Chapter 81 81

Chapter 81 81
Harmony's POV

"She didn't show up, Quinn. And she's not answering her phone."

I dropped my heavy pharmacology textbook onto the wooden coffee table in frustration. The clock on the wall was already ticking past nine, and the Sunday evening quiet inside the apartment was starting to feel like a noose around my throat.

Quinn didn't look up immediately. Her fingers kept flying across her laptop keyboard, the rhythmic clacking filling the space between us as she finished up an article for her journalism seminar. The blue light from her screen reflected sharply in her eyes, throwing gloomy shadows across her face.

"Are you sure she didn't just miss the bus or something?" Quinn asked. "Some people lose track of time constantly, Harmony. Especially on a Sunday after a massive sports weekend like this one."

"I don't know about that, I went behind the reception counter and pulled her file myself while Patricia was out of the room," I said, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. I stared at the scattered nursing notes on the table, but the medical terms were just blurring together. "I got her private number and called it, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message, but it's been hours and nothing. She's AWOL."

Quinn finally stopped typing. Her hands hovered over the keyboard for a second before she slowly lowered the laptop lid halfway, turning her full attention to me. The detached expression she usually wore was gone, replaced by a serious, focused stare.

"She specifically promised she would call you before she goes home for Thanksgiving," Quinn muttered, rubbing her temples. "She knew how dangerous the situation was. If she was that terrified about what Dr. Bennett did to her, she wouldn't just skip town without saying a word. Right?"

"Exactly," I agreed. "She was supposed to tell me everything about what happened between her and Bennett at the student clinic in Loyola. She's the only direct link we have to proving what Bennett is actually doing to these athletes."

Quinn sighed, and I pulled my legs up onto the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to shake the cold feeling creeping down my spine.

"Think, Quinn," I urged, looking across the table at her. "What else do we actually know about Sasha? Do we have her address? There has to be something we missed from last week."

"You're the one who's in direct contact with her, you should know more than I know."

"You're right," I groaned. "We have her name, Sasha Millman. We know she plays tennis for the university, and we know she's a freshman. That is literally it. I don't know her major, or what dorm she's staying in, or who her friends are on campus."

"And you couldn't find any of that information on her medical files?"

"Nope. A university of thirty thousand students," I murmured, staring blankly at the floorboards. "If she decided to drop out, or if the athletic board forced her to take a medical leave to keep her quiet, she could vanish and nobody would notice outside the sports department. If Bennett found out she was talking to a nursing student at the clinic..."

"Don't go down that rabbit hole yet," Quinn interrupted, though her own eyes were darting around the room, a clear sign that her mind was racing just as fast as mine. "Dr Bennett is smart, but he's not a ghost. Sasha is an active athlete. She has to be registered in the student database, and she has to have a schedule."

"But I can't just access the university's main registration files without getting flagged," I argued, throwing my hands up in frustration. "Stealing her number from the clinic log was already pushing it. If people at the clinic catch me digging into an athlete's personal file without a medical reason, I'll be kicked out of the program before Monday morning."

Quinn tapped her fingers against the edge of her laptop. She chewed on her bottom lip, staring at the dark window that looked out onto the empty street below.

"You can't dig, but I can ask around," she finally spoke up. "The journalism building is practically the gossip hub for the lower classmen. The freshmen are always hanging around the media labs trying to get their first assignments, and they talk about literally everything."

"Do you think anyone in your department would actually know her?" I asked in doubt. "Tennis isn't exactly a high-profile sport like hockey. The rosters are small."

"It doesn't matter," Quinn waved her hand to shut me up. "Freshmen stay in the same clusters during orientation, and they share the same introductory lecture halls on the east campus. If Sasha was there, someone in her circle must have noticed. Word travels fast when an athlete starts failing their physicals."

I let out a slow breath, nodding my head. "Okay, you can ask around. Just be careful how you phrase it. We can't let anyone think we're looking for her."

"I know how to do my job, Harmony," Quinn said with a small, reassuring nod. She stretched her arms over her head, her spine popping softly against the fabric of her chair. I could see that the exhaustion from the long weekend was finally catching up to her.

"Damn, it's late. I'll see if I can find some things on Sasha from some freshmen in her department tomorrow." She yawned, closing her laptop with a click, and tucked the silver computer under her arm before pushing herself up from the chair.

"Get some sleep, okay?" She added, looking down at me as she stepped around the coffee table. "Staring at those notes isn't going to make Sasha appear in front of you tomorrow morning. We'll handle it first thing after my morning lecture."

"I'll try," I replied, though I knew my brain wouldn't stop looping the image of Sasha's terrified eyes.

Quinn walked down the short hallway toward the bedrooms. She stopped at her doorway, turning back to look at me one last time in the dim light of the living room lamp.

"Goodnight, Harmony."

"Goodnight, Quinn," I replied, watching her door close before the apartment fell into total silence once again.