I watch Nora gesture wildly, already deciding which tattoo needs a rainbow, and feel something unfamiliar settle in my chest. Normal. This…this is normal. Dinner plans. A kid arguing about colors. Hazel laughing so freely it feels contagious.
For tonight, at least, the world isn’t closing in.
We sit down, order food, let Nora “decorate” my arm while Hazel gives enthusiastic commentary, and for the first time since we crossed into Philly, I let myself exist in the moment.
Tomorrow, we find our best friends, and finally get the answers we have been looking after for weeks.
Tonight, we eat pasta, trade bad jokes, and let a three-year-old decide that my tattoos need more purple.
And somehow, that feels like the safest thing in the world.
CHAPTER FORTY
CASE 143
LINCOLN
Idon’t launch straight into it, and definitely not with Nora pressed happily against Hazel’s side—not with Zack pretending he isn’t listening while very much listening to everything.
Nora is sprawled half across the booth, coloring Zack’s arm with the seriousness of someone performing a sacred duty. Hazel treats every choice like it matters, leans in, asks questions, praises color combinations like they’re museum-worthy. Nora eats it up, glancing between them like she’s collecting proof that this is the best night of her life; her beaming little face and her auburn curls bouncing as she takes in the absolute attention that these two are giving her.
I let it breathe for a minute. Normal is fragile. You don’t shatter it unless you have to, and my baby girl deserves the world.
But eventually, Zack’s eyes flick to me. It’s subtle. A silentnow.
I slide my phone onto the table and rotate it so they can see. The screen lights up with maps layered over each other, data points clustered and circled, weeks of sleepless nights distilled into something that finally looks coherent.
“I found them,” I say quietly. “Or close enough that I’m willing to say it out loud.”
Hazel’s smile fades, but she doesn’t pull away from Nora. She just stills, attention sharpening. Zack leans forward, his forearms braced on the table, all the ease draining out of him without turning into panic.
“Cameron and Leyla didn’t disappear the way everyone thought,” I continue. “They didn’t die—they were contained.”
I zoom in, narrowing the map to a stretch of industrial land north of the river, Old shipping corridors. Warehouses that haven’t officially existed in years. “Leyla’s last digital footprint didn’t drop off—it flattened. No signal noise. No bleed. Like someone threw a blanket over her entire presence.”
Zack’s jaw tightens. “On purpose.”
“Very,” I say. “Private power routing. RF dampening. Ownership passed through shell companies so fast it looks like static unless you know where to stare.”
Hazel finally speaks. “Where?”
I tap the screen.
“A warehouse. I’m ninety percent sure.”
The number isn’t guesswork. It’s earned. And they both know it.
Zack exhales slowly, controlled. “Alive?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “If they wanted them dead, they wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble. Being dead doesn’t normally send people on witch hunts to find living people. Especially ones where their death was deemed anaccident.” My voice is softer than I’m known for, but strong enough for Hazel to realize I mean it.
Hazel nods once, absorbing it, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on Nora’s back as the little girl hums to herself.
“There’s something else,” I add, hesitating just a fraction longer than usual.
Zack notices immediately. “What?”
I switch screens, pulling up an older file. A cold case I mentioned weeks ago and never let go of.
