clearly fake alias, was the last of the three initial suspects they identified from Lakewood's contractual employee list. He was proving to be a hard man to find. He'd used an alias to apply for the job and then, as soon as misconduct allegations were made, seemed to disappear into the wind. A man with an axe to grind against the university, someone who had a documented history of problems with women, secretative to the point of going off the grid….it all seemed to fit.

So they were tightening the net.

Herring had put his face out to all the news networks she could get in touch with, using the singular work photo they had of him. Along with a push from the DeNovas, the picture was soon all over, not just Lakewood but throughout the state and beyond. Someone was going to recognize him. They had to.

He was all they had left.

"We'll find him," Grant said confidently. "For now…." He crossed Lester's name off on the list in one stroke of his pen. "We keep going."

Classical music floated through the air of Miller's office. He absentmindedly waved his pen in the air as if conducting while perusing the arrest records from a few towns over. Papers gently rustled as a late October breeze came through the cracked window. It was one of those flow moments where things seemed to align perfectly so he could actually concentrate.

But his internal clock was strong. It was early evening on a Monday, so Zander would probably be here soon, hanging out for a short time before basketball practice. His presence was almost routine now.

It started small — briefly stopping by to check in for any updates, wanting to help with something small but actionable like folding flyers or addressing envelopes. Easy. And if it helped the kid feel better, why not?

Then his visits got a little longer. He'd take books and homework, post up in some quiet corner and just work. He was a hard worker, Miller noticed, even with all this going on. Cared a lot about his studies. He actually did the readings, too, which is more than Miller could say for his own college self. The kid would sit there with a highlighter and pen at the ready, seeming to take in every word. He'd told Miller, more than once, that his office felt like the one place he could really sit down and concentrate. It got to the point where if Zander wasn't in class or practice, he was in Miller's office.

And the real kicker? Miller liked it.

 He liked having someone around to remind him exactly what he was working for. He liked having someone who he could throw out words of wisdom or little lessons to — and, even better, someone he knew would actually listen. He liked having someone who knew Vienna DeNova better than anyone an easy six feet away.

And honestly? Miller couldn't help but just like Zander Wright.

He was a good kid. Talked too much trash about Miller's failing NBA team for his taste, but overall he was respectful, hard working, funny, and loyal to the bone. Good qualities. They'd take him far, Miller hoped.

 If Miller had to take a phone call or talk to another investigator, Zander would pick up his book or laptop and dutifully march out to the main bullpen until they were done, seeming impervious to the stares that some of the other employees fixed him with. But he couldn't quite help himself, Miller noticed, from looking at him with a little interest and hope each time he walked back through the door. Like any conversation Miller had might just be a breakthrough.

It made him worker harder.

But they both needed a break every once in a while. Zander was getting more and more open to chatting, and Miller liked to teach him things when he could. Just a little something here and there to help him get his mind off things, feel capable. There was the palm concealment trick, then shimming a latch with a credit card. Miller taught him how to spot a lie, read body language.

And, on the increasingly common days where Miller was working through lunch, he'd still make sure he had something available if Zander needed a distraction. Mindless little tasks like alphabetizing files or stapling packets of paper. He'd set them to the side — that'll be good for the kid to do — as if it were part of his daily routine.

Miller also knew Zander's birthday was coming up, October 26. Should he know that, off the top of his head? Probably not, he conceded, especially since he originally saw it in a case file somewhere. But hey. It was what it was.

Zander hadn't mentioned it once. This didn't surprise Miller, not really; the level of self-abandonment he saw in the kid couldn't have cropped up over night. That kind of thing was honed over years. This wasn't the first birthday, he guessed, that Zander had low expectations for. And special days like this were never easy when someone was grieving.

Still, Miller couldn't help but cringe internally when Zander loped into his office a few days before his twenty-first birthday, sitting heavily in his usual chair like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Hanging in?" Miller asked. Zander grunted in response.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Was up late last night."

"Studying?" That would track. Kid worked himself to the bone.

"….no."

Something about his tone made Miller look up. Zander was picking at hangnail on his ring finger, eyes bloodshot. He met Miller's gaze and said warningly, "You can't laugh."

"Swear."

"I…was calling hospitals. To see if they had any unidentified patients or anything. You know, like, memory loss? Or that someone dropped off?"

Miller nodded. His throat constricted ever so slightly. He had made that exact phone call, multiple times, trying to keep tabs on Conor.

"There was nothing," Zander continued bitterly. "Obviously. But…I had to try something. You know?"

"I do." Miller said it so genuinely that Zander looked at him with a bit of surprise. "Let's just say I can relate. You gotta let yourself sleep at night, though, man. Or at least rest."

"I'm fine." The typical automatic answer. "Doesn't matter."

"Well, it does to me. Start acting like you matter, because you do.”

Zander covered his face with his hands and his words come out muffled. "I really can't do this today, dude."

Sometimes earnestness, Miller learned, cut Zander just a bit too deep. "Alright, I'll lay off. But I do mean it."

"I mostly just came by to tell you that," Zander said, seeming glad that the conversation was moving on. "And….have you heard anything else about that guy?"

By now, everyone had heard about their person of interest. Zander had actually been one of the first ones to lay eyes on him — Herring had gotten a bunch of college students from Vienna's circle to look at the photo they had of him and confirm if they'd seen him before or not.

Most of the kids had looked the photo over for a few seconds before either confirming or denying that they recognized the guy. Zander, on the other hand, had scrutinized it like it was the missing link to the universe. He'd looked it up close and far away, held it up the light, until finally stammering, "Yeah…yeah. Maybe. I think so. I'd have to have seen him, right? Yes."

Miller didn't have the heart to tell him, of course, that absolutely none of that would be admissible.

"Nothing new yet." Miller was prepared for the slump in Zander's shoulders, so it didn't hit him too hard. "But I really think we're getting closer every day."

"Sure." Zander sounded exhausted. "Well, I've only got a little bit of time, we've got extra practice for the game on Thursday."

Ah, Thursday. The birthday.

"Yeah? Got anything else going on?"

Zander looked at Miller suspiciously, but keeping his face neutral and inscrutable was literally part of the agent's training. He waited innocently for Zander's answer.

"Not really. Just the game. One of our first of the season, so…important."

Miller didn't respond for a moment, wondering if Zander would fill the silence in with anything else; but Zander was starting to learn that trick and just looked back at him with an edge of impatience.

"Well, I'm not worried. You're playing Freestone?"

Zander nodded.

"Yeah. Their forward's got two left feet. As long as you manage not to trip over yourself, you'll be fine."

Zander snorted, rising to go. Still, the look in his eye was real when he told Miller, "Thanks."

It wasn't too much later when Sydney Herring appeared in Miller's doorway. She was put together as ever, tight blonde ponytail in place, wearing a pressed suit with a lavender ribbon crisp on the jacket pocket. It wasn't unusual for them to confer, especially with the DeNova case; there were so many family members and students and other traumatized third parties involved that Herring really had her hands full. But….

"Hey."

It was her tone of voice that made Miller do a double take. It was the same unbearably soft kind she used with clients.

"…hey."

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Miller felt a sense of unease in his gut. "Work-related?"

She paused in the doorway. "What makes you think it wouldn't be work-related?"

"You're doing the voice thing."

Herring hummed noncommittally and closed the door behind her. Miller sighed internally and leaned back in his chair as Herring took a seat in Zander's usual spot.

"I've been thinking about Zander Wright."

"Okay." Miller felt his defensive walls rising and intentionally tried to stay present. It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong.

"He's here quite a lot."

"Yes," he allowed, "he is."

"I'm wondering if it's too much."

Well, Herring was nothing if not forward.

"I disagree." Miller kept his own voice as steady and neutral as hers. This wasn't unexpected. He'd seen the looks that some of the other agents gave Zander when he was in the office — not disapproval, exactly, but a certain sense of wariness, like they weren't sure if his existence there was allowed. "I'd rather him be here where we know he's not getting himself into anything stupid. I've seen that downward spiral before."

More intimately than he cared for her to know right now.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's safe. But he's never going to develop coping skills on his own if he's always here. And taking care of him is not your responsibility. Working the case is. With a clear head."

Miller looked at her more sharply at that one. "Does anything suggest to you I'm not working with a clear head?"

Indignation simmered in his chest as she took time to think it over. "Not yet. But you've never gotten this personally involved with a case. Not in the years I've known you. You know it goes against our standards."

He couldn't stop himself this time, Miller rolled his eyes. "Sydney, you've known me long enough to know I don't always go by the book. This is what works for Zander. It works fine for me. It's just what he needs at this time."

"With Vienna gone."

"Exactly." But somehow he felt this was just another point for her argument.

"What if she never comes home?"

There it was. Miller fixed her with a stare, trying not to notice how the question made his chest tighten. "We don't talk like that."

"We don't talk like that with the public," Herring responded calmly. "We'd be foolish to never acknowledge at all."

Miller's jaw worked. She wasn't wrong. They both knew what the odds were.

"We need to consider it. How long can he keep coming here? What happens when he has to watch you move onto other cases?"

"I'm not giving up on Vienna. We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

For the first time, her composure seemed to crack. Herring recoiled a bit, as if he'd suggested she'd kicked a puppy. "I'm not giving up on her either, if that's what you're suggesting. It's just that there's nothing in our ethics handbook to guide us on how to handle this."

"There's no guidelines for life, Sydney, and I get through just fine." Better than fine. Better than most. "He needs a healthy outlet. That's all. And if I can be that….I don't see the issue."

"I'm not saying it's entirely unhealthy." She paused delicately before continuing. "I just don't think it's completely professional."

That got him. Miller uncrossed his legs so both feet were firmly on the floor. "We can debate ethics all day long, but you're not going to question my professionalism."

Herring had the humility to look chagrined. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply….you know I respect you. I just…I'm worried about both of you." She paused, searching his face. "This is a hard case, emotionally, for all of us."

Miller didn't say anything. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

Well. I just wanted to…to make my concerns known."

"Noted," Miller said dryly.

Herring's lips pursed. But even she knew when to give it up. "Well. Have a good evening."

She stood and opened the door. After a brief hesitation, she softly said, "Just…think about it," without turning around. And then finally left, walk still so calm and steady it made something in Miller's jaw twitch.

Long after she left, he still sat there stewing. Where did she get off? After going in enough circles in his head, Miller decided, ultimately, that it wasn't personal — Herring was and always had been a stickler for rules and procedure. Miller had never been that way. Like he'd said to Herring, life didn't come with a handbook. It was never that cut and dry. Doing good in this work, really doing good, meant knowing when to zig and when to zag. It's not his fault she couldn't see that. It didn't mean he wasn't professional.

They just didn't see eye to eye, had completely different philosophies. If she wanted to go by the book, great, fine. But he, Miller, he trusted his gut and his heart, and they told him that having Zander around was just fine. Good, even. Just because she thought differently didn't mean it was the wrong thing to do.

Still. He thought about the entire drive home. And tossed and turned quite a bit more than usual before finally falling asleep that night.

The next couple days flowed just like the last couple had. After allowing himself one fraught night, Miller tried to put the argument with Herring out of his mind. It was simply a matter of different perspectives, he told himself. It certainly wasn't worth getting distracted from work. Very little was.

October rain was lashing against his office window, the heavy clouds making it seem darker and later than it really was. Miller had his desk lamp on for some nice ambiance, typing up an email to a neighboring state's field office when he heard brisk footsteps in the hallway. Miller looked up from over his reading glasses to see who would appear in the doorway.

It was Herring. Coming to talk, surely, about their argument the other day. He was ashamed to admit he'd been avoiding her the last couple days, not feeling quite ready to kumbaya yet. He braced himself for another uncomfortable conversation. At least he had plenty of practice.

But….

Rather than her usual poise, Herring's face was flushed and excited, a single strand of hair dangling loose from her pontytail. It made Miller stop in his tracks. Before he could ask, Herring told him what they'd spent months waiting to hear.

He felt like the lone survivor of a horrendous plane crash, or the last human left on earth after an alien invasion. The way that everyone could go forward with their lives, snap back into place as if the universe had not been permanently altered. Watching the way others moved through the world felt surreal, almost uncanny, as if everyone was attuned to some invisible rhythm that he no longer had access to.

But it wasn't as if Zander didn't fall into the same trap of normalcy as the others, was it? He slept, enough. He ate, for the most part. He went to class. He talked with people. All the things Vienna couldn't.

He'd thought about returning to campus — without Vienna — a lot. Had weighed the pros and cons, the possibilities and potential scenarios. Zander had expected it to be hard, feel heavy. What he wasn't quite prepared for was for it feel haunted.

The first time he'd thought it, his stomach had lurched. Because haunted was a word for things that were dead. And Vienna was not. Was not. Was not.

But… what other word would fit better? What other word could capture the feeling of being back here, of practically seeing ghosts around every corner?

There, on the quad, where he'd often catch her sitting and working, soaking in all the sun she could in between classes. He still half expected to hear her call out his name, bright and clear.

The English building, where she'd slid into the back of his Composition & Rhetoric class right before he gave a presentation he'd been dreading for weeks, and the sight of her sitting in the back row steadied his voice even while he felt his heart would burst.

Her freshman dorm, the one where she'd shared a room with Abigail, where he and Vienna had so many tiny private moments that had felt sparkling and warm and holy all at the same time. He can see the window to her old room each time he walks to the library, now covered with someone else's curtains.

The dining hall, their dining hall, the one smack dab between the humanities building and the student union. Vienna had refused to go into it for a week last year after she laughed so hard at something Zander had said she'd snorted juice through her nose.

The pier, where they'd shared moments that felt both breathtakingly small and private and surreally huge and epic. Sitting on the wooden slats looking for constellations, having all day parties with friends, swimming across to the tiny "island" in the middle and having to get Jay to come pick them up in a canoe.

It was as if he was being suffocated by memories — no, not memories, not exactly. Rather, it was the devastating contrast between then and now. Then, when life floated open in front of them, expansive and open and full of possibilities, like they were right at the start of something. And….now. Now, in which the future felt both impossibly far away and far, far too close. Now, life was small and frightening and sinister. All with the same backdrop.

So, what was unexpected was finding a place where he could actually breathe. The craziest part to Zander was that Miller's office should have felt worse than anything. Everything in it was a reminder that this really existed, that it was happening, that she was still — still — gone. Her face smiling down from the walls, the murmur of her name in the hallways.

And yet….it was somewhere that Vienna had never been. Somewhere that, frankly, he couldn't imagine her in. Her presence was so solidly in the Then column of his life that the thought of her being in this place, despite its entire existence revolving around her, seemed ridiculous. No one there had any particular preconceptions of Zander in the FBI office, none of them had known him then when he appeared to be easily successful and put together and undemanding. None of them looked at him like he had two heads in the now when he did things like stalk around with a sour expression on his face or show up late to class or snap at others.

Being there felt like being connected to Vienna now, the version of her and of life in general that that he had to reconcile.

They had something. Zander had known it before it started showing up in the news cycle — the sudden flurry of activity, Miller collaborating with more and more faces, downing more and more coffee for what Zander assumed had to be long as fuck hours. So when it became public that law enforcement had several persons of interest they were looking into, Zander was excited but not shocked.

But just because Zander was there didn't mean he was privy to any special information. Agent Miller was, to Zander's great disappointment, committed to keeping those boundaries pretty firmly in place. Whenever something came up that anyone outside of law enforcement wasn't supposed to know, Miller could give Zander a look and a nod to the door and Zander would get up and leave — or, more and more often, Miller would take the phone call or meeting in another room so Zander could stay. It was…..nice. Zander had nearly knocked over his chair in his hurry to get out the first few times it had happened, but Miller didn't make him feel like a burden.

It was one of the things that made Zander's shoulders drop the moment he walked into Miller's office. The agent was just easy to be around. One minute they could be shooting the shit about this or that sports team, and the next, Zander could be choking on his words while talking about Vienna. And when that became too much, and Zander wandered back into lighthearted territory, Miller would follow him there. Didn't make it awkward. Didn't make it a thing. Just let him….be.

Even when Zander came into the office steaming mad, like he had the other day. He didn't even know why he was so mad. He'd been outside studying, trying to enjoy the fresh air before it got too cold, and a couple was sitting on one of the tables close to him. They were loud. Which was fine. Whatever. They were outside.

But when the girl had shrieked over a spider crawling on her chair, and her boyfriend had laughed and hopped up as if to save her, Zander felt like something inside him had snapped. He'd leapt up too, snatching his books off the table and stomping away like they'd done something to personally offend him.

And Miller had let him pace and rant and generally be a bit of a douchebag in his office until the anger cooled into gut-wrenching sadness. As was typical.

So when Zander walked in today, feeling like a walking corpse, he saw no reason to hide it. Miller was actually walking out as Zander was walking in, brushing by him quickly and saying, "Got a phone call, make yourself at home," and Zander obliged. He slumped down in his usual chair and stared at the wall.

It was a white cream color. Probably the same color as a million other offices in a million other cities. But Zander was beginning to feel as though he could pick it out of a lineup for all the time he spent here. His eyes darted, almost without his permission, to the photograph that Miller had pinned up on the wall next to his desk a few weeks ago. It was one Zander had given him, a picture of him and Vienna after his team qualified for states last year. Zander was in his blue jersey, mouth wide open in excitement, while Vienna embraced him from behind, beaming.

Zander looked away just as quickly, eyes burning. Goddammit. This whole fucking week had been worse than ever, in a way that he should have expected but somehow still bowled him over. He forced himself to look at a blank expanse of wall again, absentmindedly picking at his cuticles and somewhat enjoying the sting.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Miller finally came back into the room.

"Sorry about that. Apparently we have some missing paperwork somewhere and you know that's always gotta be crisis."

Zander watched a little listlessly as Miller walked straight to the file cabinet by his desk and fished out some form. He sat down, wrote something at the top portion, sighed, and finally looked over at Zander slouched across from him. A beat passed, and then Miller asked,

"You look like shit. When's the last time you ate something?"

"Gee, thanks," Zander grumbled. But when he looked up at the agent's expectant face, he could tell it wasn't a hypothetical question. "I don't know. Maybe….lunch. Day before yesterday."

Miller's eyebrows went up.

"So you haven't eaten anything in, what—" He glanced at the time on his computer— "30 hours?"

Zander shrugged. "Guess so."

"Hm. Surprised you even had it in you to walk here. Noticed you didn't swing by yesterday, either."

"What, are you taking attendance now?" Zander griped. He could feel the agent's steady stare at him, and stubbornly refused to speak for a moment more before relenting. "….it was our anniversary, of when we officially started dating. October 2nd."

"Ah." Miller's desk chair creaked a bit as he sat back. "How long?"

"Two years." Zander swallowed. "But felt like longer."

"Everything does, at that age." A nostalgic grin pulled at Miller's lips, but then his voice lowered into something more serious. "Hey."

Zander understood the cue and raised his eyes to meet Miller's again. They were calm, patient.

"Anniversaries are always rough. Of any important date. Anyone in your position would feel the same way."

The words were simple but hit anyway. A little something loosened in Zander's chest and he nodded.

"You know, there's a place about a half mile from here that makes a damn good burger. You could head on down there, probably wouldn't see too many kids from campus."

"Going out alone around our anniversary sounds like its own version of hell, but thanks anyway."

Zander was being annoying and he knew it. Miller eyed him for a minute and then tossed down his pen.

"Fine. Then we'll go together. Get out of here for a while."

Zander gave him a look.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

"Good, because I don’t babysit. I just don’t like filling out incident reports.”

Miller was already standing and grabbing his coat. Zander looked at him in exasperation for a moment and then followed, shoving down the slavish thankfulness rising inside him.

It was a relaxed place. Dim light and wood paneling, sports games playing on TVs scattered around the walls. Definitely the type of place you'd order a beer in, but Miller asked the server for two Cokes as they sat down. He nodded at one of the TV's running a program on an up and coming NBA player and Zander was relieved to easily pass the time discussing the new season's prospects.

Zander got a burger, as Miller advised. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until it was set down in front of him and had to keep from inhaling it within two minutes. Miller, somewhat to his surprise, ordered sushi, several little bundles of rice and fish and seaweed that he ate with chopsticks.

Miller noticed Zander eyeing his plate. "Want to try any? It's not bad."

Zander looked at the roll as if expecting it to start squirming around the table. "Uh. It's raw fish, right?"

"Yeah, this one's salmon."

Zander had a vivid memory of learning about the "double bucket" symptoms of salmonella in biology in high school and politely declined.

"To each their own." Miller grinned as if he knew exactly what Zander was thinking. They both enjoyed their food for another moment before he continued, "You know, I've been talking with Sydney lately."

Zander blinked at him, not following.

"Agent Herring. She works with Vienna's parents a lot, and they want to keep putting stuff out there about Vienna. Let people feel connected to her, make sure the search stays active."

Zander's heart clenched. He knew that the DeNova's had rented a condo in the Lakewood area to keep as close to the investigation as possible. They had indeed been very active, putting out statements and stories and pictures even as months went by. "That's a good idea."

"I told her I'd ask you about pitching in, seeing as you're a writer."

Zander scoffed a little. "Wha— I wouldn't say I'm a writer, I mean, I'm an English major, but that doesn't mean —"

But Miller was already shaking his head. "Zander, I've read your stuff. You're a writer."

No one had ever told Zander that before. Once we got past his instinct to protest, it made his chest swell a little. "Well….alright."

Miller nodded approvingly. "Anything that can pair with a picture or video would be good. Herring calls that stuff 'sticky,' makes people remember it better."

Possibilities were already whirring through Zander's mind. It was little things like this, moments where he could actually take action, that were helping him get by.

The sun was lowering in the sky by the time they each finished their food. Zander's leg jiggled under the table, making the whole thing shake a little. He had grown to hate this time of day. When he had to step out of the bubble of Miller's presence back into reality, long cold nights where every possible thing Vienna might be going through shoved its way to the center of his mind.

Miller picked up his soda from the slightly vibrating table and took a sip, regarding Zander.

"Wanna learn an old FBI magic trick?"

"Huh?" It broke him out of his reverie. "Uh, sure."

"This is old school stuff," Miller reached into his pockets to lay out a wallet, a small notepad, and a pen on the table. He also took off his watch and added it to the miniature collection. "But it matters more than people think. See what I've got here?"

"Yeah," Zander replied, looking over the items carefully.

"Wallet." Miller opened it up, flicked through some of the cards and bills inside.

"Pen." He picked it up and clicked it, setting it down as he picked up the next item.

"Notepad." He flipped through it, touching his watch with his other hand before setting it down.

"And watch." He picked it up as he rearranged the items in front of him, then set everything down and leaned back with his hands in his pockets.

"….okay?" Zander was still waiting for the trick.

"So what'd I take?"

"What?" Zander goggled at him, and Miller grinned.

"What'd I take? What's missing?"

Zander stared back at the objects. It all seemed to still be there. He carefully sifted through each thing until he noticed an empty slot."

"In here!" He held up the wallet. "You took out a card!"

"Not bad." Miller smiled approvingly and pulled a credit card out of his pocket.

"How did you —? I didn't even see you take it!"

"That's the magic of it." Miller slipped the credit card back into his wallet. "Want to learn how?"

"Yeah!"

And they spent a good twenty minutes practicing together, Miller teaching Zander how to perform sleight of hand and palm concealment and misdirection tricks. By the end, Zander was able to slip a quarter from his hand into Miller's wallet without him noticing.

"There it is!" Miller said, pulling the coin out with a proud glint in his eye. He was smiling wider than Zander had seen him do all afternoon. "You're a quick learner, kid."

"Yeah." Zander couldn't help but smile too. "I mean, you're a good teacher too, so."

It felt good to accomplish something, and by the time they were walking back to the FBI office in the dying light, Zander was breathing easier.

It was undeniably beautiful outside. Just chilly enough to feel refreshing, the setting sun casting golden rays through trees that were full of colorful, practically glowing leaves.

Did you know sugar maples are the best in fall? They're so bright!

Words came from Zander's mouth before he even realized he was speaking.

"This is her favorite time of year."

He braced for it — the pitying eyes, the awkward silence, the forced positivity, the "I'm so sorry." Any of a number of responses he'd grown to expect when mentioning Vienna, who to so many people now was no longer Vienna but Vienna DeNova, The Missing Girl.

But because Miller was Miller, he just smiled a bit and said, "Yeah?"

And something about the evenness of it, the nonchalance, made Zander like it was speakable and he continued on. Telling stories about fall memories, like the disastrous pumpkin carving incident of sophomore year, which made Miller throw his head back with a genuine laugh. Or how he and Vienna had spent hours in an apple orchard because he was so intent on finding the 'perfect' apple, only to burn the whole thing later. Or Halloween parties. Or football tailgating. Or Vienna being late to class because she kept stopping to take pictures of leaves.

"Wherever she is, I hope she can at least see the trees." His throat was tight.

Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Me too."

For a moment Zander couldn't speak at all. He looked at the pink sky and blinked furiously. When he was able to talk again, he changed the subject to the book he was supposed to be reading for class, which Miller graciously allowed. By the time they reached the office, longing and sorrow and wistfulness sat on his chest in equal measure, but Zander felt somehow more able to bear it than usual.

"This was perfect timing, really," Miller said as they walked through the parking lot, waving a hand to some of the departing cars. "Pushed that paperwork squarely into tomorrow's problems."

"Glad I could be of service." Zander huffed a laugh. "But….seriously, man. Thanks. I did…..need that."

"Not a problem. You know I've got your back. This shit you're dealing with is….a lot," Miller told him.

Zander looked at the agent. His appraising yet patient brown eyes, the easy slope of his broad shoulders, the way he carried himself with a quiet confidence of someone who had lived a hell of a lot of life despite barely being forty. At first, Zander had figured that Miller allowing him to spend so much time at the office was out of pity, or a sense of obligation. That the agent looked at him and saw some poor sap falling apart, a guy who needed the supervision of a real adult before he did something stupid.

But….things were starting to feel different. Miller seemed pleased to see Zander when he showed up, would start conversations with him, ask him for his thoughts on things. Almost like a friendship. Well, not quite. Miller was much older, obviously an authority figure, it was more like….no. No, that was silly. And besides, Zander already had a father.

But Zander could tell Miller got something out of this too.

"Have you ever lost somebody?"

Miller looked a little surprised by the question. He reached into his pockets for his keys, breaking eye contact.

"Everybody's lost somebody."

He pulled out the keys and Zander could hear the mechanical sound of the car unlocking.

"You take care of yourself, alright? No more days without eating. Hit me up if you need me."

It had really been Zander's idea, really, a concept that had pleasantly surprised Vienna. It stoked that warm little glow in her heart that Zander so often seemed to bring out — she knew there was no world in which he'd do this with someone else, and the idea of being trusted and chosen and special seemed to fill her her chest with warmth.

They were both fairly glow-y when he'd brought it up, to be fair. Both their faces were still a little flushed and Vienna was laying on Zander's bare chest, face tilted up to look at him as they lay in bed. She loved the easy, slightly lopsided smile that came out when they were together. He was talking about something, gesturing a bit with his hand before letting it rest again on her back, but all Vienna was focused on was the warmth between them and the happy thrum still going through her body. She'd never felt closer to anyone.

And then he'd brought it up — you know…..a good way to ring in sophomore year…. — and she'd lit up with excitement like a Christmas tree and he'd done the same and that was that.

And so here they were, looking out at the moonlight shimmering across the lake. Vienna felt a happy fluttering in her chest: she was here with her favorite person, in one of her favorite places, doing something that felt just the right amount of spontaneous and bold and fun. But when she looked back at Zander, she saw a rather familiar look of unease on his face. His blue eyes were scanning the waterline like he expected a campus security officer to rise up out of the weeds right then and there.

"Hey." She gently lay a hand on his wrist, trying to bring him back to earth. "Do you actually not want to? I'd be happy to just go sit on the pier, if you want."

Just the question, all earnestness and care, seemed to smooth the apprehension in Zander's expression. He looked at her, eyes crinkling in a smile.

"Nah. This'll be fun. Worst case scenario, I just drown and come back to haunt you as a ghost. Very manageable."

And is if to prove it, he started to lift his shirt over his head with a mischievous smile. Vienna's heart leapt. Before she lost her nerve, she lifted her sundress over her head and let it crumple on the leaves scattered beneath them. She took a deep breath and ran past the trees, bare feet slapping the wooden planks of the pier before she jumped off the end into the lake.

The cool water hit like an electric shock, invigorating her entire body. Vienna let it envelope her for a minute before she rose back up, smoothing her hair back and looking towards where she'd ran from. Zander was lingering by the trees, folding his clothes up, looking at her with an expression torn between awe and exasperation.

In a stage whisper, he called over, "You didn't even hesitate!"

"You can't! Come on!"

His eyes sparkled and Vienna could tell he'd taken it just as she'd meant it, as a challenge to be conquered. A split second later he was bounding towards her, flinging himself off the edge of the pier with a whoop!

Vienna laughed as he landed with a huge splash, looking around quickly to make sure he hadn't been too loud and alerted anyone. But all was still, as if they were in their own little universe. And Zander — he was being, well, Zander, anxious but pushing through it, taking the moment and making it fun and exciting. There was something about the way he went from hesitant to fully committed in half a second that always made Vienna want to follow him anywhere.

Zander popped up from underwater, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Christ, that's cold."

"I guess there's a reason people normally just swim when the sun's out."

Zander huffed a laugh, looking around.

"Yeah. It is really beautiful, though."

"Right?"

Vienna reached for him in that way that felt like second nature now, wrapping her arms around his neck while he put a steadying arm across the small of her back. For a moment, they just soaked in the moment.

Then Zander said, "I love that we get to do this together."

Vienna looked at him, eyebrow quirked up. "Skinny dipping? Yeah, you would."

"No!" Zander laughed. "Well — don't get me wrong. Definitely not complaining. But I mean just….life."

He looked at her with those eyes and Vienna smiled so hard her nose scrunched up. "You can't just say something like that and not kiss me."

Zander laughed and she could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her. She closed her eyes, trying to take in the moment, the cool water swirling around them, Zander's lips on hers, both their hearts beating in double time. He pulled back before she'd had a chance to really feel it all.

Vienna tilted her head and looked at him playfully, eyes sparkling. "Like you mean it."

Zander gave a surprised laugh and rolled his eyes. "You drive me crazy."

But it was all affection, and his smile was even wider than hers as he leaned back in. Zander let her choose when to pull away this time, and she cupped his cheek in one hand.

"I love you."

The words still felt new and exciting on her tongue, warm and grounding, everything she'd ever wanted all at once. It made Zander practically melt.

"I love you t—"

But Zander was cut off by the crunch of tires on gravel, headlights cutting through the trees.

"Oh, shit."

All the buoyancy and ease vanished from Zander's face, replaced by a familiar expression of near-panic.

Vienna's own heart skipped a beat and she couldn't help but whisper, "Do you think it's campus security?!"

"I don't know and I don't want to find out. Come on — we've gotta hide."

He started leading her by hand towards the pier, and it was Vienna's turn to balk.

"But — but there could be spiders under there!"

"Better spiders than suspended," Zander said grimly, and Vienna reluctantly swam behind him into the dark, grimy space beneath the wooden platform. Zander's face was white, and Vienna felt a flash of guilt for leading him into this situation, knowing all too well about his fear of failure and the weight of expectations he carried on his back. Even just getting told off by a police officer would wreck him, leave him beating himself up for weeks. Vienna had spent enough time talking him down from imagined catastrophes to recognize the look immediately.

"We've gotta be quiet," he barely dared to breathe to her, eyes wide.

"I can barely stand here —" she whispered back, feet kicking underwater.

"I've got you." Zander drew her close with an arm around her waist and Vienna wrapped her legs around his. They both held their breath, foreheads practically touching, Zander having to duck his head slightly to avoid bumping it on the wooden planks above.

The car seemed to roll to a stop mere feet from the pier. Zander was mouthing fuck, fuck, fuck, eyes squeezed shut, and Vienna ran her fingers through his hair, trying uselessly to calm him.

Then, the car started up again. Vienna could see the headlights shift across the water as it turned away. Zander's eyes popped open, so cartoonishly large and relieved that Vienna held back a giggle.

"Shut up," he whispered, but was starting to smile too. "They're leaving?"

Vienna nodded, pointing to the reflection of the lights on the water. Just a minute later, it was dark and quiet again.

"That was scary," Vienna whispered. "Close one."

"Well, thank God they're gone," Zander said. "There's been a massive spider behind your head this whole time."

"Shut up!" Vienna squealed, holding onto him for dear life and ducking her head.

Zander stifled a laugh and gently pushed forward until they were both out from under the pier. "Can we call that good enough? Check it off the bucket list?"

Vienna readily agreed and they clambered out of the water, wrapping themselves in the towels they'd brought along with their clothes. They sat in under the shelter of the trees for a while while they dried off, trying to find constellations in the clear night sky.

As Vienna ran her fingers through her hair for the thousandth time, afraid to find a spider or a leech or something equally gross and creepy, Zander told her, "I promise there's nothing in there. I was just messing with you."

"Well, you know. Better spiders than suspended," Vienna teased him, and he laughed.

"I thought that was a pretty good one! It's good life advice."

Vienna laughed with him. "Yeah, that's gonna be my new motto. Very relevant to everyday life."

And after that night it had become an inside joke between them, almost a shorthand for choosing the lesser of two evils. If Vienna had to work with an annoying classmate to get a project done, or Zander had to drag himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to make it to practice, one of them would inevitably pull the phrase out. Well, you know what they say….

It barely made sense. But something about it felt like a precious and private souvenir from that night, a secret language that only the two of them got to speak. A little reminder of the heart-stopping moment that they got through together. And there was a certain kind of magic in that.

Vienna tried to hold onto it now. She tried to hold onto everything from her old life, really, but that night was one she kept coming back to. The impulsive, silly, stupid fun of it, like they were doing something unbelievably daring and illicit. The easy way they'd bared their skin to each other, touching and holding without pain or discomfort or shame. The pure trust and intimacy that felt irreparably tainted from where she was standing now.

And that phrase. Better spiders than suspended. It would come back to her when she least expected.

Sitting and listening quietly to Alec while he spoke, about his day, about his thoughts, about her, even when his voice made her want to tear her own ears off.

Dragging herself upright when Alec demanded, knowing he'd just as quickly force her in a bruising grip.

Letting apologies spill from her lips that Alec in no way deserved, forcing contrition until his fists started to uncurl.

It was the same philosophy that kept Vienna from running or shrieking or fighting every single time the basement door opened. At first, it went against every instinct she had: every nerve in her body positively screamed to run, to fight, to shriek whenever she was in Alec's presence. But she eventually learned a new rhythm. Because what good would it do? It would just make him mad. It would just get her hurt. And it wouldn't stop a single thing.

So when the footsteps sounded overhead that evening, her stomach dropped. When she heard them start to descend the staircase, her heart began to hammer in her chest. And when the lock beeped and the door clicked open, her hands began to tremble. And all she did — all she could do — was sit there and wait for whatever Alec had planned for today.

Vienna had been sitting on the bed trying to do a puzzle book when he'd come in. She'd stopped avoiding that, just another avenue that felt pointless. After the incident where she'd asked to go home, spoke defiantly to him, Alec had had a couple weeks of frenzied visits to the basement. He'd burst into her room all times of the day or night and grab her immediately, forcing her onto the table, shoving her to the floor of the shower, bending her over the sink in the bathroom to look in the mirror while he took what he wanted. The message was clear: nowhere was safe. Not from him. At least the bed was comfortable for those precious moments he wasn't there.

He was in a bad mood. Trial and error had taught her how to read his moods, pick up on the weight of his footsteps or the tension in his jaw or the tone in his voice within seconds of him walking in the door. And what she saw today did not bode well. His face was already in a scowl, muscles tight, hands twitching like he was itching to take his anger out on the only person — the only thing — sitting in front of him.

"The fuck is this?" Alec snapped. Vienna blinked and followed his gaze to the table, and her heart dropped. She'd left a scattering of crumbs there from the sandwich she'd eaten at lunch. You know better than that.

"I-I'm sorry," she began, closing the puzzle book and setting it aside. "I'll clean it up right now, I wasn't thinking —"

"Nevermind." Alec let out a long breath through his nose, as if the crumbs were a personal offense. "Get up. Get undressed."

Every time. Every single time, it felt like a knife to a heart, like she'd stepped off some invisible cliff and was plummeting down, down, down to her doom.

And yet….

Vienna obeyed, sliding off the bed. She pulled at her clothes mechanically, wondering vaguely if today would be a lucky instance in which her mind floated away. He pulled her back in.

"Had the fucking longest day at work today. People are such morons. But then I remembered I have the perfect little stress toy chained up in my basement."

The words made all the blood drain from Vienna's face, and when Alec fully opened the door behind him it only made it worse. The main room. It was going to be one of those days — not quick, not routine, not simple enough that Alec could get what he wanted from her within the bedroom.

She forced one foot in front of the other until she crossed through the doorway. Alec planted a hand between her shoulders and shoved, and Vienna almost stumbled to the floor before righting herself.

"Over here."

A chair he liked to use for certain torments — just a regular, wooden kitchen chair, almost nauseating in its banality — was sitting in the middle of the room. There were pairs of handcuffs attached to each of its front legs, and Vienna's mind immediately began to supply all the potential reasons he might want to restrain her ankles while she sat.

So it was a shock to her system when Alec instead forced her to her knees in front of the chair and reached to restrain her wrists in the cuffs. The familiar panic of being restrained reared up, even stronger now because she had no clue what he was planning.

“Stop — you don’t have to —"

“Shut up,” Alec said firmly, and Vienna stopped at once, pressing her lips together. “I don’t want to hear your voice. The only reason I haven’t gagged you yet is I need that sweet mouth open.”

So that's it. Vienna swallowed, tried to breathe evenly, already preparing for her breathing to be constricted as each wrist was locked in the cuffs, keeping her essentially tied to the legs of the chair. Alec looked at her with an approving smirk for a moment before striding across the room.

Vienna held her breath as he rummaged through the wardrobe. Images flashed in her mind of implements stored in Alec's "torture closet" — sex toys and gags, whips and electrical rods, things she'd grown intimately familiar with over the last several months. Things meant to intensify her suffering.

And, sure enough, he pulled out a riding crop and started back towards her. Vienna could almost feel the sting already. Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t help but cry, “Wait — no, please, I’ll —"

“Shut your mouth before I do it for you.”

Vienna cut herself off with a whimper, instantly feeling like a prey animal — eyes wide and frightened, posture hunched and cowering. Alec was pointing the crop at her threateningly.

“I told you — today, you’re my stress toy. That’s all you are. I don’t want another word out of you. Is that understood?”

Vienna nodded silently, her eyes on the riding crop, and Alec relaxed somewhat.

“Good. Good. You're going to help me feel so much better, aren't you?"

Vienna swallowed the bile in her throat and let her gaze flick down in front of her so she was staring at the seat of the chair she was chained to. She had to suppress a shudder as she heard Alec undo his pants and let them drop to the floor.

"Show me how much you can move. Pull."

Without looking up, Vienna tugged her wrists in the cuffs. There was almost no give in them at all — she could move maybe six inches back from the chair at most.

"Aw. Are you going to be able to get away?"

"No." Her answer was almost inaudible, and she heard Alec chuckle under his breath.

“There we go…” Alec slid into the chair, letting his legs come down right around Vienna's restrained arms so her face was more or less in his lap. Her stomach lurched at the sudden closeness, the heat, the way he was already starting to get hard.

Alec stroked the crop suggestively and grinned at the look on her face, somewhere between terror and disgust. “Well — get to work.”

When Vienna hesitated, he slapped the crop onto the palm of his hand with a sharp THWACK noise. The memory the noise invoked made Vienna jump and survival instinct drove her forward more than anything. She gingerly opened her mouth and wrapped it around him, hands curling into fists beneath the chair. Alec hummed contentedly.

“That’s what I thought, slut. Remember how I like it.”

I don't want to! I don't want to! Vienna screamed in her mind as she trailed her tongue down the side of his shaft. She could sense more tension seeping out of his body, and was at once relieved and disgusted at herself for her role in it.

“That’s it…you keep being this good, maybe I won’t even have to whip you…”

He chuckled as Vienna instantly doubled her efforts, starting to move her head up and down, taking more and more of him into her mouth. Anything to avoid the bite of the crop, to finish this as quickly as possible….

“Mhmmm….”

Vienna let herself get into a rhythm, enough that she just might be able to float away. She though of….the moon. Yes, the moon, set among a scattering of brilliant stars, and she and Daniela were dancing among them, glittering and luminescent and —

THWACK.

A sharp sting exploded across her back. Vienna let out a cry of pain and immediately pulled back from Alec's lap, though the cuffs only allowed her a few inches of leeway. Alec laughed at the look of betrayal on her face.

“What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

THWACK. THWACK. The chains rattled as Vienna flinched with each strike. What hurt almost worse than the whip was the small hope she'd had that he wouldn't actually hit her. That maybe she'd please him enough. As if hurting her wasn't his goal all along.

“Keep going, bitch.”

Vienna slowly returned to the forced blowjob, her body tensed as it waited for the next blow. After a moment of feeling the crop lightly trace against her skin, it came — Alec hit her further down her body this time, letting the leather smack against soft skin. Vienna jerked away again and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Against her better judgment, she tried to speak again.

“I-I’m trying to —“

“And you’re making me feel great, little girl. I just want to hit you, too.”

He punctuated his sentence with another couple slaps against her reddening flesh.

“Ow!”

He smiled and continued using the crop all over the back of Vienna's body, hard enough that she could feel angry welts starting to form. Vienna let out continuous cries of pain, and he thrust his hips forward a bit to return her attention to the task at hand.

“Take breaks if you need to, but I’m not going to stop until you make me cum.”

Vienna sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to lean back in. All of her focus went into blocking out the pain and just making him finish, which seemed to be the only escape from this particular torment. But she could feel Alec's eyes on her — dark, soulless, like a shark — taking in every movement like it was a performance just for him. His hand ran through her hair in an odiously affectionate gesture.

“Fuck, I needed this.”

The noises were the worst. Clear, obscene, impossible to ignore or block out. Every slap of the crop ripped a pained cry from Vienna's throat, which in turn made Alec groan appreciatively as the sound vibrated against his skin. Even her attempts to gasp for breath just prompted the wet, intimate noises of her mouth on his body. Vienna's mind conjured up an image of biting down, of blood spurting, of a different voice screaming in pain this time, but then dismissed it as quickly as it came. It was as good as a death sentence.

Alec used the hand in Vienna’s hair to brush it to the side, seemingly wanting to admire the collage of pain he'd beaten into her skin.

“What a nice view,” he purred, and smiled as she grimaced at his words. For one terrible moment, it was almost as if she was floating above the scene, seeing herself from his perspective: chained at his feet like an animal, lips obediently wrapped around him, silent tears streaking down her face, the back of her body covered in bright red splotches. Then Alec's hand fisted in her hair and he shoved her down further, making her gag.

A thrill of panic shot through Vienna, disgust and claustrophobia and alarm. There was nowhere to go, and the air between his sweaty thighs felt thick and heavy. She could vaguely hear him gritting out words above her.

Mmm, yes….just like that….such a good little cocksucker….it's gonna be coming out your fucking eyes…..fuck….fuck….

Don't throw up don't throw up don't throw up — Vienna had to instruct herself silently, nauseating warmth flooding her mouth as a flurry of slaps rained down on her back. Her hands spasmed in the cuffs as Alec kept his grip tight on her hair, not letting her pull back no matter how much she choked and teared up. When he finally did release her, he slumped back in the chair, looking dazed and happy.

Over. Over. Finally. Vienna sat back the few inches that the cuffs would allow her, gasping for air, and the tears hit as soon as her lungs filled back up. She tucked her head to her shoulder — the only snatch of privacy she had right now — and choked out soft sobs. Her body trembled but felt strangely numb at the same time, as if it wasn't hers at all. As it it weren't even a body, just some inanimate thing.

He was calm now, at least. She'd served her purpose. The bizarre calm that sometimes followed assaults stretched for a couple minutes until Alec spoke.

“Hey, little girl, look at me for a second.”

Vienna's head rose almost of its own volition, every muscle in her body trained to obey first and ask questions later. The sight was as if he'd hit her again, and Vienna flinched violently backwards: he was holding his phone to her face.

"W-what are you doing?!"

"What does it look like?" Alec replied calmly. "Stay still."

He'd taken her picture before. Or recorded…..things. She'd seen the phone propped up at deliberate angles, watched Alec scroll through his library with a smirk on his face before. She assumed they were just trophies for him. If he posted them, anywhere at all….well, half of her almost hoped he did, leave evidence somewhere someone might find it. The other half of her wanted to fade into nothing at the very idea of it. She'd have to ask him one day after he'd been drinking.

“This really is a fun position. We’ll definitely be doing this again.” Alec leaned down to undo Vienna’s restraints, continuing, “But now we need to go shower.”

The implication hit like a lightning bolt down her back. “B-but — that will really hurt with my back,” Vienna whimpered. “I showered this morning, please, can I…?”

“You did this morning? You sure?”

Vienna nodded fervently. Her eyes widened imploringly, born of pure desperation and the sickening knowledge of how much Alec loved that expression on her. Sure enough, his lips twitched.

"Alright, alright. But you're cleaning yourself up at some point between tonight and when I come back to fuck you in the morning."

“O-okay.”

“I’m doing you a favor, what do you say?”

“Thank you,” Vienna said tonelessly, and Alec smirked.

"Good girl. Up."

She didn't need to be told twice — Vienna scrambled to her feet immediately, already turning around towards the bedroom. She often imagined in some distant corner of her mind that there was another Vienna, perhaps in some alternate universe, who would take off running in these moments. Who would shove Alec to the floor, take the stairs two at a time, and burst out screaming back into the world. But this world's Vienna traipsed her way back into the small room that had become her entire universe, body throbbing with each step.

When the door blessedly closed between her and Alec, Vienna braced a hand on the dresser, letting out a long breath through her mouth. It had worked. Truthfully, she was less concerned about the water hitting the wounds on her back than the fact that Alec had said "we need to shower." She knew what that would inevitably lead to.

So she'd invented another excuse. And….it had worked. He'd believed her. Or at least seemed to. Vienna had a feeling he enjoyed her begging enough that he sometimes gave into it as an indulgence, encouraging her to keep it up in the long run.

But. Still. She'd been able to exhibit the smallest bit of agency, make the nightmare just a little less horrific today. And in this place, that felt like a win.

What it was was a scrap. The tiniest, faintest light in the dark that she clung to as if it were the sun itself. But if she didn't — if she didn't try to fan that little spark into something bigger — Vienna was sure that the shadow of humiliation and despair and dehumanization would swallow her whole.

She floated to the bathroom, wanting to at least brush her teeth. With her gaze trained to the floor, hoping to avoid her reflection in the mirror, she spotted the tiniest movement in the space between the sink and the toilet.

A spider. Small, brown, skittering into the corner with its many legs.

Usually she would grab a piece of tissue and snatch it up, flush it down the toilet. But today she just stared at it. It had gone still now, trying to be smaller, trying not to be noticed. Vienna felt a strange tightening sensation in her chest, like her heart was being physically squeezed. She couldn't stand to add one more moment of fear or pain to this place, no matter how minuscule.

"You're okay," she whispered without entirely meaning to.

It reminded her, ridiculously, of Zander. Of their saying, that night at the lake. Better spiders….

And it made her stomach lurch. How could she be thinking of him in this moment? Right after she'd….participated. Moved. Complied. Performed. How could those two memories even exist in the same body?

Better spiders than suspended.

She'd had chosen — if choice was even a word she had access to anymore — the least harmful option. What got her through the day in one piece. What helped her survive in a moment where every option was terrible.

Part of it was pure frustration. It wasn't typical for the cases he worked on to stretch out this long completely unresolved, without a scrap of information.

Another part was a gnawing sense of guilt. As the Lakewood students made their way back to campus, Miller felt like he had failed some invisible deadline. He saw it in their faces. The parents' guarded, wary looks, waiting for the boogeyman to pop out from around any corner. The students' forced brightness, trying to force this semester into any semblance of a normal time at school, like there wasn't some enormous dark cloud looming over the entire campus.

And that wasn't even including Vienna's loved ones.

The DeNovas were in constant contact with the department. Asking for updates, providing the tiniest bits of information that might be relevant, doing whatever they could to keep Vienna at the front and center of everyone's minds. The last task, Miller thought, wasn't too hard. Vienna was the type of girl who was instantly embraced by the community — bright, high-achieving, compassionate, normal enough that people could see themselves or a loved one in her shoes. Her parents worked regularly with Agent Herring to coordinate with the media, spreading her name and face further and further. Her parents' love was apparent in every mood they made, and Miller knew their hope — their faith in the community, in law enforcement, in him — was the only thing keeping them from cracking completely.

And Zander. Jesus. The poor kid returned from the break noticeably thinner, bags under his eyes like he'd slept a total of four hours the entire summer. Miller had gotten the strangest feeling seeing Zander again, a small jolt of relief that he'd be close enough to keep an eye on.

Not a logical feeling, and he knew that. Zander had parents and friends and professors and coaches who knew him much better than Miller did. But….still.

One of the worst parts of a case stretching on this long — and there were many — was that eventually the team had to start returning to other incidents on their caseloads. It just didn't make sense to dedicate all their time to one case when leads were scant at best and other people were out there struggling. People, Miller couldn't help but sometimes think, that they could actually help.

And so they worked on things on the side. Assaults, hate crimes, burglaries. There had been a two-week period where a string of bank robberies was taking place in a nearby city, and the Violent Crimes department had sprung into action — canvassing the scenes with local law enforcement, taking statements, analyzing details, engaging the public. They'd the caught the pair responsible in a matter of days. There had been a definite sense of finally, we got one in the office.

Miller was torn between being aggravated by the whole thing — the quiet intimation that the DeNova case was too hard, too time-consuming, too fruitless — and completely re-energized and motivated. Because they could do this. Solving cases is what they did, showing up for victims and their families and the community. It was crucial that they didn't lose focus.

So Miller was reheating his coffee for the fourth time that September morning when Grant strode towards him purposefully, holding a light purple folder. The color that seemed to belong to Vienna DeNova now.

Miller glanced from his boss's face to the folder and back again.

"What is it?" The familiar sense of adrenaline was already starting to pump through his veins. "We have something?"

"You bet we do." Grant tapped the folder on Miller's chest. "Meeting room, soon as you can."

It took all Miller's wherewithal to not just leave his coffee to burn and run after him. But he waited patiently (as patiently as he could, anyway, bouncing up on his heels like a child) until the timer went off before speeding down the hall to the meeting room.

The room was dual purpose now. Still a place to gather and collaborate, certainly, but it also held plenty of reminders of their biggest case. Vienna's face smiled down at that from the walls, vivacious and unknowing, alongside maps of campus and the surrounding area, stuck with pins representing leads or sex offenders or student hot spots. Along one wall ran a rather dirty whiteboard where they had scribbled theories and leads that were erased and then scribbled again, just in case.

The team was gathering, the room humming with anticipation. There weren't many of them — Grant tried to keep things relatively tight — but the main players were there. Grant himself, of course. Representatives from different sub-teams: human trafficking, serial crimes, critical incidents, data analysts. Agent Herring sat pin-straight at the table, eyes bright and ready. A couple other people trickled in, including a representative from Lakewood PD — young Officer Donovan instead of Detective Carver, for which Miller said a silent prayer of thanks — and then the room stilled immediately as Grant cleared his throat.

"Let's get into it. We have a promising new lead that we all need to work together to follow. Agent Herring is the one who brought this to me, so I'll let you hear it from her firsthand."

The strangest flicker of jealousy spasmed in Miller's chest, and he quashed it immediately. The goal was the same, no matter who brought the information forward. Find Vienna. Find Vienna. Alive, God willing.

Herring nodded and began to speak.

"I was contacted by law enforcement in Doveport, about five to six hours from here. They had an arrest last night, public intoxication and assault, and at some point overnight he told a cellmate that he knew where Vienna DeNova was."

The shift in the room was immediate, almost like a collective holding of breath, and she continued.

"He denied it all this morning, once he was sobered up. But they dug into his background and it turns out he did some construction work on campus last semester."

Herring pulled a picture from the file in front of her. The mug shot looked like a typical drunk and disorderly, red-faced guy with a greasy little mustache and blood-shot eyes. Miller studied it intently. Could this be their guy?

"Now, he's been in the Doveport area since April. We know he was there — or at least his phone was — on May 9, the day Vienna went missing. So while it's not impossible that he's the one who took her, it's not very likely."

It seemed to take the air out from everyone around the table.

"But," she continued steadily, "this opens up a whole new line of investigation. Firstly, just because he wasn't directly involved doesn't mean he doesn't have knowledge. Secondly….he was never on our initial list of employee background checks."

That got everyone's attention.

"What?" Miller couldn't help but ask. "We looked into every name that was on Lakewood's payroll. Are we sure he even actually worked here?"

"Positive." Herring nodded. "But he was a contract worker. We're thinking they only gave us the names of regular employees."

"So…." The revelation washed over Miller like a wave. "We have a whole other list of potentials now."

"Exactly," Grant said with a satisfied grin.

Finally!

"They're likely to be scattered now. It seems like most of them were here doing dorm renovations in the late winter and early spring of this year."

"That fits perfectly with our timeline, though." Miller strode to the board, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He rapped his knuckles on a list of likely traits they'd profiled: nomadic, calculated, physically strong. "If this wasn't a random abduction — and we're fairly sure it wasn't — that gives the abductor plenty of time to target Vienna. To learn her habits and routine. Like when she tended to walk back to the dorm alone."

Overlapping conversations burst out all around the table, theories and suggestions being lobbed back and forth and elaborated on and questioned. It was the buzz of a group of people who felt like they'd finally cracked some sort of code. Grant let it go on for a few minutes before holding up a hand.

"Alright. Let's get organized."

He delegated tasks, people to head to Doveport, people to sort through lists, people to flesh out a profile based on this new information. Miller was assigned with Donovan to head to Lakewood University's HR office.

"That's the number one thing we need right now. A list of any and all contracted employees, going back at least a year. Maybe two, since we know that's when Vienna started attending school. And also," he added just to Miller as an aside, "feel free to rip them a new one for not getting it to us sooner."

Lakewood University's HR department was housed in an office building right near campus, close enough to the field office that they could have almost walked. The woman who ushered them into her office, a Mrs. Jen Grayson in charge of recruitment, was wearing a lavender ribbon.

"How can I help you boys today?"

Something inside Miller bristled, but he shook it off as soon as it came. Prioritize.

"Well, Mrs. Grayson, we ran into what we believe might have been an oversight in our initial data collection. Have you ever had employees work at Lakewood on a short-term, contractual basis?"

She paused. "Yes, just once in recent years. We had a renovation project on Hawthorne Hall last year."

Miller nodded. "We believe those employees were not included on the lists Lakewood gave us when we were looking into employee backgrounds."

"Well, there weren't very many of them."

Donovan made a disbelieving noise in his throat. Miller nudged him with his foot.

"We understand that, ma'am. But we need to be extremely thorough in our investigation. These workers worked in close proximity to Vienna, we need to know everything we can about them. I'm assuming there were pretty stringent background checks done on each new hire?"

"Of course." She began to sound a little miffed. "Anyone that had a record beyond traffic tickets — especially things like violence or theft or drugs — they were immediately taken off the list."

Miller nodded. "I'm going to need that list. Including any applicants, even if they were ultimately rejected."

Mrs. Grayson paused. "I'll have to call someone about that. Files like that….may expire."

Miller blinked, taken aback for the first time. "Don't tell me you don't have it?"

"It's not my department," she replied, in the plain cadence of someone trying to escape responsibility.

Miller fixed her with a long stare, jaw working in frustration. When he at last trusted himself to speak without shouting, he said calmly, "Then you're going to contact whoever's department it is. Now. We'll wait here until it's done."

He sat himself down in a chair across from her desk, Donovan following suit just as second later.

When she hesitated, he added in a much less patient voice, "One of the men on that list very well may be responsible for kidnapping Vienna. And you and I both know, probably something even worse.”

That made something crack in the woman's expression. She sighed and picked up the phone.

They got it. Eventually. It seemed that piss-poor organization and management was a theme in this town.

Ultimately, Grant had to go up the chain and get federal tech analysts involved to recover archived hiring data from Lakewood’s servers. The carelessness of it all made Miller want to scream. But at least now they had something to move forward with.

The air in the office had changed. What had been sluggish and discouraged was now re-energized and motivated. There were so many rabbit holes to go down now, but that was their bread and butter. Pulling impossible pieces together to make one coherent picture, making connections that others might miss.

Which was why walking almost straight into Zander Wright in his office doorway was so ironic.

Miller hadn't been expecting him. He'd been striding down the hall with a coffee in one hand and an old police report in the other, scanning over a domestic violence charge from one of the applicants on the Lakewood list. He was saved from spilling his coffee all over himself and Zander only by looking up at the last second.

"Oh, shit — sorry. Zander?"

"Yeah." Zander looked embarrassed just to be standing there. Miller hadn't seen him in a couple weeks, not since his last impromptu visit to the office, but the kid looked more or less the same. Exhausted in every sense of the word.

"I'm not trying to bother you, at all, but, it's just… I was hoping I could just sit here and get some work done."

Miller blinked at him. "Like, homework?"

Zander nodded, cheeks growing pinker.

"It's hard to focus in the library. Everyone is just so…."

Dumb and happy, Miller finished in his mind.

It was a feeling Miller was innately familiar with, one he'd felt himself as a kid watching parents show up for school events or sports games, smiling and steady and present. Knowing they'd home to a nice family dinner, no pit in their stomach wondering what condition their house or their mom would be in when they walked through the door. It was a feeling Miller been able to shed in adulthood like a snake skin, giving way to the tender part underneath. But the alien-esque feeling of sitting on the other side of that barrier wasn't easy to forget.

He'd dealt with it by working harder, grinding until he no longer needed anyone's approval or dependability but his own. His brother had decided to turn to the comfort of drugged out oblivion instead.

Miller looked at the boy in front of him now.

"Not a problem."

He dragged a side table in front of one of the chairs that sat against the wall across from his desk. Zander's shoulders seemed to sag in relief and he muttered, "Thanks," as he dropped his backpack on the floor and dug through for his materials.

Miller sat down at his own desk, watching the kid. The office wasn't exactly peaceful, especially compared to a library. But he had a feeling that peace wasn't what Zander was after.

"So. You hanging in there?"

"Mhmm." Zander hummed shortly in response, not looking up.

Okay. So they weren't in feelings territory yet.

"What are you studying?"

"Right now?" Zander glanced at him now. "Creative non-fiction."

Miller nodded. "Very cool. I could see you being good at that. Your speech at the vigil is a good example."

"Yeah." Zander looked surprised, whether because he wasn't expecting the praise or for Miller to mention the elephant in the room, he wasn't sure. "Yeah, I do like that kind of thing."

"Well, I don't want to stop you from working. And I have my own things to do."

Zander nodded once and looked back to his books. Miller kept his gaze on him another second before turning back to his own work. It was good he was here. Better than suffering off on his own doing God knows what. If he just needed a space to work, that was easy enough to provide.

They both worked on their stuff in comfortable silence for a couple hours, exchanging a word here or there — "You have any more classes after this?" "Nah. Just Civic Engagement Writing tomorrow morning," or, "I'm glad it's finally not too hot. I might go for a run after this." "You should. God, I'd love to get outside more," — but mostly staying focused on their respective work. Miller's coworkers popped in and out of his office several times, each giving Zander a rather befuddled look, but Miller smoothed it over each time. Last thing Zander needed was to feel like a pariah or a burden.

The sun was lowering in the sky by the time Zander finally shut his books and laptop. He'd just been scrolling on his phone for a little while when Miller figured he should tell him to get a move on. Even he, Miller, had to get home at some point.

Zander was looking at the screen with a little smile on his face, heartsick and nostalgic and loving all at once. Miller thought it was the saddest look he'd ever seen. A peal of laughter rang out from whatever video he was watching, and the expression deepened.

Miller rose from his desk and casually walked around. "You all finished?"

"Oh. Yeah." Zander looked up as if caught. "Was a shit ton of reading. Kind of interesting though."

"That always helps." Miller gestured to the phone. "Vienna?"

Zander blinked, taken aback. As if there were any other video the poor kid could be watching right now. "Yeah." He turned the screen towards Miller.

There indeed was Vienna, giggling as she applied face paint on Zander for what looked like some sort of Halloween or costume party. He was trying to keep his face still, but the video showed a grin and sparkle in his eye that looked entirely unfamiliar from the kid sitting in front of him.

"You better be careful. Or I'm about to wreck your Yelp rating," Zander said onscreen.

Another giggle, bright and bubbly. "Oh my God, shut up. You're getting five star service for free, so just be grateful."

"I am, I am."

Something about it tugged at Miller's chest. It was so…. normal. For a moment he felt like he'd seen something he shouldn't have, something intimate and personal. But Zander looked glad to be sharing. Something about that look on his face tugged at Miller further, and he sought to break the tension.

"What's in that red cup in the corner of the frame?"

"What?" Zander flipped his phone back around quickly, searching for the red solo cup in the video. "Probably just water, I guess."

Miller just looked at him, not unkindly. Ah, those were the days.

When Miller didn't say anything, Zander rambled on, "I mean, some of the people there were twenty-one, so it probably belonged to one of them, you know, Vienna and I definitely weren't —"

"Okay, okay." Miller held up a hand with an easy smile that Zander tried to reflect back at him. "I'm just giving you a hard time. College kids drinking is the least of my worries. And you know," he added, "that's a trick I use sometimes with suspects. People rush to fill silence with the truth. Don’t be afraid of it.”

"You teaching me how to lie?" Zander asked, amused as he put his stuff back in his backpack.

"I call it people skills," Miller retorted, and Zander snorted a laugh.

"Well….thanks. I'll see you later."

"Take care."

And he watched Zander head back out into the world, feeling a warmer sensation in his chest that he'd anticipated.

It took a while, but the team had gone through the contract hire list with a fine-toothed comb. Mrs. Grayson had been right — nearly all of them had clean records, seemed like regular guys just looking for decent work. The applicant list would be next, and Miller was hoping they'd find more there. But for now, they gathered back in the meeting room to go over what they'd found.

It was a smaller team this time, just Grant, Miller, and Detective Carver replacing Donovan this time as a Lakewood PD rep. Great. Probably pissed off that he missed the thunder last time, Miller assumed.

"Three solid potentials." Grant slapped a purple folder down on the table. "This one —" He tapped on the first photo, a lanky looking guy with lanky hair to match — "had a record. Slipped through the cracks."

"This winner," he pulled aside the top photo to reveal another, a larger man, middle aged, "went in clean but has since picked up two assault charges and tried to exploit a high schooler online. All females in their late teens."

"And last but not least…" He pulled out the last photo, a broad shouldered guy with dark eyes and short hair. "This one. Turns out he was let go from his position after multiple complaints of inappropriate behavior."

Miller looked at his boss with raised eyebrows. "Why is this the first we're hearing of this? Even without the list?"

"Was kept very hush hush. The complaints were anonymous, any documentation is pretty vague as to the nature of what he did. We need to fill in the gaps here. We can't find too much on this last guy, looked like he may have used an alias. We need to find out who he really is."

"Great," Carver muttered, as if he couldn't help but inject a bit of negativity. Miller held back from rolling his eyes.

"We're working on tracking down each of them to come in for questioning. First two should certainly be easier."

"Right now," Herring broke in, "I want to talk to some of the kids from campus. Especially Abigail, Vienna's roommate. See if she has any recollections of any of these men. The pictures could help spark her memory —"

Carver nodded, clapping his hands over the final part of Herring's sentence.

"Was just about to say that. Alright, we're gonna get one of our guys in there with you and the girl, he can —"

"No." Herring's voice was calm but firm. "It's just going to be me."

Carver raised his eyebrows, and she wisely kept talking before he could say anything more.

"We're asking a twenty year-old girl to think about grown men who came into where she lived and might have abducted her best friend. It's going to be me, as an advocate, low pressure. And not at the police station."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Carver said, his tone the antithesis of his words, "I don't know if a woman like you has the interrogative experience required for something like this."

Ah, shit. Miller glanced at Grant, wondering if he'd intervene, but he was looking steadily at Herring.

"This isn't an interrogation. If you have any doubts about my experience, I'd invite you to look over my case history. I've also published a few books you could check out at a library. If you're unfamiliar, I can give directions to one." She stood and gathered up the pictures. "And — with all due respect — this attitude is exactly why you won't be joining me."

Carver opened and closed his mouth once, apparently unable to decide which part of that insult to respond to first. The door swung shut behind Herring. After an awkward beat in which Grant and Miller both fought hard not to meet eyes, Carver got up and slinked out like a dog with his tail between his legs.

They waited until the door shut and they couldn't hear his footsteps before bursting into snickers like a couple of schoolboys.

Grant leaned back in his chair with a satisfied exhale. “God, I love her.”

Miller snorted. She certainly had her moments, didn't she?

And for the first time in months, the room didn’t feel hopeless.

If they can just find her within the next couple days. That's what he'd told himself at first. Anything longer than that had seemed unthinkable, unbearable. The sooner she was back, the sooner he could hold her again, the better. They could get through it, whatever it was.

That didn't happen.

If they can just find her before school starts again. It would be long. Longer than he knew what to deal with. But at least it could be confined to a season, one excruciating summer, and they could reclaim the rest.

That didn't happen.

If they can just find her…. No parameters. Not anymore. Just find her. Just let her still be out there. Please.

Because now that second deadline had passed. Summer was coming to an end. Classes were getting ready to resume at Lakewood University, the freshman had already moved in the week before, staff had sent out syllabi and book lists as if it were any other year. As if the world hadn't spun off its axis and never corrected itself.

He'd be going back, though. That much had been clear from the start. Not only did he not want to picture the aneurysm that his parents would have if he effectively dropped out, Zander didn't see the point of not returning to school. He'd feel closer to her. Hopefully. He might actually be able to do something to help. Maybe. At the very least, he'd be around other people who actually understood. That was the idea, anyway.

Packing wasn't so bad. He'd barely unpacked to begin with — another battle with time, not wanting to admit how much had passed — and the rest felt almost meditative. The rules were absolute. He needed this, he didn't need that. Nothing complicated. Nothing ambiguous. Nothing so uncertain that it felt like it was strangling him.

Actually leaving was harder. All summer, he couldn't fucking wait to get out of there, but when the moment came it felt like stepping off a precipice into the unknown. He barely knew a Lakewood without Vienna. They'd met that first week of classes freshman year and been more or less inseparable ever since. And he knew the absence of her wouldn't be small. It would be the elephant in every single room. But at least then…..at least then, other people might understand. More than they did at home.

Tiffany and Lauren weren't coming for move-in. They'd have to take another car, for one thing, and he just didn't find it fair for them to have to spend the day lugging his boxes into his new apartment. Both sisters had offered, but Zander let them off the hook. They had better things to do, things that might actually make them happy.

In that strange crawl that time had taken on lately, Zander's move-in day came both sooner and later than felt right. Lauren stayed perched on his bed the entire time he finished up last-minute packing, fishing socks out from under his dresser and grabbing journals out of his drawers that he'd rather not leave unattended at home. His little sister watched him like a hawk, like he'd disappear if let him out of sight for too long. Zander tried to keep up light conversation, throw in some self-deprecating jokes about the state of his room or how long it'd take to unpack all this, but she was uncharacteristically quiet.

By the time he hauled his last bag downstairs, his parents had already loaded most of the rest of his stuff into the car. Time to go. Finally. Sort of.

He'd acted like an asshole most of the summer. Zander knew that. He'd shouted at his mom, cursed at his father, treated his sisters like they were nuisances. He let his room get disgusting and absolutely did not keep up with his section of the chore chart that his mom had taped on the kitchen wall. He was more or less fired from his job and barely bothered to see any friends. In his defense, Zander figured, his family hadn't exactly been perfect either.

But….he'd been in a bubble, in a way. Hadn't had to work. Hadn't had to socialize. Hadn't had to much of anything but wallow. The idea of going back to school, surrounded by people all the time, having to show up to class and practice and hangouts, felt like stopping onto a stage in a play he no longer knew the lines to. Leaving was much more bittersweet than he'd expected.

It didn't help that his sisters' moods made Zander felt like he might as well be headed to the gallows, not back to college for junior year. Tiffany seemed all calm and collected on the outside — see you later, don't do anything I wouldn't do — but when she hugged him goodbye she held him so tight he thought his ribs might crack, and certainly lingered longer than she typically did. Lauren, on the other hand, looked like she was going to cry. The mood in the room felt heavy, and Zander felt as if his muscles were straining under the weight of it.

"Alright, alright. Save some tears for when you see the state of my bathroom in two months.”

The tension in the room seemed to break: Lauren and his mom laughed, Tiffany and his dad both cracked a smile. Zander wasn't sure if it was because of what he'd said or the mere fact that he'd said it all, easily slipped back into his familial role like putting on an old, familiar sweater. Or a worn T-shirt with the words You Can Count On Me! blazed across the front. With little letters on the back that added (No matter the cost!)

It worked, though. Like it usually did. A couple minutes later, he and his parents were out the door and on their way.

Driving into the Lakewood campus felt surreal. There were lavender ribbons everywhere — the color that had been adopted as a symbol for Vienna, it perturbed Zander a little because her favorite color was periwinkle, and she'd find it very important to point out that distinction, but eventually he had to decide that even he wasn't that petty — and they'd even passed a couple little makeshift memorials that people had obviously maintained over the summer. It made Zander's swell and sink all at once.

Junior year met the good dorms. Not all upperclassmen lived on campus, but Zander and his buddies figured that they'd be in class or at practice or games or activities enough that they might as well. Vienna and Abigail were going to do the same, so their dorms would be closer than ever. Not that that mattered now.

It was a nice setup, basically an apartment. Zander would be sharing it with his old roommate Jay, and they'd be joining up with a guy named Dylan from the rec basketball team and his friend Gael. Dylan and Gael had agreed to share a room for less money, while Jay and Zander would have their own rooms.

"So you and your girl can literally get a room," Jay had quipped. It had pissed Zander off at the time — though of course he'd laughed along like it was easy — but now he'd give anything for a moment like that, for Vienna to be brought up so casually and playfully. And it'd be a lie to say the two of them hadn't been looking forward to it, an opportunity for more sleepovers and actual privacy.

But again. That didn't matter now.

It was, quite visibly, not a normal move-in day.

Staff and law enforcement were all over campus, much more than was typical. They were all making an effort to keep things light-hearted, but the uniforms and tight procedures said it all. Most of them wore lavender ribbons affixed to their lanyards or shirts, an unspoken but clear reminder of why everything was so different this year. When Zander got his key, it was accompanied by a couple of brochures promoting the campus counseling center and campus safety reminders. It made something burn inside Zander's chest, but he couldn't tell exactly what the feeling was.

"That's nice of them," Zander's mom said. "Very thoughtful."

All Zander could say in response was a grunted, "Yeah."

His mom had been unusually chipper and attentive all day, making sure that every little thing was covered, checking in on Zander's moods, making sure he had plenty of snacks for the car ride despite it being less than three hours. She'd reached back and grabbed his hand in the car when they drove past the picture of Vienna, squeezing his hand and murmuring, "I've got you, sweetie."

His dad didn't say much, but changed his behavior up by insisting on….well, coming at all, but also carrying the heaviest bags and boxes, installing an extra deadlock on the apartment door. Zander's first bitter instinct was that this was for his mom's benefit more than anything else — she hovered anxiously while his dad worked on it and he caught her checking it a few times throughout the move-in process — but when his dad looked him in the eye and said, "Please make sure you actually use this," he knew it was something deeper.

It was the most individualized attention he'd received from his parents in years, and it felt… good? Shameful? Relieving? Wrong? He couldn't quite decide.

Zander and his parents had been the first ones to arrive and set up, but the other guys trickled in over the next couple hours. Jay walked in with an easy smile crinkling his eyes under a mop of dark hair, and Zander felt a pang of guilt for barely talking to him all summer. Dylan, even taller than Zander, bounded up the stairs — up the stairs, they were on the fourth floor, relax, dude — and facilitated polite introductions between their parents while they all marveled at the lock Mr. Wright had installed. Gael came last, and Zander did a double take he hoped no one saw as his family filed in behind him, all tan skin and black wavy hair like Vienna.

Don't be an idiot. Zander faked a flimsy smile at them and slid back into his own room. Get a grip. If he couldn't handle seeing any woman with similar features to Vienna, he was in for a rough time.

"Well…." His mom looked around the room, hands on her hips. "I guess that's everything."

"Yep." Zander nodded. He felt restless all of a sudden, antsy.

"This is a nice space, so keep it clean, alright?" His mom told him. "And clean your bathroom. At least once a week."

"I've got it, Mom," Zander said with a crooked grin.

She grabbed him in a tight hug. "I love you. Please be safe. Call when you can."

"I will," Zander murmured into her shoulder. "It'll be fine."

Whatever that meant these days.

The goodbye seemed to revert his dad back to factory settings. He set a hand on Zander's shoulder and just said, "Be good," before both his parents left, his mom throwing one more anxious glance over her shoulder before the door closed.

If Zander had expected that coming back to school would turn on some magic switch in his brain, he was sorely disappointed. He felt just as miserable, just as anxious, just as stuck as he had at home. He stayed hidden in his room for most of the first evening, not having it in him to fake a smile for the other guys. His unpacking routine had been interrupted when he'd come across Vienna's sweatshirt in one of his bags. By the time a knock on his door sounded, Zander was still lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling with the sweatshirt clutched to his chest.

"Yeah?" He stuffed the sweatshirt under a pillow.

"Hey." Jay cracked his door. "You're coming to dinner with us."

"I'm good."

"Come on, man. We don't even have to talk. You just have to eat."

Eugh. When had this happened? When had his friends decided they needed to babysit him? He imagined them sitting around in the living room, strategizing how to get him out of his room and into the land of the living, and his cheeks burned. Stop wallowing. Be good.

"Alright, alright."

Zander hauled himself out of bed to join them, hoping Jay wouldn't say anything about Vienna's sweatshirt peeking out from beneath the pillow. He didn't. Just clapped a hand on Zander's back and let them walk out wordlessly together.

The next couple of days were…weird. There was simply not a better word to describe it. Life felt both completely normal and utterly surreal. It was easy to fall back into routines, retrace familiar paths on campus, greet friendly faces. But the constant tension thrummed under everything, Vienna's missing presence somehow written into every conversation, every step.

Zander was walking over one of the many small footbridges that led over the streams criss-crossing the outskirts of campus. It was one of the features, Vienna had told him, that had drawn her to Lakewood University in the first place.

"It's like, we're still so connected to nature," she had told him as they walked hand in hand in this very spot. "Listen."

He had. The subtle trickling sound of water running over rocks that he probably wouldn't have even noticed on his own. "It's so relaxing, right?"

Now the sound made Zander's chest seize up.

Why did it have to be her? She was the one who'd always been so full of life, shining, lighting up the world around her…..it should have been me.

The thought came fast, rough. It should have. It should have. It wasn't just sad or frightening or unsettling, it was existentially wrong that her presence could just be snuffed out like this. Zander had always looked at her like she was sunshine, making everything around her brighter and better….and what did he add to the world, exactly? Good grades? Some basketball wins? Meaningless.

Let me take her spot. Let me take her spot. Zander wasn't quite sure who he was talking to in his head. He just let the thought repeat itself in rhythm with his footsteps, until a voice suddenly broke through.

"Zander!"

Zander snapped out of his spiral to search for who had called his name. It was Abigail, Vienna's roommate, about to walk into their dorm. No, not Vienna's dorm. Just Abigail's. Her hair was a light blonde and her skin was tanned, like she'd spent the summer at the beach. There was a lavender ribbon pinned to her chest. She had clearly been laughing with the other girl she'd been walking with, another friend of Vienna's — Marissa or Melissa or Melanie or something — right before noticing him. The image looked….wrong. Like something copy and pasted over where Vienna should be.

"Hey! I'm so glad to finally run into you!" Abigail skipped up to him and threw her arms around him.

"Yeah, you too." And he really was. Abi, of all people, could understand the mess of feelings in his brain.

"I'll go ahead and warm up dinner," the other girl said, clearly wanting to give them space.

"Thanks, Mel." He still didn't know if it was Melissa or Melanie. "Love ya, appreciate ya."

The feeling of wrongness entrenched itself deeper. Hadn't he heard Abigail use that phrase with Vienna, multiple times?

"So." Abigail turned back to him, face a bit more serious. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh. You know," Zander said awkwardly. His initial reaction had been, Not as well as you, apparently. "It's….not been easy. Obviously."

"Me neither." She gave a tight-lipped smile that had absolutely none of her standard joy in it. They made small talk for a minute — classes, schedules, dorms — until Abi circled around back to the topic on both of their minds.

"You should come to the prayers. They're nice."

The prayers. Like she was a nun all of a sudden. The campus chapel had been offering frequent time and space for students to gather to pray for Vienna. Like that was going to do anything. Zander had avoided them like the plague, even though he knew in the back of his mind that Vienna would have liked it.

"Yeah, well. God and I aren't really on speaking terms lately."

He meant for it to land as a joke, but she just looked sad for him. Great.

"Well….I hope you find something. To help. Like, to process it or get it off your mind or whatever….we've got to keep living, you know?"

The sentence hit like a knife to the back. "What?"

"I mean it. Don't get me wrong, Z. This whole thing makes me crazy. But if we're just scared and sad forever, what does that do for her?"

Zander's heart was thudding in his ears. "So you're just moving on, I guess." He gestured to the dorm. "Explains the new best friend."

Abigail looked at him like he'd slapped her. "New best — you know Melanie, she was friends with Vee too!"

Was.

She must have seen the anger written on his face, because a defensive wall seemed to drop around her. "Don't act like you know how I feel. You didn't even reach out to me all summer. I was the last one to ever see her, Zander. You don't think that keeps me up at night?"

"Looks like you've been living pretty well."

Abi's voice dropped to a low, furious hiss. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Zander barked a humorless laugh, a loud, harsh sound that made a couple heads turn their way. He ignored them. "I have no idea? Really?"

"You're not the only one who loved her!" Her voice rose now to meet his.

"Stop using the fucking past tense!" Zander snapped, pulse racing. "God, you're fucking burying her before we even know what happened!"

For a moment, he thought she was going to scream at him. But she took a steadying breath, infuriatingly calm, and said, "You're not getting what I'm saying."

"No, clearly I'm not. It's hard for me to 'get' how someone could call someone their best friend and then just….move on the moment they're out of sight."

Abigail's face flushed red and tears sprang to her eyes. "You are such an asshole!" She punctuated the sentence with a stomp of her foot before turning on her heel and rushing into her dorm.

Zander felt like he'd just been a car wreck. What had just happened? How did that go so wrong? Why the fuck had she been talking like that?

He could feel the eyes on him. Was probably a real nice look, arguing with a girl until she cried. Like people weren't already looking at him weirdly enough. He turned away too, stalking off, not entirely sure where until he inexplicably ended up in a spot he'd found himself before after a situation like this.

The FBI had made their home base in an office building right next to campus. This was one of the things outlined in the safety brochures they'd gotten, along with tip line numbers and suicide hotlines. Zander couldn't articulate exactly why he'd gone here instead of home. Maybe he wanted to be somewhere where he was treated neither like glass or like a bomb about to explode.

Agent Herring was the first face he recognized. She frowned and looked him over. "Zander?"

"Is Agent Miller here?"

"He is. Why? Do you need something?"

"I - I just —" Zander cut himself off and shook his head. This was stupid. They had work to do. He hovered anxiously for a moment and was about to turn around and walk out when —

"Hey, Zander."

Miller was leaning on the doorframe of what must be his office. His face, thank God, was neither alarmed nor concerned. "What's up?"

"I just. Thought maybe I could help you with something." When Miller didn't answer right away, Zander added a tight, "Anything."

After a pause, Miller nodded him into the room. It did indeed seem to be his office — and kind of a wreck, Zander couldn't help but notice, with piles of shit everywhere, but maybe there was a method to the madness — and Zander sank into one of the chairs sitting opposite of his desk.

"I could actually use your help, so this is good timing." Zander looked at him skeptically, but he didn't seem to be bullshitting him. "I was hoping to have a student to label this."

Miller handed Zander a map of Lakewood and the surrounding neighborhoods.

"I know the names of places, of course, but I want to try and see it from a student's perspective. Where people might go when, where parties or get-togethers happen the most, that kind of thing. Are you able to help with that?"

"Yeah," Zander said immediately. "Yes."

The relief of having something to focus on was almost physical. As Zander studied and labeled the map, his shoulders loosened. His throat stopped aching. His heartbeat slowed. The whole time, Miller sat at the desk across from him, quietly doing his own work. There was soft music coming from somewhere, the rhythmic tick of the clock. By the time he was done, Zander felt like he was finally on the ground again.

"Let me see." Miller held out a hand across his desk, and Zander gave the map to him. He looked it over with enough seriousness that Zander knew this was something he actually intended to use, and he felt the strangest swell of pride in his chest for actually having done something.

Miller asked him a couple questions about the map, things he wanted clarified or expanded upon, and then Zander could tell it was probably time to wrap up. He stood and slung a backpack over one shoulder, feeling infinitely calmer than he had when he'd entered the room. Weird when all he did was scribble on a piece of paper, essentially.

"Would it be okay if I come back again?"

Jesus. He hadn't even meant to say it, it just come out, like a little kid asking permission for something.

The look that Miller gave Zander the distinct feeling that he was being examined with X-ray vision. For a moment he was sure that the agent would tell him, no, get a life, I see straight through to the scared little asshole that you are — but then Miller just gave a steady nod and said, "Absolutely."

That night, after staring at his phone for nearly ten minutes, Zander finally sent Abigail a single humiliating text.

Sorry.

She hearted the message.

Somehow, that felt worse than if she'd ignored it.

It was a couple days after their argument that Zander saw Abi walking on campus again. He stiffened, his throat locked, and he looked straight ahead, well prepared to ignore her completely. It was a Wright classic, tried and true, to act like a conflict had never happened at all.

But when Abigail spotted him, she made a beeline for him.

Zander vaguely wondered if she was about to slap him in the face, but instead, Abi pulled something out of her bag and pressed it into his hand. He looked down. It was a small bottle with a spray top, filled with a champagne-colored liquid. Zander recognized it immediately.

It was Vienna's perfume.

He looked up at Abi, speechless.

"I took it from our room before her parents packed everything up," she said, as if that explained it all. "And you're still an asshole."

Vienna burst awake with a violent jerk and gasp, half-expecting all her bones to be crushed. But no. She was still here. She was in bed, the same sheets and blanket as the last few months. The lights were dim. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the mini fridge in the kitchenette. And she was thankfully, blessedly alone.

She sat herself up, forcing herself to try and steady her breathing. Yes. Still here. It was getting less and less disorienting to wake up in this windowless room, and she hated that. There were a lot of things she was becoming familiar with now that she hated.

Alec's voice. In her dream, in her subconscious, and she'd recognized it immediately. She didn't want him there. Didn't want him that close. But what choice did she have? Knowing him, reading him, interpreting him….. it was keeping her alive.

Like knowing the fact that were different versions of him. None of them were exactly better or worse than the others, not really. Just….different.

There were his moods. Happy Alec, excited Alec, angry Alec, bitter Alec. He didn't show much beyond that. Any crack in him closed almost instantly, like even he couldn’t stand to feel it. It was just as quickly replaced with resentment or rage, as if Vienna had somehow tricked him into showing vulnerability. Long gone were the days of him getting weepy while drunk. He was….happier now. More self-assured. More fulfilled.

Then there was his…. preferences. They sometimes lined up with his moods, but not always. While the overarching theme, always, was that Vienna belonged to him, his use for her varied. Many days she was a sex doll, pure and simple. Other times a stress toy. Or a release valve. Or a punching bag. Or a flesh and blood source of validation, especially the more she learned to sidestep his moods.

What remained a mystery was his public face. How he somehow managed to go upstairs into the world and move through it as if he were the same as everyone else. She knew by now that he worked in house repairs and renovations, and the idea that he was in strangers' homes each day baffled and horrified her in equal measure. The idea of Alec standing in someone’s kitchen, making polite conversation, fixing a cabinet hinge — while his mind replayed the same memories hers did —

The sound of her screaming, echoing off concrete. Her body straining against restraints. The buzz of the toy between her —

She had to bury her head into her hands and scream to get it out of her head. Meanwhile, he would probably smile recalling it.

It seemed impossible that it had been over three months. It felt like she'd lived a thousand different lives in that time, constantly assessing and adjusting and adapting around him. Living through things she couldn't have dreamt up in her wildest nightmares.

She'd kept careful track of the date. She knew what was coming. And maybe…. maybe. Maybe it felt like a lot to him too. Maybe she'd performed well enough. Maybe his appetite was finally sated. Maybe.

Alec came in like clockwork the next evening. Door banging open not long after 8 o'clock, shirt already lifted half over his head, pants undone, hands dragging her to the mattress.

"Finally the weekend." His breath was hot against her neck, his hands already tugging her shirt up. "I've been starving for this."

Despite the sick deja vu, something in Vienna still recoiled, still stubbornly screamed to her how wrong this was. Her hands shot out to put any modicum of distance between them, to cover herself, but all it earned her was her wrists being swiftly restrained above her head.

"You're not fucking stopping me," he said in a low voice. "You don't get to hide this from me."

And it began.

The world quickly became a blur of sensation; mouth, fingers, worse, until her body didn't feel like it belonged to her at all. Alec shifted her body like a doll, propping her on her side, folding her knees up, stretching her out. Every new position made her stomach turn with humiliation, made fresh tears spring hot and sharp. He laughed with every squirm, every choked plea.

Eventually, the edges of her vision started to fade, and Vienna tried to give into it — yes, please, let me leave, let me black out, please — and then he moaned. The sound was torn deep from in his throat, guttural and rasping, and it ripped her back to reality more harshly than his hands ever could. Because it wasn't calculated, wasn't designed to disturb or humiliate. It was just pure desire, raw and unrefined, even as she shook with fear — maybe because of her fear.

Every nerve in her body screamed in alarm, not just because of what he was doing, but the knowledge of how much he loved it. He truly, genuinely just… wanted her. Or her body, at least. Vienna felt a wave of nausea so strong that for horrifying moment she thought she might actually vomit. She forced it down and tried to let her mind float again.

But the moment had passed. And now she was stuck here.

It was a while later when he finally finished for good. Vienna didn't bother to check how long. Every second was one she could never take back.

As soon as Alec shifted away from her, Vienna curled on her side, trying to catch her breath. Her arms hugged her body and she whispered nonsense to herself — you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay — but the words felt hollow, foreign. Her body trembled with aftershocks of panic, every muscle aching from holding tension too long. She barely caught Alec's words as he walked out the door — shower before I get back — but gave an automatic, jerky nod and a whimpered, "Okay." Verbal responses, she had learned, were important to him.

And she obeyed. It was sick, but part of her was grateful that he cared so much about her being clean. At least she got to scrub him off of her skin as often as she wanted. Not that it seemed to ever really get her clean. She didn't know if anything ever would.

The vagueness of "before I get back" gave her a little hope that he'd be awhile, but it was barely thirty minutes before the beep of the door unlocking sounded through the room again. His trip upstairs had been to smoke a nighttime joint — she could tell from the sickly sweet scent that clung to him, the overly affectionate way he'd nuzzled into her hair and neck like she was something he owned, how he rolled over and fell asleep without too much tossing and turning.

He was sleeping better these days. Lying in bed next to her, snoring, face slack and practically serene.

You did that. You made him that happy.

She turned the other way and fell into uneasy sleep, trying to imagine she was anywhere else.

By the time Monday rolled around, Vienna's mind felt fractured. Her body ached and throbbed all over. As usual, Alec had made the most of his weekend. As usual, Vienna spent most of Monday trying to recover.

The biggest concern was how much her backside still stung, a consequence of this week's "challenge." The challenge had been to withstand at least twenty blows with the wooden paddle without jerking away. She'd failed, and that meant no new book this week. The sting of disappointment, of the small piece of hope snatched away, somehow hurt more than the bruises that covered the back of her hips and thighs. He hadn't stopped after twenty, of course. He'd kept going until she felt numb, until sitting anywhere besides twisted on her side on the bed was completely out of the question.

The rest was more familiar, things she was becoming accustomed to managing. The soreness around her wrists and ankles, the small but sharp ever-present pain between her thighs. Vienna tried to soothe the pain the best she could, rehydrate and feed herself, rearrange the space and clean the sheets so it felt even slightly like hers again.

She knew that something had happened this morning before he left for work — the ache in her jaw and the cracked corners of her lips said as much — but couldn't quite remember it in full. Nearly all she remembered, in fact, was walking among flowers that soared tall as redwood trees. Another lucky instance in which she was able to leave her body. Vienna sent her brain a quiet thank you before she closed her eyes to run the faces of her loved ones through her mind again. A moment of stolen peace.

Then there were nights like tonight. When Alec wasn't touching her, wasn't tormenting her, was just…. there.

It wasn't companionship. Wasn't friendliness. In some small way, she had at first hoped it was loneliness — a vulnerability, a string she could tug on and manipulate if she had to. But that wasn't it either. If she had to guess, Vienna would have said it was more like validation. Living amongst the spoils of his victory, the proof that here, he was all powerful.

Vienna sat on the bed, watching Alec carefully out of the corner of her eye as he sat at the table and ate. He had taken to spending time in the evening in the basement with Vienna even when he wasn't abusing her, eating dinner or watching TV. Vienna hated every second of his presence — but at the same time, she dreaded the moments he left, when silence pressed in like a coffin and she felt so crushingly alone she thought she might go mad.

Tonight, she had something on her mind. Something she had been holding onto like a fragile ember of hope for days. As the show on TV flickered into a commercial break, she swallowed hard and forced herself to speak.

"Do....do you know what tomorrow is?"

Alec glanced carelessly at her, still chewing. "Tomorrow? I have no idea."

"It's my first day of classes. For my junior year."

Alec raised his eyebrows, a smile slowly uncurling on his face.

"Oh, is that so?"

Vienna’s throat tightened. Her voice sounded too small, even to her own ears. “Yeah. And… I really think I should be there. This is the year we really get ready for post-grad. I need to start my student teaching. And — and you’ve had all summer with me. You’ve done everything you wanted to do. I need to go to school.”

Even as she said it, the words sounded pitiful, like a child bargaining for an impossible wish. She dared to look over at Alec, who looked torn between amusement and annoyance.

He turned toward her fully now, wry bemusement glinting in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"I-if I go back to school after this, I can catch up —"

"Jesus Christ." Alec barked a sharp laugh that made her flinch. "Shut up."

Vienna immediately stopped talking and pressed her lips together, her heart sinking.

"Go back to school?" Alec shook his head, grinning as though she had told the funniest joke. "What the hell gave you the idea you're ever leaving here, little girl?"

Alec looked at her expectantly, but she knew better than to reply.

"I don't know how to make it clearer to you, get it through your puny little brain — you're never getting out of here. Never. This is your life now. You wanna go back to school and learn some more? Huh? All you need to know now, slut, is how to please me. And I have to say," he smirked, "you've gotten pretty good at that."

Vienna glared at the floor, her pulse racing with shame and fury. She could already feel his words taking root in her head despite herself. Keep your balance.

"As for 'you've done everything you wanted' — oh, baby, not even close." He leaned back in his chair, stretching like he had all the time in the world. "We still have plenty more to do together. And besides...at the end of the day, what I want, is to have you here forever. To keep you, do whatever I want to you."

His voice dropped, coaxing, commanding "Now look at me. Look at me."

Vienna had been staring resolutely at the floor and forced her gaze upwards, cursing herself for bringing this up in the first place. Useless. Pointless. Stupid. Just another avenue for him to gloat.

"Good. Listen. I am never letting you go. There is no ‘after this.’ You're never going back to college, not seeing your little friends, you're never seeing mommy and daddy again — this is it. No one's coming to save you. You understand?"

“No — you’re wrong.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, sharp and desperate, like a candle flickering back to life after a breeze.

The air between them shifted instantly. A darkness passed over Alec’s face, and he raised his eyebrows with no trace of amusement in his features now.

“I’m wrong? Tell me, bitch, what exactly am I wrong about?”

“I - I - I don’t know,” Vienna stammered. The room suddenly felt smaller, hotter. “I didn’t mean it. I just — never mind.”

“No, I heard you loud and clear,” Alec said coldly, standing up from the table. “You said I’m wrong about you getting out of here. You think someone is going to save you from this. That’s what you meant, right?”

He walked over to the bed so he was towering over her. Vienna backed away from him until she hit the wall, shaking her head nervously.

“Or maybe you meant you’re going to try to escape.”

“N-no, I didn’t — I’m s-sorry —“

Her plea broke into a scream as Alec seized her ankles and yanked her forward. Her body hit the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling helplessly. He bent over her, his face inches from hers.

“Listen to me, bitch. You are here to stay. Not for a couple months, not for a couple years — forever. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve used you all up, you’re still not leaving. Not alive, anyway.”

He grabbed her chin roughly, looking right at her as her eyes filled with tears. “So let me say this one more time, so you really understand: this is your life now. This house — this basement, this room — is your world, and I am your god.”

The words struck her like blows, and something inside her buckled.

He glared at her threateningly for another moment, and then said, “Maybe I need to fuck that into you, so you really remember.”

“No no no,” Vienna gasped, shaking her head. “No, please, I’m sorry, I know!”

“Know what? Say it.”

“I - I’m not going to escape! I promise!”

Panic rose in her as Alec pulled her shorts down, but she didn’t dare fight him.

“And what else?”

“I —“ Her brain felt scrambled with fear as he worked on his own clothes, the dreaded sound of him unzipping his pants.

“And no one is coming! Please, please — WAIT!”

Alec had penetrated her without hesitation, without any preparation. It hurt, burned even more than usual as he forced himself inside her clenched walls.

“OW — ow, please —"

“You forgot something, bitch,” Alec grunted, pinning her hips to the bed as he began to thrust. Vienna was writhing, howling in pain, and he grabbed her face again to force her to focus on him.

“I am your god. Let me hear you say it.”

But she could barely breathe, and his words were so vile Vienna didn’t think she would say them even if she could. Alec saw the defiance mingling with the pain in her expression, and he snarled and began to move even more violently, hips slapping against her in a brutal rhythm. She was screaming now, her hands clutching at his shirt in a combination of wanting to fight him and desperately needing something to hold onto.

“I - am - your - god,” Alec grunted, punctuating each word with a savage thrust. It felt like he was punching the air out of her, ripping her in two. “Look at that — you're bleeding, slut. I’m making you bleed. How long do you think you can keep it up? Fucking say it!”

He changed his method then, pressing himself so deeply inside her that her vision swam from the pain. Vienna's resolve crumbled.

“You’re - you’re my god!” She said breathlessly. “Please, stop, you’re hurting me —“

“Louder!”

“You’re my god!” Vienna wailed.

“That’s fucking right, I am,” Alec growled, and after a few more hellish seconds he began to slowly withdraw. “And what do you do for gods, Vienna, hm?”

“I - I don’t know!” Vienna sobbed. All that seemed to exist was the agony coursing between their bodies, the degradation that cut so deep she wasn't even sure she was human anymore.

“Hm.” Alec forced himself so deeply inside her again that she screamed anew. He dug his fingernails into her hips as he restarted his brutal pace. “You fucking pray to them. Pray that I stop, bitch.”

“Please!” Vienna cried immediately, desperation fair outpacing her pride. “Please stop, please! I’M SORRY!”

“Oh, you repenting, too?” Alec laughed and panted as his hips slammed against Vienna’s. “Good girl. Which god are you praying to?”

“You!” Vienna sobbed. “I’m begging YOU! Please — I — h-have mercy, it’s killing me —“

Alec laughed again, loving her choice of words. “Say my name, baby, pray to me nice, and maybe I’ll stop.”

“Alec!”

One last desperate shriek was all it took to send him over the edge. His breath stuttered but he just as quickly turned it into a growl, rageful eyes piercing into her tear-filled ones until finally, blessedly, he stepped away.

For a moment, there was no sound but the noise of Vienna's ragged sobs and Alec's uneven breathing. Her thoughts felt jumbled, broken, like the last several minutes of sudden violence had shattered every piece of her brain into shards. How — how could that innocent topic, the first day of school, led to this? She knew she was bleeding. She would have known even if he hadn't told her. Everything in her felt utterly destroyed.

His voice floated above everything.

"What you crying about? Hm? It all sinking in?"

"I - I ju - I just - I just want to go home!" Vienna sobbed.

His fist hit her with such force that the world went white for a moment. Vienna felt like he'd slammed a brick against her face. Warm blood was already dribbling down from her nose. Alec grabbed her by the chin, yanking her back up towards him. What followed was less a kiss and more a continuation of the violence, his mouth smashed against hers, tongue flicking out to lick at the blood dripping onto her lips, smearing it between them. Vienna felt dizzy, too shocked to even cry out.

He leaned back, but only just enough to speak, grip still tight on her jaw.

"You," Alec breathed, "are not going anywhere."

Then he shoved her back into the mattress, letting her broken body flop back down. A strange mix of disdain and pride mingled in his expression as he looked over her bloodied, shaking form. "Now go clean yourself up. You look disgusting."

And then he was gone.

Vienna's ears rang in the sudden silence of the room. Her body felt like it had been wrung out and left hollow, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The lock clicked behind him — a sound that usually filled her with despair but tonight landed like a strange, merciful finality. At least he was gone. At least for now. The quiet, analytical part of her mind snapped on as she tried to take stock of what had just happened. There was a painful throbbing in her nose and cheek, but the blood seemed to have slowed or even stopped. Her legs were shaking, and the pain there was sharp and abrupt. The sheets beneath her back still smelled like detergent from the recent wash despite being stained with her blood.

Punishment. Torture. Not just because of what she'd done, but what she dared to believe. Not like the other night, when Alec had been driven by pure desire, or over the weekend where a smug amusement had fueled him. The contrasts were dizzying. She didn't know how her body was made to survive both extremes, just that the message was getting wound tighter and tighter into her being: You are mine to use as I please. Your will could not matter less. You are what I make you.

By the time Vienna had half-heartedly cleaned and cared for herself, her eyes stung, but she had no more tears left as she crawled back into bed.

She hated herself for speaking. For pushing. For reminding him she once had a life outside these walls. The punishment was her fault. It always was. That’s what he wanted her to believe — and sometimes she almost did.

Her chest tightened as his words replayed in her head like a curse: This is your world. I am your god.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to hear them, not to let them etch into her mind. But they already had.

Her heart thudded painfully as the other half of their exchange clawed its way forward — her own slip. No — you’re wrong.

God, why had she said that? Why couldn’t she have just kept quiet? The moment had burst out of her like a flame, hot and reckless, and for a second — just a second —she had felt it. The truth of it.

And that was what terrified her most.

Because beneath the fear and the shame and the bone-deep exhaustion, a thought still flickered in the shadows of her mind: He is wrong. Someone will come. They have to.

Vienna clutched the blanket tighter around her trembling body, curling smaller and smaller as if she could disappear into the mattress. Tonight had made one thing clear: she couldn’t let him see that spark again — not yet. Not until the moment came when she could make it real.

Until then, she would survive. Even if surviving meant swallowing her words, bowing her head, pretending to believe him. Even if it meant taking the pain, crying when he wanted, begging at just the right pitch. Doing whatever it took to placate him from one moment to the next. Performing.