Nate staggered back from the hospital entrance, the blurry photo burning into his mind. Chloe, his Chloe, tied up, unconscious, somewhere he couldn't reach.
"Think, damn it!" he muttered, raking his hands through his hair.
The message repeated in his mind like a drumbeat.
> Stay away from the storehouse. Stay away from the truth.
But what storehouse? What truth?
And why her?
Fueled by desperation, he tore through the hospital's corridors, demanding access to the security footage. But the grainy videos yielded nothing, only blank static during the minutes she vanished. No plates, no faces. A clean sweep. Professional.
By noon, Nate was driving through every warehouse district he knew, hunting down every storehouse within a twenty-mile radius.
Abandoned ones. Active ones. He broke into more than one, heedless of the alarms and security calls.
Each time he found nothing, only dust, rot, and empty silence.
At sunset, he sat behind the wheel of his car on a deserted road, staring blindly ahead.
The sky bled into deep purples and bruised blues, the world slowly folding into darkness.
And Chloe was still gone.
Nate clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. His chest ached with a growing emptiness he couldn't name.
"Where are you, baby? Why can't I find you?"
He punched the dashboard so hard that the plastic cracked. Blood welled up from his knuckles, but he didn't feel it.
He thought about calling the police, but what could he tell them?
That someone had kidnapped his fiancée and left him cryptic threats?
That the cameras had conveniently gone out?
That the hospital had no record of the woman who "replaced" the nurse?
They would ask questions he couldn't answer.
They would waste time he didn't have.
No.
This was personal.
This was war.
---
Three Days Later
Nate hadn't slept.
He haunted the streets like a ghost, chasing every lead, every whisper.
He bribed, threatened, begged.
The old Willow Creek Park, the riverside docks, the deserted industrial lots—all became part of his growing map of failure.
Everywhere he went, the answer was the same: nothing.
No Chloe.
Every night he came home alone, collapsing on the couch with the ring still in his pocket, the same ring he had placed so lovingly on her finger days ago.
Now it was just a cold, silent thing.
Mocking him.
He tried texting her, even though he knew she couldn't answer.
> Nate: "I'm looking for you. Please hold on."
> Nate: "I love you."
No reply.
His world, once so bright with her laughter, now rang hollow.
The spaces she used to fill with her presence were loud with silence.
Every corner of the house hurt.
The sweater she had forgotten on his couch.
The toothbrush still next to his in the bathroom.
The lilac hair clip sitting by the kitchen sink.
Each item was a wound.
Each memory was a knife.
*******
Mary's Mansion
Meanwhile, across town, Mary Armstrong sat in her garden, watching the fish swim in the dark pond, sipping tea as if nothing had happened.
Damian stood nearby, rigid, silent.
"You look tense," Mary said lightly.
He didn't answer.
"Don't worry," she continued. "Chloe won't trouble us for a while. And if Nate is smart...he'll move on."
Damian shifted uncomfortably.
He knew Nate would never move on.
Nate would tear the heavens down before letting Chloe slip away forever.
But Mary didn't care.
To her, Chloe was a weed that needed to be pulled from her perfect garden.
And if it cost some blood...so be it.
******
Back to Nate
On the fourth night, it rained.
Hard, merciless rain that blurred the city into smears of light.
Nate drove aimlessly, windshield wipers fighting a losing battle.
He ended up back at Willow Creek Park—the place where he had proposed.
The fairy lights were long gone.
Only wet stone and broken branches remained.
He parked and stumbled toward the old stone bridge, his shoes soaking through.
He stood there, letting the rain pound against him, soaking him to the bone.
His heart felt like it was crumbling, piece by piece.
He sank down to his knees, the gravel digging into his jeans.
And for the first time since Chloe disappeared….
He wept.
Raw, broken sobs tore from his chest, ripped from somewhere deep inside.
He clutched the empty ring box in one hand, pressing it against his heart like it could somehow stitch the hole closed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the storm. "I should've protected you. I should've…"
The words drowned in the rain.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, minutes, hours.
But when he finally stood, he was not the same man who had knelt.
Something inside him had shattered, and hardened.
He would find her.
Even if it killed him.
Even if he had to raze the entire city to the ground.
******
Somewhere Unknown
Chloe stirred faintly in the darkness.
Chains clinked softly as she tried to move.
Her head pounded, her wrists ached, but somewhere inside her, a small flame flickered.
She was still alive.
She had to hold on.
For Nate.
For their future.
Even if no one knew where she was.
Even if no one came today, or tomorrow.
Even if she was alone.
"Hold on, Chloe. He's looking for you."
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
In the pitch-black void, she whispered to herself:
"I love you, Nate.
Please don't forget me."