66. Fragments of Control

CHAPTER 66

Fragments of Control

WREN

My phone buzzes for the hundredth time this morning. Monty’s name flashes on the screen, followed by another text.

Monty: Where the hell are you? Third day skipping?

I don’t answer. My focus stays on the desk, where the two black roses and the ruined ballet shoes sit, preserved between sheets of glass like evidence from a crime scene. The roses’ edges are brittle, their color fading, curling, their scent long gone. The shoes, worn and torn, look as though they’ve danced through fire.

They’re all I have left of her.

The hollowness inside me spreads deeper every time I look at them. They’re pieces of her. A message, maybe. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself, twisting fragments of reality into a map that doesn’t exist. My fingers touch the glass, and I can almost see her there.

Dancing. Running. Disappearing out of reach.

Another text arrives. This one from Nico.

Nico: Dude, answer your fucking phone. Principal is asking questions.

I let the screen go dark. They don’t understand. They can’t understand.

A notification pings from the security system, and I turn to the monitors. Another sensor tripped in the woods. I scan the feeds. Nothing. No movement I can pinpoint. Between the federal agents swarming the woods and the shadows playing tricks with my cameras, I don’t know what is real anymore.

They’re not even subtle about it—footsteps beyond the property line, the faint glare of headlights that disappear the second I turn a camera toward them. They want me to know they’re watching, a silent warning tightening around my throat like a noose.

Every second I can’t see her, can’t reach her, the tension coils tighter inside me.

The phone vibrates again.

Monty: If you don’t answer your fucking phone, we’re coming over.

That makes me respond.

Me: Don’t. Federal surveillance. Stay away.

Monty: What the actual fuck?

I set the phone down and turn to the security panel mounted on the wall. My fingers move fast, hitting the code to lock down the gates. A soft mechanical hum confirms the gates are sealed, their iron bars cutting Monty and Nico off from the property.

I can’t explain it to them, not when I can barely untangle it in my own head. The agents out there aren’t just observing me; they’re circling, waiting for someone to stumble into their trap. Waiting for me to falter. For her to slip. I won’t let anyone walk into this mess, least of all my friends.

I turn back to the desk. The map sprawled across its surface is covered in ink—red lines tracing possible routes, scattered notes marking probabilities. North and west. The clues I have to believe she left behind.

But it’s not enough.

Ileana is a ghost now. She’s disappeared without a trace, just like they wanted … yet not, at the same time. No phone. No cards. No social media. No way for me to follow. Everything that makes her invisible to the world now makes her impossible for me to find.

My chest constricts, panic creeping in like a slow poison.

What if I’m wrong? What if I can’t track her?

My phone buzzes again.

Nico: At least tell us if you're alive.

Me: Busy. Stay away from the property.

Photographs litter the desk. Ileana dancing, running through the woods, asleep in my bed.

Every image is proof that she’s real, that she was here. That she was mine.

The last one, of her in my bed, burns behind my eyelids.

I wanted to own her. Possess her. I still do. But the hollow ache twisting inside me now has nothing to do with control. It’s her. All of her. Her fire. Her shadows.

She’s everything.

The phone rings. Monty. I let it go to voicemail. The ringing is just noise, meaningless compared to the roar in my head.

Ileana has changed me. She’s shifted everything I thought I understood. This isn’t about games anymore. It’s not about solving puzzles or breaking secrets open for the fun of it. It’s about her. About them erasing her after I pulled her into the light. About them taking away the only thing that makes sense in this chaos.

Monty: Your dad called mine. They're worried.

The laugh that comes out of me is harsh, jagged. Worried? My father hasn’t noticed I exist in months. He probably doesn’t even know where I live, let alone what I’ve been doing. I’m nothing to him—just another account to balance. A problem to ignore.

The ceramic mug in my hand shatters under my grip. Blood beads my palm. I ignore it. The pain feels right. It matches the chaos in my head, the panic I can’t shake .

I don’t clean the wound. I don’t care.

My phone rings again. This time it’s the school. I decline the call, and turn my focus back to the map.

The security system pings again. I glance at the monitor. Monty’s car sits at the gate. Nico leans out of the passenger seat, gesturing at the camera like he can argue his way through a locked steel fence.

Nico: Why the fuck is your gate locked?

Me: Not safe. Go away.

They don’t leave immediately. Monty points at the camera again, clearly yelling. I watch the argument through the monitor, jaw clenched, until they finally give up and drive off.

Relief settles into my chest, but it doesn’t last. The gate might be locked, but the woods beyond it are still crawling with agents.

And she’s still gone.

Blood drips from my palm onto the map, smudging the ink-stained lines. I should bandage it. I don’t. I can’t stop staring at the endless possibilities sprawled in front of me.

What if I can’t find her? What if I’m wrong? What if every second I waste here is another step she takes further away?

The edges of my vision blur as the panic rises again. My breath comes too fast, each inhale burning my lungs.

Monty: Don’t do anything stupid.

Too late for that. I'm already going mad.

The camera feed flickers again. More movement in the woods. It might be nothing. It might be them.

Or maybe it’s the ghost of her slipping further away, just beyond my reach.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my breath coming faster.

I can’t let them win. She’s out there. Somewhere. And I’m the only one who can find her .

If they want a war, I’ll give them one. I’ll burn the whole fucking world down to bring her back to me.