A missing groom who'd fled voluntarily wouldn't head for the main exits—too many witnesses, too many cameras. He'd go somewhere quiet. Somewhere staff rarely bothered with. Somewhere he could catch his breath without the whole world watching.
I designed this hotel's security system. I knew its weaknesses better than anyone.
The service corridor from the groom's suite led away from the kitchen toward the administrative wing and the loading dock. At this hour, with reception prep happening on the other side of the building, these back hallways would be nearly empty. A man in a tuxedo could walk through here without encountering morethan one or two people—and staff were trained not to question guests, even those who looked out of place.
The passage near the loading dock was barely shoulder-width. No cameras. Dim lighting. The kind of place you could hide if you wanted to disappear.
I slowed my pace, let my footsteps fall silent, and listened.
There.
Breathing. Ragged and uneven, the sound of someone trying desperately to hold it together.
I rounded the corner.
Tobias Langford was pressed against the wall as if trying to become part of it. His tuxedo pants were wrinkled, his white shirt untucked, and his silk tie hung loose around his neck. His hands were shaking, and his face was the color of fresh snow.
He looked up, and our eyes met.
I'd spent fifteen years learning to read people—eight in the Army, seven in private security. I knew what panic, guilt, and calculation looked like. I could identify a threat in a crowded room and spot a liar from across a ballroom.
What I saw in Tobias Langford's eyes wasn't any of those things.
It was desperation. Raw, honest desperation, stripped of every pretense. The face of someone who'd finally stopped pretending.
"Please." The word came out broken, barely above a whisper. "Please don't make me go back."
I should have radioed in. That was protocol: missing person located, coordinates confirmed, situation contained. The wedding coordinator would swoop in, the family would be notified, and Tobias Langford would be escorted back to his own life whether he wanted to go or not.
That was the job. That was what I was paid for.
But I looked at this kid—this man, twenty-six wasn't a kid—shaking against a concrete wall with his whole world crashing down around him, and I couldn't reach for the radio.
I'd watched soldiers break before. Good men, strong men, pushed past what any human should have to endure. I'd held some of them while they fell apart. I'd attended funerals for those who couldn't put themselves back together.
Tobias Langford was about to break. Right here, right now, in this narrow corridor where no one could see. And if I walked away, I'd spend the rest of my life wondering what happened next.
"You sure about this?"
He blinked, startled. "What?"
"Running. Whatever's happening, there might be another way."
He shook his head, the motion sharp and certain despite the trembling. "There isn't. I've tried. For months, I've tried to convince myself I could go through with it." His voice cracked, but he continued. "She doesn't deserve what I'd become if I walked down that aisle. Neither do I."
Not cold feet, then. Not last-minute jitters that could be talked through. This was something deeper, something that had been building for a long time, finally cresting at the worst possible moment.
Or maybe the only possible moment.
I made a decision.
"Can you walk?"
He stared at me. "I don't—"
"Can you walk without falling apart? Keep your head down, follow directions, not draw attention?"
A pause. Then a slow, steadier nod than expected.
