I keyed my radio to a private channel. "Beck, Wolf. You copy?"
Ronan's voice came through first, clipped and professional. "Copy. What do you need?"
"Missing groom. Tobias Langford. Last confirmed in the groom's suite twenty minutes ago. Coordinate with wedding staff, keep guests calm. I need eyes on all service exits."
"Understood." A pause. "How worried should we be?"
"Worried."
Luca Wolf's voice joined in, tighter than usual. "I'll handle the family. They're already getting loud."
"Stall them. Give me fifteen minutes."
"I'll try."
I reached the third floor and pushed through the service door. The groom's suite was at the far end—I'd conducted the security walkthrough myself three days ago, noting every entrance and exit, cataloging every potential vulnerability.
The wedding coordinator's assistant intercepted me halfway down the corridor, her face pale. "Mr. Kessler, we've looked everywhere. His mother is going to—"
"I'll handle it."
I didn't slow down. The suite door stood open, another staff member hovering nervously in the entrance. I stepped past her and scanned the room with practiced efficiency.
Empty.
But not the kind of empty that suggested abduction. The champagne remained unopened, two glasses still on the silver tray. A wallet sat on the dresser beside a pair of cufflinks. The tuxedo jacket lay discarded on the bed, boutonnière still attached, the silk tie crumpled beside it.
I checked the bathroom. Clear. The balcony. Clear. I opened the closet on instinct, looked behind furniture, checked under the bed.
Nothing.
But the side door was unlocked. The one that led to the service corridor.
I pushed it open and found myself in the narrow hallway I'd just walked. The same corridor that connected to the kitchen, the loading dock, the maze of passages where guests never ventured.
Tobias Langford hadn't been taken. He'd walked out on his own.
I stood very still, processing.
Four weeks ago, during the site visit, I'd watched this kid drift through his own engagement party like a sleepwalker. Pleasant smile, appropriate responses, but absolutely nobody home behind those pale green eyes. The near-fall at the fountain had been the only moment of genuine reaction I'd witnessed—and that had lasted all of five seconds before the mask slid back into place.
I remembered the weight of his body against my chest. Lighter than expected, almost fragile beneath the expensive tailoring. He'd gone completely still when I caught him—not struggling, not pulling away. Just frozen, as if he'd forgotten people could touch him without wanting something in return.
I'd seen that kind of stillness before. In soldiers who'd stopped caring whether they lived or died. In men who'd learned to disappear inside themselves because the outside world had become unbearable.
That kid's not okay.
I'd thought it then. I was certain of it now.
My radio crackled. "Sir, camera footage is up. Subject exited via the side door at 2:17. Headed toward the kitchen corridor."
"Which direction from the junction?"
"Lost him at the T-intersection. Camera blind spot."
Of course. I'd been meaning to fix that gap for months.
I changed direction, thinking like someone who wanted to disappear.
