By the time I’d boxed up my last spatula and wiped down the bakery’s folding table, my brain was already pinging alarms. The relief and joy I’d felt just hours ago were thinning, replaced by a growing sense of wrongness. Papa should have been there to help break down the tables—he’d promised to haul all the bakery gear back to the truck, and if nothing else, the man never let me carry anything heavier than a cake box.
Except… he wasn’t there.
Not at the cake tables, where Gunner and his nephews were fighting over the last wedge of lemon chiffon. Not by the fire pit, where the MC officers laughed and tried to one-up each otheron who could roast a marshmallow without burning the stick. Not at the tables, where Juliet and her friends had begun the world’s slowest game of Uno, the rules already devolving into local legend.
“Have you seen Papa?” I whispered, not wanting to start a scene. “He’s been gone for… I don’t know, over half an hour?”
Oscar flicked his tongue over a chunk of gouda from a cheese board and tilted his head. “Not for a while, Miss. I assumed he was conferring with the Alpha about something.”
That tracked. But the pack was, for once, enjoying themselves, every officer accounted for and within eyesight. Even Bronc was letting his hair down, standing with his arm slung around Juliet and both their faces wreathed in uncharacteristic joy.
A few minutes later, I was in full search mode.
“Miss, I believe we have a situation,” he said, voice barely more than a breath.
“What’s wrong?”
My heart jackhammered in my chest. “You feel that too?”
Oscar nodded, whiskers trembling. “Something is… dampened. Like a blanket over a candle. Not snuffed out, but hidden.”
For the first time, icy dread crept into my veins. “Come on,” I said, scooping him up and hustling toward the main house. “We’ll check the compound.”
The walk felt like a hundred miles. The compound was still hopping—Pearl’s kitchen crew cleaning up, the security wolves running post-event sweeps, children chasing each other down the hallways. I darted through the front door and found the entry empty, but music and laughter poured from the rec room. I followed the sound, only to find the entire pack leadership accounted for: Bronc and Juliet, Arsenal, Gunner, even Wrecker, who looked up as I barged in.
He clocked my face and came over immediately. “Something wrong?”
I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “Have you seen Papa? He’s not at the clearing, and I can’t find him anywhere.”
Wrecker’s face changed—instantly, chilling seriousness. “He said he was going to check the perimeter, but he should have been back. Let me get Parker. Maybe she can pull the drone feeds.”
He hustled out of the room, leaving me standing awkwardly with the rest of the crew. Arsenal caught my eye and jerked his chin toward the hallway, signaling for me to follow. He pulled me aside, his big hand gently on my arm.
“Hey,” he said, “when’s the last time you saw him?”
I did the mental math. “After the dancing, during cleanup. He kissed me at the cake table, then went to help. But that was, like, an hour ago.”
Arsenal’s mouth flattened into a line. “He’d never just bail on you. Not on a night like this.”
I nodded, eyes burning. “I know. Something’s wrong. The bond is murky.”
Arsenal turned to the door. “I’ll do a sweep. You stay here and wait for word from Parker.”
I was ready to run out and keep looking, but the rec room door opened and Wrecker reappeared, Parker on his heels. She was already holding her laptop, typing one-handed as she walked.
“I’m running the feeds,” she said, dropping into a kitchen chair. “Give me a minute.”
The room seemed to shrink. Everyone—Pearl, Wrecker, even some of the clean-up wolves—crowded around. Oscar perched on my shoulder, silent, but I could feel him vibrating with anxiety.
Parker tapped away, lines of code flying. “I’ve got four drones on the east perimeter, two more on the west, and the cam at the entry drive. Wait… back it up, there—”
She froze the frame. On the laptop screen, Papa’s figure strode along the tree line, his head down, hands in pockets. The timestamp said 9:13. She ran it forward—he paced the perimeter, checked a couple of outbuildings, then stopped by a small grove of juniper trees. He stood there for a full minute, looking at something out of frame. And then—just like that—he was gone.
Parker rewound, zoomed in. “He’s walking, walking… and then nothing. No one else in the shot. No sign of a struggle. He just… vanishes.”
I stared at the screen, willing it to show something else. A flash of color, a shadow, a clue. But there was only the darkness at the edge of the trees and the way Papa seemed to dissolve into it, like a drop of ink in water.
Wrecker grunted. “Play it again. Slower.”
