I opened it.
The message was short. Casual, almost careless. And it made my scalp prickle.
I might have info. Not posting it here. If you’re serious, we can talk. In person.
I read it again, slower.
I might have info.
Not I saw her. Not I know her. Not I’m sure.
But still—information. Something. A thread that wasn’t frayed to dust.
My body reacted before my mind could discipline it. I sat up straighter. For a second I was already moving through next steps: where, when, how fast, what questions.
The impulse was immediate and absolute: now.
And then, just as fast, another voice cut in. Rios. Flat and certain.
Don’t run at the first thing that looks like a door. Make sure it’s not a trap.
I exhaled through my nose.
I didn’t want to admit he was right, but—he was right.
I flexed my fingers and put them on the keyboard.
I’m serious. I’m not discussing details here. Name a public place and a time. I won’t come alone.
I read it once to make sure it said what it needed to say and nothing it didn’t.
Then I hit send.
The message whooshed away into the void.
My hands were steady. My heart was not.
I reached for my phone and tapped out a text to Rios.
Madden:
Swing by on your way back from hanging with Ford and Sawyer. I’ve got something to show you. Not an emergency.
Once the message sent, I finished the grilled cheese and grabbed one of the MoonPies. The first bite was sweet, soft, and utterly ridiculous. Perfect. I ate it too fast and went back for another in a small show of defiance. I’d eaten little enough lately that it wasn’t as if the extra sugar was going to do any harm.
I carried my second dessert back to the berth along with my laptop. I closed down my email, my browser, and everything else work related. I was too tired, angry, and raw to chase more leads tonight. That was how mistakes got made.
And I was done making mistakes for the sake of momentum.
I kicked my shoes off, curled into the berth and queued up the Great British Bake Off, because watching strangers care intensely about pastry was the safest possible way to let my brain uncoil without falling into a pit. As the familiar theme music washed over me, some of the tension unraveled, leaving my eyes heavy. They slid closed before a single word could be said about soggy bottoms.
Twenty-Five
RIOS
I tipped my phone like I was checking the time, but I was really looking to see if I’d gotten another text from Madden.
Nothing.
