A crow landed on a headstone three rows over, watching him with black eyes.
"The problem ishowhe ran. He couldn't control his own speed, so he bounced off the walls like he'd never used his powers before. And then he left in a laundry cart." The words sounded even more ridiculous out loud. "Alaundry cart, Mom."
The crow cocked its head.
"Then this morning, I went to investigate the attack site. His boss laughed at me. Actually laughed. Said Charlie fainted when a customer came in with a nosebleed."
Simon stood, pacing the small patch of grass in front of the grave. "Something's off. Things aren't adding up. Turner said they had multiple confirmed sources. Someone saw him. Someone reported those kills." He turned back to the headstone. "But there's nothing. No bodies. No missing persons. No evidence at all."
The morning was warming up, humidity already making his shirt stick to his back. Other mourners were starting to arrive.He could hear car doors slamming in the distance, muffled voices carrying on the breeze.
"I know what you'd say." Simon crouched again, straightening the lilies that didn't need straightening. "You'd tell me to trust my instincts. That if something feels wrong, it probably is."
His phone tried to call his attention again.
Simon pulled it out. Harmon.
Suppressing a sigh, Simon looked down at the grave one more time.
"I'm going to figure out what's really going on. Who Charlie really is. And then I'm going to finish the job." He touched the headstone gently, the granite warm from the morning sun. "I promise. I'm still doing this for you. All of it."
The phone kept ringing.
"I have to go. Harmon's going to want answers I don't have." He grimaced. "I'll bring better flowers next time. The fresh ones from that place on Madison you liked."
He finally turned and answered the phone.
"I'm on my way," he said before Harmon could speak.
"You better be. And Simon? I hope you have a damn good explanation for last night."
Simon glanced back once at his mother's grave, all his promises fresh in his mind. "I'm working on it."
The Hunter Organization's headquarters occupied the top three floors of a glass office building downtown, disguised as a private security firm. Simon pushed through the revolving doors at ten-thirty sharp, his reflection in the polished marble floors looking as composed as always. Black tactical pants, black shirt, expression carefully neutral.
The receptionist, a young woman who'd started two months ago, gave him a nervous smile. "Mr. Harmon is waiting for you in Conference Room Three."
Conference Room Three. Not Harmon's office.
That meant an audience.
Simon took the elevator to the forty-second floor, using the ride to review his options. He could explain about the cherry syrup, the laundry cart, the manager's testimony. He could present the lack of police reports and the missing evidence.
Or he could keep his mouth shut and take whatever they threw at him.
That was probably the smarter choice.
The elevator doors opened to reveal the familiar sterile hallway. The walls were white. There was no artwork, nothing that might suggest what really went on here. Simon's footsteps echoed as he walked past the research labs and the training rooms. A few junior hunters lounging by the water cooler stopped talking when they saw him.
News traveled fast here.
Conference Room Three's door stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, Simon could hear voices.
"—first time in five years?—"
"—told you giving him special treatment would?—"
"—needs to learn he's not above protocol?—"
