“You think this is all a decoy?” Cleo asks.

Chase just shoots Cleo a look: Stranger things have happened.

I zip open the narwhal backpack’s secret compartment, the one hidden in its inner lining. My fingers reach for the deck, but with a sudden lurch, I grasp…

Nothing.

My breath catches in my throat.

“The deck isn’t here.”

Even as I speak the words, I refuse to believe they’re true.

However, even after I’ve emptied the backpack, handing it over to Cleo to double check—even after we turn the entire damned thing inside out—still, we find nothing. The deck is gone, just like the emptied pentacle platform. My hands reach up into my hair, tugging in exasperation as buds of panic begin to flush my skin.

How can that be? I just put the deck in here last night. How could—

“Amelia,” Cleo says, their eyes filled with dread. “Did you… Did you ever put the deck away in front of Anwar?”

My heart suddenly sinks. It slides out of my body and buries itself in the coarse earth below.

Oh goddess. Please, no.

CHAPTER TEN

CHASE

BACK AT THE rental house, we find Anwar has gone without a trace.

I wish I could say I expected something else. Just like I wish I could say I expected Anwar to pick up any of the dozen times Amelia tried calling him. Wherever he has fled, two things are clear: One, he took the Perillian deck with him. Two, we’re never going to hear from him again.

I suppose we could track down Anwar’s home near Solvang, but by then he will no doubt have sold the deck—it’s the only reason I can fathom he stole it in the first place. There would be no point to that empty confrontation, showing up at Anwar’s door to fight over something long gone. It wouldn’t undo what he has done, or make his betrayal sting any less.

These words scroll through my head and sear as they settle, because they can obviously apply to Logan. Though really, since he left, I find myself applying most things to him. Almost everything reminds me of Logan and nothing makes me feel better about potentially losing him. Food just makes me nauseated, and I have no appetite anyway. I can’t sleep, instead playing over every single thing Logan has ever said to me. I don’t have energy for anything except this loop, agonizing in my own rut. Missing Logan feels deep, like my roots have been severed. Instead, there’s only rot left, wet and bleeding.

The one thing that distracts me also disgusts me, but right now disgust feels like a welcome relief. So, sitting alone in the kitchen while Amelia and Cleo ransack the bedroom for a third pointless time, I do the disgusting thing: I open Instagram on my phone and search for Seidon’s page.