The Missing Pattern

Breaking Point Part 13

The days bled into one another, each indistinguishable from the last, a blur of sleepless nights and endless searching. I had become obsessed. No—possessed. The hunt consumed me. I saw their faces everywhere—those missing girls, each of them clinging to my mind like a ghost. But Kiara's face, that one haunted me, a knife twisting deep every time I closed my eyes. I couldn't shake the image, couldn't escape her wide, terrified eyes, begging for help I hadn't been fast enough to give. It was making me hear things in the shadows, see things in every dark corner.

Reese was feeling it, too. I saw it in the way her jaw clenched when she looked at me, the frustration and the worry. She didn't get why I wouldn't stop, why I pushed even when my body was screaming at me to let up. She thought this was about dismantling a trafficking ring, but she didn't see it like I did. She didn't understand the blood debt I needed to settle. For me, this was personal. They still had Kiara, still had the others. And I wasn't stopping until every one of those monsters paid in blood.

But we were getting nowhere, just chasing ghosts. Every lead ended in silence, in empty rooms, and dead air. The sleeplessness was eating away at me, my mind running on fumes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd closed my eyes and seen anything but nightmares. Every time I tried, there she was—Kiara's face, pleading, trapped somewhere in a darkness I couldn't reach. It felt like a curse, the harder I tried to save her, the further she slipped away.

Reese's patience snapped before mine did. She slammed her fist against the desk, her voice cutting through the silence. "We're running out of time, Kitty!" Her words were sharp, her desperation clear. "Dead ends at every turn. We need to bring in every resource we have. Call in other agencies if we have to."

"No," I growled, not even thinking twice. My voice was raw with exhaustion and anger. "No outside help. The second we involve more people, we lose control. We can't trust anyone." I knew it was paranoia talking, but I didn't care. They'd made it too personal, and I couldn't let them slip through my hands.

Calvin had been quiet this whole time, watching us from the edge of the room, but now he stepped forward, his expression hard. "I'm not about to let you do this alone, Harper," he said, his voice calm but laced with steel. "We'll find them. We'll bring Kiara home. But you need to keep it together."

I met his gaze, swallowing hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in. He was right. I took a deep breath, feeling the fire in my chest, and forced myself to focus. "I'm fine," I muttered, knowing we all knew it was a lie.

We left the office together, tension thick between us. But the moment we stepped into the parking garage, a chill swept over me, prickling the back of my neck. Something wasn't right. The shadows felt too heavy, too still.

"Hold up," I whispered, glancing around. That's when I saw it—a black SUV across the lot, its windows dark. My blood ran cold. I didn't need to see inside. I knew they were watching, waiting.

"We're not alone," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Get ready."

The doors to the SUV opened, and men started stepping out. Too many to count, moving with purpose, with silence. They were here for us.

"Get in the car. Now," I hissed, gripping Reese's arm.

Calvin moved fast, positioning himself between us and the approaching figures, his hand already on his gun. But I could tell by his face he knew we were outnumbered. We wouldn't win this one, not here. Not like this.

I tried to shove Reese toward the car, but before I knew it, a hand yanked me back, slamming me against the metal frame. Pain flared up my spine, but I pushed it down. I drove my knee into the man's gut, but he barely flinched. He smirked, tightening his grip on my shoulder, and that's when I knew we were in real trouble.

"Move, Harper!" Calvin shouted, managing to wrench me free as he pulled me into the car.

A shot rang out, echoing through the garage.

"No!" Reese's scream sliced through the air, but I couldn't stop. I pulled her into the car, and Calvin slammed the door shut, flooring the gas as the engine roared to life. I barely had time to look back, but I saw him—the man who'd grabbed me—standing in the shadows, watching us with eyes full of malice.

"Next time, Harper," he called out, his voice seething with venom. "You won't be so lucky."

How in the hell did they get into the secured government parking lot?

The words chilled me, but there was something worse—the realization sinking in as we sped away. They'd found us in a secured government lot. This wasn't just an ambush. It was a message.

As we tore out of the parking garage, I glanced at Calvin, but his focus was unbreakable, eyes scanning for any more threats. Reese sat beside me, gripping her gun, her expression fierce. She was ready for a fight, but I knew we needed to keep moving before they closed in on us again.

Then I heard it—a hum growing louder behind us, relentless. A motorcycle, weaving through traffic with deadly precision, keeping pace.

"We're being followed," I said, my voice low and sharp. "Don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop."

Calvin's hands tightened on the wheel as he floored the gas, the city blurring past us. But no matter how fast we went, that shadow on the motorcycle stayed with us, like death itself, chasing us down. My mind was spinning, calculating, but I knew one thing: we couldn't keep running forever.

This wasn't just about the girls anymore. They'd crossed a line, and I was done playing by the rules. I was done being hunted.

I took a final look at Reese and Calvin, and then, out the window, at the dark figure tailing us. They'd made this personal, and I wasn't backing down.

The low hum of the motorcycle never faded, a distant growl haunting us, growing louder with each passing second. But it wasn't the sound that gnawed at me—it was the feeling of being hunted, of knowing they were right there, closing in, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Sleep had become a memory, a luxury I couldn't afford. Even when I managed a few minutes, it was never restful; nightmares about Kiara and the other girls tore through every shred of peace I tried to steal. They were always there, reaching for me, just beyond my grasp.

My mind was tangled in a feverish haze, torn between reality and nightmare, the chase blurring as if I'd been thrust into some twisted, slow-motion reel. The garage, the men, the car—the pieces didn't connect, and yet the sounds were painfully sharp. The metallic tang of blood, the screech of brakes, the blinding glare of headlights—everything felt surreal, out of place, as if I was watching it all happen from somewhere just beyond the scene. But I knew, somewhere deep down, I was still trapped in those same horrors, haunted by faces with hollow, empty eyes. Kiara's face was the worst of them all—staring at me, her gaze accusing, as if demanding to know why I hadn't saved her.

Then, a violent jolt tore me from my daze. The roar of the motorcycle was deafening now, closer than ever. A flash of chrome in the mirror. My heart seized as I reached for my gun, firing blindly out the window, desperation overriding every thought. The shot connected—the driver jerked, his body slackening just as another motorcycle surged forward on the driver's side. Before I could react, a crack of gunfire pierced the chaos, and Calvin slumped forward, blood blooming across his chest. I screamed, my voice raw and shredded, emptying my magazine at the shadowed figures, but it was too late. The SUV careened, tires screeching, spinning us out of control.

In the chaos, the world spun, twisting, distorting. The shriek of metal against concrete, Calvin's blood-soaked face, the motorcycle rider's cold, empty stare as he fired shot after shot—all of it blurred together, crashing down like a wave of darkness swallowing me whole.

Then I jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The harsh fluorescent light of my desk lamp stung my eyes, piercing through the fog. It was just a nightmare—a new horror grafted onto the others. My pulse still pounded, a brutal reminder of the razor-thin line between sleep and terror.

I buried my head in my hands, shaking off the lingering nightmare. But the weight of reality settled over me again, heavier than before. This fight was far from over, and sleep offered no sanctuary.