78
CORA
Jorden slams the fridge door closed with a groan. “What did I tell you? Grocery deadzone. There is nothing to eat here. It’s a tragedy.”
“There’s toast.” I had to pick a tiny bit of mold off of the bread, but I’ve had worse. Besides, I forced myself on Jorden without asking. I’m not going to complain about the accommodations now.
“We are growing girls. Toast alone will not satisfy.”
I snort. “Well, I’m fine with toast.”
“That’s only because you never want to go to coffee shops with me. A five-dollar latte will not bankrupt you, Cora. You need to learn to enjoy the finer things in life. Like pastry. And croissants. Maybe a muffin.”
I roll my eyes. “Just call Yasha and ask him to take you to a coffee shop.”
She sighs. “Well, I would do that, but he told me yesterday that I’m ‘taking too many risks’ going out every day. But that’s ridiculous, because I’ve basically been a prisoner here. All I’ve been doing is going to the bodega on the corner for a sandwich at lunch, visiting the coffee shop a few blocks over for my afternoon caffeine hit, and then hitting the gym every evening. Oh, and the taco shop across from the bubble tea stand. Oh, and—”
“He might have a point,” I laugh.
She grumbles something I don’t hear and drops two slices of bread into the toaster. “Well, now that you’re here, I’m sure the walls are going to close in a little more. Adios, hot sandwiches. Adios, hot guy squatting in the gray sweatpants.”
She’s joking, but guilt washes over me. I chew on my lower lip. “I’m sorry…”
Jorden whips around. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. You being here means I won’t need to go scrounging around for human connection. I’ll be happier in my four-hundred square foot apartment than I ever could be out in the big, wide world.”
“Very convincing,” I drawl. “I know I’m imposing. And really, if you need me to stay somewhere else, I can—”
“Girl.” Jorden points two fingers at her eyes and then jabs them in my direction. “Listen to me: I. Want. You. Here. Okay? Comprende?”
I still don’t fully believe her, but there is no point arguing about it. So I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay, good.” She leans back against the cabinet. “Besides, how else are we going to plan our stunning new life if we aren’t together?”
“Good point. Do you have ideas?”
I haven’t been able to think about much of anything beyond Ivan and Katerina. Thinking about my future feels like staring out an opaque window. I can’t even make out blurry shapes on the other side.
I don’t want Francia to be burdened with my problems, but I hope she’s able to find out something about Katerina. Something that helps give me a peek into what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
Jorden doesn’t share in my uncertainty.
“I’m thinking somewhere cold,” she muses. “My aunt used to live in Montana. I never went, but she sent pictures and they were pretty.”
I muster up a half-hearted grin. “Is this the part where you start waxing poetic about the many upsides of dating a lumberjack?”
She laughs. “I wasn’t thinking that, but you won’t catch me protesting. Flannel, manly forearms, swinging axes, building us, like, a log cabin in the middle of a pasture… Okay, I’m sold. Where do we sign up?”
Suddenly, Jorden’s front door smashes open.
It happens so fast that I can’t even react. My heart lurches and I spin around, but my fight or flight instinct is frozen solid. I just stare as Yasha crashes inside, eyes wide and frantic.
“Are you okay?” He’s breathless, his chest heaving.
I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always joking around, lighthearted, so seeing him panicked sends a bolt of fear through me.
“Of course we’re fine.” Jorden scoffs. “What happened to knocking before you—”
“Why aren’t you two answering your phones?” he growls. Yasha stomps into the room and spins in a circle, searching. “Where are they? Why haven’t you responded?”
Jorden lifts her chin. “I’m on a digital detox.”
“You weren’t on one last night.”
Jorden flushes. I have a feeling I don’t want to know what they were texting about last night. Not if I want to look at either of them directly in the eyes again.
He waves her away before she can respond and turns to me. “What about you? Have you heard anything? Where is your phone?”
“I haven’t looked at it this morning.” I cross to the couch and dig between the cushions until I find my phone. It’s vibrating. The alarm I set last night has been going off for the last thirty minutes, but Jorden’s couch absorbs everything, including both sound and my will to live.
I silence the alarm and check my notifications. “I have a bunch of missed messages from you.”
“Anyone else?”
I double-check and shake my head.
“Shit.” Yasha pulls out his own phone and fires off a text. He drags a hand through his hair and curses again under his breath.
Jorden steps closer, a hand reached towards him before she thinks better of it. “What is going on, Yasha?”
“I haven’t been able to get in touch with security at the building where Francia is staying. No one has responded all morning. I also couldn’t get in touch with you all, and I thought the worst. I got here as fast as I could, but still no word from Francia’s building.”
I inhale, trying to fill my lungs with air before they can drown in panic. “I talked to her last night.”
Jorden whirls on me. “You did?”
“I called her. I couldn’t sleep, so we just talked. Everything seemed fine.”
“But that was last night?” he presses.
“Yeah. Like… seven hours ago.” Might as well be a lifetime. Anything could have happened to her between now and then. “Have you sent anyone over yet?”
“I don’t know what I’m sending them into. I’m not going to send them in blind.”
“Cameras!” Jorden suggests. “Look at the cameras and—”
“Down. They haven’t been working since midnight. The guards on duty should have informed me, but they’re MIA.” He nods to me. “Call her.”
I type in Francia’s name and press my phone to my ear. She picked up immediately last night. It was late, but it was almost like she was waiting for my call. I pray for that to happen again.
But the line rings… and rings… and rings.
“She isn’t answering.” My voice cracks. “We can go. I’ll go in blind; I don’t care. If something is wrong, then—”
“Then sending you in will only make it worse. Jorden, you try to call her.”
“If she isn’t answering for Cora, she won’t answer for me.” But Jorden still dials her number and waits.
She glances over at me as it rings and chews on her lower lip. Finally, she shakes her head and hangs up.
“This is my fault.” My legs practically give out as I drop into a kitchen chair. “Francia was going to look into Katerina’s disappearance. She told me she’d ask around. What if she asked the wrong person? Maybe they went after her and… Shit. Shit. Shit! This is all my fault.”
Yasha lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes once. “You two stay here. There are still guards watching you. I’m going to go check things out.”
“You can’t! You said it wasn’t safe,” Jorden protests.
At the same time, I stand up. “I’m coming with you.”
He looks between us, unsure which to respond to first. He starts with Jorden. “If the men are in trouble, it’s my fault. I have to get them out.”
Jorden’s face creases with worry, but she stays uncharacteristically quiet.
Yasha turns to me, finger raised in a point. “And there’s no way in hell you’re coming with me.”
“I can’t just sit here while my friend is in trouble!”
If he is walking into trouble, someone should be by his side. Plus, whoever has Francia is probably after me. If I have to hand myself over to protect the two of them, then I will.
“Taking you with me is a death sentence,” Yasha says. “Even if I survived, Ivan would kill me.”
“He doesn’t care.”
Yasha snorts. He doesn’t buy it and, truthfully, neither do I. “Stay here. Both of you. I’ll call with updates.”
Then another horrifying thought occurs to me. “Does Ivan know about this? Is he going with you?”
Guilt clouds Yasha’s expression. “I’ll tell Ivan when he needs to know. This is my failure to fix.”
With that, he leaves.
In the silence, Jorden’s toast pops out of the toaster. The sudden noise makes us both jolt. Then Jorden plummets down into the chair next to me. “Fuck.”
“This is all my fault,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have used her name at the party. I shouldn’t have called her last night. She said she wanted to come with us wherever we decide to go, and now, she might be…”
“She’s going to be fine.” Jorden pats my hand. Her own fingers are icy cold. “Francia is one tough bitch. She’ll be okay.”
I try to nod along in agreement, but my hand shifts towards my phone.
If I want Francia to be okay—if I really want to make sure I do everything I possibly can to save her—then I know what I need to do. Who I need to call.
I just have to sift through a whole lot of pride to pick up the phone and do it.
But if there is any way I can help, I have to try.
There isn’t another choice.