Too Late, Mr. Johnston: She Is Gone

Kara woke up on a bench in a bus shelter. The rain had stopped, but the damp cold had settled into her marrow. It was evening.

She had one option left.

She used the last of her strength to hail a cab, promising payment upon arrival. She directed him to the Meatpacking District.

The loft was hidden behind a rusted steel door. This was her sanctuary. The studio of S. Anders. A clean room, a fortress with its own servers, a place Davin knew nothing about.

She punched in the code. The door hissed open.

Kara stepped inside and gasped.

The studio was destroyed.

Rolls of French lace were unspooled and slashed. Mannequins were toppled, their limbs scattered like corpses. Cans of black paint had been thrown over her sketches pinned to the wall.

Kara clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. Someone had been there.

She ran to the floor safe in the corner. It had been drilled open. Empty. The emergency cash, the original pattern files-gone.

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.

Kara spun around.

Three men stepped out of the shadows. They wore ski masks and dark clothes. One of them was holding a baseball bat.

"Well, look who it is," the leader said. His voice was muffled. "Mrs. Johnston. You look worse than the pictures."

Kara backed up until her hips hit a cutting table. Her hand closed around a pair of heavy fabric shears.

"Who sent you?" she demanded. "Alyse?"

The man laughed. "Someone who wants to make sure you don't cause any more trouble. Someone paid a lot for your right hand."

He swung the bat. It smashed into the table, missing Kara's fingers by an inch.

Kara turned and ran. She bolted for the glass-walled office at the back of the loft. She slammed the door and locked it.

The men began to kick the glass. Spiderwebs of cracks appeared.

Kara slid under the desk. She pulled out her phone. The screen was cracked, but it worked.

She instinctively wanted to call Julian, but thought that Julian was only human and had no power, so he couldn't solve this kind of thug.

She dialed Davin. It was pathetic. It was weak. But he was the only power strong enough to stop this.

Davin picked up on the second ring.

"What now?" he snapped.

"Davin, help me..." Kara sobbed. "The studio... they're going to kill me..."

The glass door shattered.

Kara screamed.

Davin heard the crash. He heard the heavy boots crunching on glass.

"Grab her!" a male voice shouted.

"No! Please!" Kara begged.

There was a sickening thud. A sound of metal hitting flesh. Kara let out a choked cry.

The phone clattered to the floor. Then, a heavy boot stomped on it. The line went dead.

In the back of his Maybach, Davin stared at his phone. His blood ran cold. That wasn't acting. That was the sound of real fear.

Davin shouted at the driver,"Locate her phone! Mobilize all security teams! Hurry up!"