Chapter 14 · Marked

The crib was empty.

Smoke hung flat across the ceiling, gray and acrid, burning the back of my throat. The storm window slammed against the frame over and over like it wanted through the glass. Cold rain blew in sideways, hitting my cheek before it hit the floor.

"Willa."

Owen said her name low. It came out cracked, shredded at the edges.

He was down on one knee in the splintered doorway, his palm clamped hard against his collarbone. Blood welled between his fingers, hot and steady. The pressurized canister had blasted the hall door clean off its hinges, and he’d thrown his entire body between the metal blast and me.

"Don't move," I snapped.

"I'm fine—"

"Don't move, and don't shout." I locked my hands on my knees, forcing my eyes off him and onto the room.

Triage. Look at the whole deck once. Then choose.

"She didn't go out the window," I said. "Screen's still latched."

His breath tore out of his chest. "Then where is she?"

Rain had washed the pine floor past the rag rug. No muddy tracks. Just wet wood, except where the rain mixed with dripping red and pooled.

I dropped into a crouch.