JUNE MILLER POV
"They have to be here, Brandt! People who look like that don't just evaporate!"
I was hanging out of the passenger window of Brandt's hatchback, my eyes scanning the sidewalk of the Diamond District with a desperation that felt like a physical ache. My aquamarine bun had completely collapsed, strands of seafoam hair whipping around my face in the biting wind. It was nearly 3:00 AM. The city was a ghost town, draped in that suffocating, wooly mist that seemed to be thickening by the minute, swallowing the streetlights until they were nothing but dim, orange smudges.
"June, we've circled the hotel district three times," Brandt said, his voice raw with exhaustion and fear. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. "Jorgen City has ten thousand hotel rooms. We don't even know if they're staying at a hotel. They could be anywhere."
"They aren't 'anywhere,'" I snapped, my voice cracking. "They're at the top. I saw their clothes, Brandt. I saw the way the girl looked at the world—like she owned it and was just waiting for the paperwork to clear. They have to be in one of the luxury suites."
I pulled my head back inside the car and buried my face in my hands. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Becky. I saw her laughing at the diner, her messy apron tied crooked, telling me I was a "Goldie-chaser." And then the image would shift to the news report—the empty beds, the cold coffee, the people who just stopped existing.
"Becky doesn't have time for us to be 'logical,'" I whispered. "That guy... 'Goldie'... his energy felt like a shield. When I bumped into him, the air didn't feel like wool anymore. It felt warm. It felt like summer. He's the only thing in this city that doesn't feel like it's rotting."
"Okay," Brandt said, taking a sharp turn onto Aurelian Way. "We'll try the Grand Celeste. If they aren't there, we'll try the Hyatt. But June... if we don't find them, we have to go back to the shortcut. We can't just spend the whole night driving in circles."
"We find them," I insisted, my teeth chattering.
We spent the next hour in a frantic, soul-crushing loop. We jumped out at every five-star valet stand. I ran up to sleepy doormen, panting, describing a "golden-eyed prince and a girl with a slate-gray coat who looks like a blade."
The responses were always the same.
"No, miss. No one of that description here."
"Sorry, we don't give out guest information."
"Miss, you need to leave before I call security."
By the time we hit the outskirts of the Sector 4 border, my hope was a tattered rag. The streets were getting darker, the mist turning a sickly, translucent gray. I felt like I was searching for a ghost in a graveyard. The city felt massive—an endless maze of concrete and indifference.
"They're gone," I choked out, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the window. "They probably left the city. Why would they stay? They're perfect. This place is... it's a trap."
"June, look," Brandt said, his voice dropping an octave.
He slowed the car to a crawl. We were passing the entrance to the Old Church district. Usually, you could see the silhouette of the cathedral's spire against the city's glow, but tonight, the mist was so dense it looked like a solid wall of smoke.
But it wasn't the mist that caught my eye. It was the silence.
Not a car. Not a siren. Not even the hum of the power lines. It was as if the world had been muted. And then, a sensation washed over me—the exact opposite of the 'warmth' I'd felt from the boy at the cinema. This was a hollow, vibrating cold. It felt like a low-frequency hum in my teeth, a rhythmic thud-thud that made my heart try to sync up with it.
"Do you hear that?" I asked, my hand moving to the door handle.
"I don't hear anything," Brandt whispered. "That's the problem."
"It's a chime," I said, my eyes widening. "Like the news. Like a bell ringing underwater."
I scanned the street one last time, praying to see a flash of white silk or a slate-gray coat. Please. Please be here. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just a girl in a hoodie and I can't save her alone.
The street remained empty. The "Prince" was nowhere to be found. I had searched every high-end block, every luxury lobby, and every neon-lit promenade. I had searched tirelessly until my legs ached and my voice was hoarse from asking the same questions to people who didn't care.
They weren't here.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I asked the dark.
Brandt pulled the car to the side of the road, the headlights cutting weak tunnels into the fog. He looked at me, his eyes full of a terrifying realization. "We're the only ones, June. It's just us."
I looked at my phone. 3:45 AM.
The police wouldn't help. The 'prodigies' were nowhere to be seen—little did I know they were currently being drained of their very souls just blocks away. And the strangers who felt like the sun had vanished into the shadows of Jorgen City.
I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated terror, but beneath it, something else was hardening. A cold, sharp anger. If the world was going to be this quiet while my best friend was taken, then I would have to be the loudest thing in it.
"Turn the car around," I said, my voice steady for the first time all night.
"What? Why?"
"We're going to the church," I said. "The police said it hasn't been twenty-four hours. They said she could be anywhere. But the 'wool' is thickest over there. The chime is loudest over there. If 'Goldie' isn't going to save her, then I'll have to do it myself."
"June, that's suicide! Did you see the way the mist is moving? It's like it's alive!"
"I don't care!" I screamed, the teal strands of my hair shaking. "She's my Becky! She's the only one who didn't look at me like I was a freak when I dyed my hair! She's the one who bought me the charms for my bag! I am not leaving her in that dark!"
Brandt stared at me, his own fear battling with the loyalty that had kept him driving me around for hours. Finally, he let out a jagged breath and slammed the car into gear.
"If we die, I'm never letting you live it down," he muttered.
"Deal."
We headed toward the Sector 4 border, leaving the "safe" districts behind. I kept looking back at the luxury hotels, a tiny, desperate part of me still hoping for a golden flare to ignite the sky. But the horizon stayed dark. The "Prince" and his sister were gone, probably sleeping in their silk sheets while the rest of us were being swallowed by the deep.
I don't need a prince, I lied to myself, clutching the straps of my backpack until my fingers went numb.
As we crossed into the old district, the car's engine began to sputter. The headlights flickered, the Blue-tier streetlights above us popping one by one as if something were walking along the rooftops, snuffing them out with a thought.
The mist surged over the hood of the car, smelling of salt, rot, and that sickly violet resonance.
"We're here," Brandt whispered, his voice trembling.
In the distance, through the shifting gray veil, the silhouette of the church appeared. It looked like a hunched giant waiting in the dark. There were no lights in the windows. No signs of life. Just the heavy, rhythmic chime of a bell that wasn't there.
I stepped out of the car before Brandt could even stop it. The ground felt soft, almost like it was breathing. I took a step toward the iron gates, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Becky!" I screamed into the mist. "Becky, I'm here!"
The only answer was a soft, melodic hum that seemed to come from the very air around me.
I didn't find the twins. I didn't find a shield. I was just June Miller, a girl with messy hair and a backpack full of charms, standing at the mouth of the abyss. But as I pushed open the creaking iron gate, I realized that I didn't have to be an impulse user to fight. I just had to be a friend.