Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            I swallow. “They did their best. At least they tried.”

            “Not enough.” It’s a definite kind of judgment. Which I don’t care to argue with.

            “Serena is gone. She vanished a few weeks ago, and—”

            “You think a Were took her?”

            I nod.

            “Who?”

            I have no choice but to tell him the truth. And if he has anything to do with her disappearance . . . He’ll have something to do with mine, too. “You.”

            He seems unsurprised. “Why me?”

            “You tell me.” I lift my chin. “Your name was in her planner, on the day she disappeared. Maybe she made plans to meet you. Maybe you were part of a story she was writing. I don’t know.”

            “A story? Ah, that’s why The Herald. She was a journalist.” It’s not a question, but I nod.

            Finally, Lowe pulls back. He remains between me and the door, but he rubs his hands across the stubble on his jaw, frowning somewhere in the distance, instantly preoccupied. Trying to recall. If he’s faking the confusion, he’s a good actor. And I cannot begin to guess why he’d lie to me. I’m stuck here for the next year, with limited and highly supervised ways to communicate with the outside world. He could admit to running five drug cartels and hijacking Air Force One, and I’d have no way to warn anyone.

            “It’s a huge gamble.” He searches my face, pensive. A little like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Giving yourself as Collateral. Marrying me. All because someone wrote my name in her planner.”

            I bite my lower lip. My stomach sinks at the idea that he might really not know anything. My only trail, leading to a ravine. “My best friend, my sister, is gone. And no one will look for her if I don’t. And the only thing she left behind, the only clue I have is a name, your name, L. E. Moreland—”

            “Lowe!” The door bursts open. I expect Alex, or Cal, or an entire pack of rabid wolves coming to butcher me. Not a plaintive, “Where were you?” followed by the soft shuffle of socked steps on the hardwood floor.

            I’m instantly forgotten. Lowe drops to his knees to greet Ana, and when she wraps her slim arms around his neck, his large hand comes up to cradle her head. “I was talking to Misery.”

            She waves up at me. “Hi, Miresy.”

            My throat feels full. “My name is not that hard to pronounce,” I mumble, but she seems to revel in my glare. And to be in high spirits, despite her attempted kidnapping. I applaud her resilience, but wow, children. They’re truly unfathomable.

            “Will you read me a story before bed?” she asks Lowe.

            “Of course, love.” He pushes a strand of still-wet hair behind her ear. “Go brush your teeth, I’ll—”

            “Ana, where did you go?” Juno’s voice drifts in from the hallway, harried, out of breath. “Ana!”

            “Did you run away from Juno?” Lowe whispers.

            Ana nods, mischievous.

            “Then you better hurry back to her.”

            She pouts. “But I want to—”

            “Liliana Esther Moreland! Come here at once, it’s an order!”

            Ana stamps a kiss on Lowe’s cheek, mutters something delighted about how prickly it is, and then slips out in a flurry of blue and pink fabric. My eyes stay with her, and then on the ajar door, long after she disappears.

            Dizzy.

            I feel dizzy.

            “Misery?”

            I turn to Lowe. “Ana . . . ?” I swallow. Because, no. That’s not the right question. Instead: “Liliana?”

            He nods.

            “Esther.” L. E. Moreland. “I didn’t . . . I had no idea.”

            Lowe nods again, eyes somber. “Misery. You and I need to talk.”