Noah was always cool under fire. It was just the way he was. But today, he wasn't feeling calm at all.
Pong had been gone for a week. No calls. No messages. No sign. It was like she had vanished into the very darkness she was attempting to bring to light.
Noah ground his fists, his eyes fixed on the blank phone screen. Where the bloody hell are you, Pong?
The last they had spoken, Pong had been ranting—her quickness muted by something more, something that was almost like fear. It was fleeting. Too fleeting.
"Noah. I think I've found something worse than we ever could have imagined."
Then silence.
Noah had attempted to follow her. He visited the joints Pong frequented—the dark clubs, the seedy alleys where one could pick up the whispers of illicit transactions if one listened hard enough. But there was nothing. It was as if she had been wiped out of existence.
He slept little. He ate little. The terror gnawed at him, digging deep into his marrow.
Kai had seen.
