Guards fan out, methodical, weapons up, checking corners, checking shadows, checking places that can’t possibly hold her.
I already know.
My eyes go straight to the spot by the workbench where she dropped her bag.
It’s still there.
But her skates aren’t.They’re not on the floor.Not tucked under the bench.Not kicked aside, where she always leaves them.
A guard shakes his head at Carl and holds out a phone.
Dove’s phone.
The garage tilts, and I have to plant my boots wider to stay upright.My hands curl into fists.My vision tunnels, and every nerve lights up.Then goes numb.
I replay it all at once.The doorway, the sunlight, and the kiss she caught and threw back.She told me to go, and I listened.
I should’ve stayed.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve—
The thoughts don’t finish.They fracture, scatter, and burn.
Pain floods in and spreads everywhere, behind my eyes, in my throat, and down my spine.All the noise fades, the guards, the radios, and the city outside, leaving a hollowed-out space where she’s supposed to be.
Carl comes up beside me, breathing hard.“We’re canvassing the blocks.Cameras.Harbor feeds.Everyone’s moving.Your family is inbound.”
I nod once, because nodding is all I can manage.
Dove is gone.
Sitka slams shut like a fist.Red and blue everywhere.Sirens slice the air.Radios bark codes.Cops flood the streets, and harbor patrols choke the docks.
None of it matters if Dove isn’t safe.
I scan faces, lights, and shadows, looking for her where she can’t possibly be.
Monty Strakh stands at the center of it all, calm in a terrifying way I’ve only seen once before.The night I met him at the doctor’s dead-body dinner party.
Phone glued to his ear, Monty points, and people snap to attention around him.Private security.Federal favors.Maritime contacts.Money moving faster than the law ever can.
“I want the town shut down yesterday.”He pauses, listening to the mayor on the phone.“You heard me.I want the floatplanes grounded.Ferries stalled.Coast Guard cutters idle in the water.All roads bottlenecked.Every possible exit becomes a barricade with a badge in front of it.”
He’s done this before.When Frankie vanished, he bent the world until it screamed.
He’s doing it again.
But I can’t stand still long enough to watch.
When Carl confirms the cameras were smashed and the footage wiped in both shops, that’s my cue to go.
I take my motorcycle and tear through Sitka.Up the hills.Down by the water.Through neighborhoods where porch lights flick on, and faces appear behind curtains.I search alleys, doorways, and shadows that look like people until they don’t.
Through it all, a familiar engine rumbles behind me, close enough to feel like a hand on my shoulder.
Leo.
