Page 16 of Salvation

“Tomorrow,” I promised. “Fair’s here all weekend.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, then brightened. “But we’re definitely coming back.”

Yulia laughed, the sound lighter than I’d heard in years. “Of course we are. Your father still needs to prove he can handle the Tilt-A-Whirl without turning green.”

“That was the Gravitron, not the Tilt-A-Whirl,” I grumbled, but couldn’t keep the smile from my face. Something had shifted between us today -- walls coming down, possibilities opening up. The thought made my heart beat faster.

We started toward the exit, the fairgrounds now more crowded than before as teens and adults poured in for the final evening shows. Colored lights blinked overhead, casting moving shadows across the packed dirt paths. Clover walked ahead as she pointed out things she wanted to try tomorrow. Yulia walked beside me, close enough that our hands brushed occasionally. Each touch sent electricity racing up my arm.

“Today was nice,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, wanting to say more but not finding the words. Not here, surrounded by strangers. “It was.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, recognizing Beast’s number on the screen. A text message glowed in the gathering darkness: Need you back at compound. Trouble with the Diablos. How soon can you get here?

I frowned, reading it twice. The Diablos were a small-time gang who’d been making noise about expanding into our territory for the last six months. Nothing serious yet, but Beast wouldn’t text unless it needed attention.

“Everything okay?” Yulia asked, noticing my expression.

“Yeah, just club business.” I typed a quick response: Heading back now. 30 minutes.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up, ready to call Clover back from where she’d wandered ahead.

She wasn’t there.

I scanned the crowd, expecting to spot her dark hair, the ridiculous tiger. Nothing.

“Clover?” I called, stepping forward. “Where’d she go?”

Yulia moved to my side. “She was just ahead of us. Maybe she stopped at one of the booths?”

I looked to my right, where a row of food vendors lined the path. No sign of her. To my left, more game booths, all packed with fairgoers, none of them my daughter.

“I’ll check this way,” Yulia said, already moving toward the food stands. “She probably got hungry again.”

I nodded, heading toward the games, my eyes searching for Clover’s familiar form. The crowd seemed to thicken, bodies pressing against me as I pushed through, calling her name. Carnival music blared from all directions, drowning out my voice. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cooling evening air.

After checking three game booths with no success, I turned back toward where I’d left Yulia. She’d be searching the food stands, and maybe Clover had already found her way back to our meeting spot. When we’d first arrived, I’d made sure to set up a place in case we got separated. I quickened my pace, shoving more forcefully through the crowd.

But when I reached the place where I’d last seen Yulia, she wasn’t there.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. “Yulia?” I called, louder than before. A few people glanced my way, but most ignored me, too wrapped up in their own fair experiences.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Yulia’s number. It rang four times, then went to voicemail. I tried Clover next. Same result.

“Fuck,” I muttered, earning a glare from a nearby mother with small children.

I moved methodically, checking each food stand, each game booth, retracing our steps to rides we’d enjoyed earlier. With each empty search, the knot in my stomach tightened. Ten minutes became fifteen. My calls went straight to voicemail now, both phones apparently off or dead.

“Have you seen a teenage girl, dark hair, about this tall?” I asked a cotton candy vendor. “Or a woman, dark blonde hair, slight accent? They were here twenty minutes ago.”

The woman shook her head, already turning to her next customer.

I kept moving, kept searching, but a sickening certainty was building inside me. This wasn’t just getting separated in a crowd. Something was wrong.

Years of club life had honed my instincts, trained me to recognize threats before they fully materialized. Those instincts were screaming now. I returned to our last meeting spot, scanning the area with new eyes. Looking for signs I might have missed.

That’s when I saw it -- a small slip of paper partially hidden under a discarded popcorn box. I wouldn’t have noticed it if not for the corner that peeked out -- paper too white, too clean to be regular trash. I bent down and picked it up, unfolding it carefully.

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