I pour a glass of whiskey and throw it back. Then pour another.
"Boss, you okay?"
"I can't stand it. Not knowing if she chose this or if he's got her locked in there. Not knowing if my kid is safe or if he's growing up calling another man father. We could be wrong about all of it. Maybe she chose this."
"We'll find them." Zara's voice is calm. "But you need to be patient and plan this out."
"I don't have time for plans."
"You do if you don't waste it being drunk and sleep-deprived," she snaps. "Pull yourself together."
I set the glass down hard enough that it cracks. She flinches behind the screen.
"Get me everything. Layout of that town. Every camera, every contract. Staff list for that house. Every last detail. I want it."
"Already on it."
Zara signs off and Nick watches me like I'm a live grenade. "Go get some rest."
I don't want to sleep. Sleep is the only place where the past catches up, where my head plays her face on repeat. Where my soul is completely restless. But I don't have the energy to fight with Nick, so I grab my laptop and head for the stairs.
Nick calls my name, but I ignore him.
My body moves like it's underwater, thanks to the whiskey I chugged.
I should've made an espresso before heading up. There is so much I have to do, places I haven't looked yet.
I kick off my shoes the moment I'm inside, tossing my jacket onto the bed. The shirt comes off next, pulled over my head and discarded as I drop into the chair and flip open my laptop.
The program I built months ago loads on command. The one designed to find her.
I've put traces everywhere on the Ferryman. Every dark corner, every whispered alias, every digital breadcrumb he's ever left behind.
I will find him.
It just needs to happen sooner rather than later.
Code cascades down the screen, a slow green pulse against black. My eyes sting from hours of sleeplessness. I blink hard, trying to focus, but the alcohol has turned everything soft at the edges. The lines of code blur together, freeze?—
Then the screen goes black.
Three words appear in the middle:Go. To. Sleep.
I don't have the strength to shout for Nick. Instead, I let my head fall back against the chair. Just for a second. Just to clear my thoughts. Just to let the anger cool enough to think.
SEVEN
TRISTAN
Headlights smear across wet pavement, but I barely register it.
The cold is seeping into my bones.
I'm half-conscious, bleeding through my shirt, trying to remember which direction I was running when a car door slams.
"Move."
She steps out of the glare—dark coat, red hair catching the streetlight.
