Part 40

                                    

                                          
Harry Styles
The hallway to the bathrooms felt longer than it should've been, each step echoing against the polished floors. I checked my phone again, rereading the message that had me on edge. 
When I reached the door marked Ladies, I hesitated. Knocking lightly, I called, "Dylan? You good in there?"
No response.
I glanced over my shoulder, the restaurant bustling quietly behind me. Maybe she couldn't hear me over the noise. Maybe she was fixing her hair or something.
But something in my gut said otherwise.
I knocked harder this time. "Dylan?"
Still nothing.
I looked around, hoping for a staff member or someone who might confirm they'd seen her, but no one seemed to notice me. Pushing the door open slightly, I peeked inside.
"Dylan?" I called again, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. The room was empty.
Panic tightened in my chest as I stepped inside fully, my eyes scanning every corner. The stalls were empty, the faint smell of hand soap lingering in the air.
She wasn't here.
I hurried back to the table, my heart pounding. The guys were still chatting, oblivious to the knot forming in my stomach.
"She's not in the bathroom," I said, cutting into their conversation.
Niall frowned, setting down his glass. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, she's not there. I just checked."
"Maybe she went outside for some air," Liam suggested, though his tone was cautious.
"Without saying anything?" I snapped, more out of fear than frustration.
Louis stood, already sensing my urgency. "We'll split up. Check around the restaurant."
"Harry, calm down," Zayn said, standing too. "She's probably fine."
But I wasn't calm, and I didn't think she was fine. That message—it wasn't random.
While the others moved to search, I headed straight for the restaurant's entrance. I stepped outside, the cool London air hitting me like a slap. My eyes scanned the street, the sidewalks, every person walking by.
Nothing.
I pulled out my phone, dialing her number. It rang once. Twice. Then her voicemail clicked on.
"Dylan, it's me. Call me as soon as you get this, okay?" I hung up, my hand tightening around the phone.
A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if someone had her? What if I'd been too late?
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. 
I turned back toward the restaurant just as Louis jogged out. His face was pale.
"She's not here, mate," he said, his voice low.
It felt like the ground had been yanked out from under me.
"Someone took her," I said, the words tasting bitter as I said them out loud.
"How do you know?" Louis asked, but I could tell he was already starting to believe me.
I showed him the text. His jaw tightened.
"Who sent this?"
"Brandon," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to find her. Now."