The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 499

International waters. No national jurisdiction, no laws, no rules. Only the ocean and the dark.

He stared unblinking at the row of vital signs pulsing on the screen. Heart rate 78—higher than normal, but perfectly reasonable for a state of acute stress. Blood pressure slightly low. Body temperature 97.1 degrees, about half a degree lower than normal, likely due to the freezing ocean air.

The data from the subcutaneous chip was stable. She was still alive. Her heart was beating. Her blood was pumping.

She was alive.

Garrison closed his eyes and let out a heavy, ragged exhale.

For a split second, it felt as though something inside his chest had violently loosened, only to instantly snap tight again. Loose, because she was alive. Tight, because he saw the exact coordinates of that dark stretch of sea.

He tossed the tablet onto the passenger seat and flicked the ignition. The engine let out a low, predatory roar. Tires shrieked sharply against the asphalt as the black car shot into the night like an arrow.

Steering with one hand, he used the other to dial Wyatt's number.

It rang twice before connecting.

Wyatt's voice was thick with sleep. He mumbled a groggy "Hello?" while the rustle of bedsheets echoed in the background.

"Wyatt." Garrison's voice was low, the words tumbling out at breakneck speed. "Sloane has been taken."

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

"Who did you say?" Wyatt's voice suddenly pitched upward. The grogginess vanished instantly, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. "Sloane?! But didn't she already—"

"I don't have time to explain," Garrison cut him off. The car tore onto Northport Boulevard at an almost suicidal speed. "The tracker shows her in international waters just outside Northport. Dispatch units to the docks immediately. As fast as you can."

Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath.

"Cassandra."

Garrison didn't raise his voice, but the tone sliced through the line like a blade—sharp, decisive, and entirely devoid of room for negotiation. "Right now. Get the helicopter. Fuel it up and fly to Northport."

Silence stretched over the phone for two seconds.

Cassandra was wide awake.

"Dr. Foster," her tone shifted entirely, becoming sharp and alert. "What happened?"

Garrison paused for a second. The sea breeze whipped through the window, messing up his hair. He stared out at the pitch-black ocean ahead. In the distance, the faint lights of the Northport Docks flickered in the night, looking like shattered stars scattered across the water.

"Sloane," he said. "She's been kidnapped."