“Thanks for all your help. Night,” I said.
He returned the same.
Ending the call, I turned to Riley watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. “What are you thinking?”
“That a five-year-old boy might have accidentally disrupted the most thorough administrative system I’ve ever seen.” Her smile held no mockery, only understanding. “It would be almost funny if it wasn’t so?—”
“Devastating to my professional credibility.”
“I was going to say human. Or orc-like. Whatever the equivalent is for making mistakes.”
I sighed. “I don’t make mistakes like this.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Dungar. Even you. Your systems aren’t infallible because they’re run by people, those who can be distracted by deputies getting locked in jail cells.”
Despite everything, her teasing tone coaxed a smile from me. “You’re suggesting I was distracted?”
“I’m suggesting that sometimes life happens around our best-laid plans. Sometimes five-year-olds play with mailboxes and disrupt international correspondence.” She reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers. “It doesn’t make you a failure.”
Cupping her face, I kissed her, rubbing our noses together after. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
We left the office, riding Treelee home through the quiet night. My mind churned through possibilities, reorganizing the facts into new patterns. If Billy had tampered with the mail and Aunt Inla had seen theking’s documentation, then everything I knew about this case needed to be reconsidered.
Back home, I spent an hour updating my files, creating new categories for the information I’d gathered. Riley sat beside me at the kitchen table, occasionally asking questions that helped me think through the implications.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said as I closed my laptop. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to Aunt Inla and Cara Winslow. Then we’ll find out who might be threatening the luminooks.”
I nodded, appreciating her certainty even as doubt gnawed at my bones. “I should’ve considered every variable.”
“You should’ve anticipated that a tourist child might disrupt postal delivery?” She raised an eyebrow. “Even your planning abilities have limits.”
“Apparently.” The admission tasted bitter.
We went to bed, but sleep eluded me. I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail of the investigation, every assumption I’d made. Beside me, Riley’s breathing eventually evened into sleep, but my mind refused to quiet.
At 5:00 AM, I gave up pretending to rest. I carefully slipped from bed, not wanting to wake her, and went to the kitchen to start coffee. The familiar routine of measuring grounds and arranging mugs in precise alignment helped settle my churning thoughts.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Riley’s voice came from the doorway. She wore one of my shirts, her hair tousled from thepillow, and the sight of her in my space made my chest tighten.
“Too many variables to process.” I handed her a mug of coffee, prepared exactly how she liked it. “I keep thinking about what I missed, what I should have done differently.”
She leaned against the counter beside me. “Tell me something. In all your years of law enforcement, have you ever had a case where everything went exactly according to plan?”
I considered this, sipping my coffee while I reviewed my mental files. “Most cases have some unexpected elements.”
“So this feeling, this frustration with things not going perfectly is not new.”
“No, but?—”
“But you still solve problems. You adapt, you adjust your approach, and you find new angles of looking at things.” She reached for my hand. “That’s what makes you good at your job, not your ability to predict everything.”
Her confidence in me was humbling. “What if I can’t solve this one? My systematic approach may not be enough.”
“Then we’ll solve it together.” She squeezed my fingers. “We make a good team, remember?”
I turned to study her face, taking in the certainty in her eyes. “How are you so sure?”
