Zane didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment he was sitting on the edge of his bed—still in yesterday's clothes, shoes half-undone, phone clamped in his hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the world—and the next, icy morning light crashed through the blinds and spilled across the floorboards. His neck ached from the angle he'd been slumped in, a raw, throbbing line of pain that felt like punishment for the hours he'd spent hunched forward. His spine protested when he straightened, stiff and tight from holding too much tension for too long.
He blinked once. Twice. He didn't know what time it was or how long he had been unconscious. His breath stuttered in his chest as a cold, nauseating awareness crept up his spine.
For a split second, he forgot why he felt like he'd been gutted.
And then everything slammed back into him with brutal clarity.
Willow wasn't at her apartment.
Her door had been locked.
Her windows dark.
