Her eyes soften.“Okay.”
That’s all I need.
***
Finn walks ahead.Atlasfalls in at my shoulder.Both are too quiet.Finn’s jaw works like he’s chewing through emotion.Atlas’s breath comes in tight drags, too controlled.
“You saw the packet hit your phone,” Atlas mutters.
“Yeah.”
Finn kicks a puck off the wall as we pass, sending it echoing down the empty stretch of hallway.“What’s it say?”
“Didn’t open it yet.”
Finn stares at me like I sprouted horns.“You didn’t—what?You’ve had it for twenty minutes.”
“I wasn’t going to open it in front of her,” I say, steady.
Atlas clears his throat.“Good.”
Finn’s shoulders drop half an inch.“Right.Yeah.That makes sense.”
I push open the door to the conference room.Two members of ops—Santos and Leung—sit waiting with a laptop and a printed folder.
“Morning, Captain,” Santos says.“We pulled everything you asked for.”
I nod once.Atlas takes the seat to my left.Finn leans on the wall behind me like he’s incapable of sitting still.
“Show me 118,” I say.
Leung flips open the laptop.“This is the first still we caught.”She enlarges the frame.
I go very still.
It’s exactly what Wren described:
• A man
• Standing completely still
• Facing the bench
• Not watching the ice
Cap low.Collar up.Hands in pockets.A silhouette, not a face.
“Show me the movement before and after.”
She scrubs.Ten seconds back.Fifteen.The figure steps into frame from the aisle.Pauses.Looks directly toward the bench.
Toward her.
A heat crawls up my spine, slow and controlled.
“Zoom?”I ask.
Leung tries.The pixels smear.The resolution turns to grainy blocks of shadow and light.
