Gregor briefed the group in thirty seconds flat about the note, the connection he’d felt, the Murphy magic signature, and the timeline. “Zack, coordinate a sweep of all cabins to do a headcount. Sivney, can you bring all children and high-value targets to the meeting barn? Blair, we need that meeting barn surrounded by guards. Fallon, I’m putting you in charge of the protective wards.”
His mind ran through the scenarios, the possibilities, and something struck him. “Check on Duff Bás,” he added, and he watched comprehension dawn on several faces simultaneously.
Blair immediately called up a guard on his com. “Martin, can you check Duff Bás’s cabin? You should be closest. Over.”
“On it, boss. Over.”
They waited in silence for Martin to respond. He did, barely a minute later. “Cabin’s empty, boss. No note. Looks like he left in a hurry. Over.”
The room went quiet. Two disappearances. One with a note and signs of voluntary departure. One without.
“They’re connected,” Rhene said.
“Almost certainly.” Gregor’s mind was running scenarios at combat speed, but beneath the tactical analysis, beneath the threat assessments and probability calculations and strategic frameworks, a single thought pulsed with the steady, unbearable rhythm of a heartbeat.
Fergal. Fergal. Fergal.
“Commander.” Zack’s voice was carefully neutral. “Any other orders? Anything else you need?”
The omega’s question cut through the noise in Gregor’s head. What did he need? He needed Fergal. He needed to rewind three days and tell the truth. He needed to rewind two hours and skip the extended patrol. He needed to rewind thirty minutes and be in the cabin when Fergal read whatever message had lured him out.
He breathed out. “I need a full intelligence sweep. Jermon, can you check every ward for signs of external magic? Blair, we need security camera footage from every angle covering the cabin and the compound exits. And we need to talk to anyone Fergal interacted with this morning to see if they noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
The room mobilized. People moved with purpose, assignments accepted without argument, the machinery of crisis response engaging with the well-oiled efficiency of a community that had weathered too many emergencies to waste time on panic.
Gregor stood in the middle of it and let the commander run the operation while the man inside him screamed.
Twenty minutes later, the preliminary reports were in. No external ward breaches. No unfamiliar scents on the perimeter. Security cameras showed Fergal leaving the cabin at twelve twenty-seven, alone, walking quickly toward the eastern tree line. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t being dragged. He was moving with purpose, as if going to meet someone. The camera angles didn’t extend to the tree line. Beyond the last frame, Fergal walked into the afternoon sunlight and disappeared.
There was no footage of Duff leaving at all, which meant he’d either avoided the cameras deliberately or left by a route that wasn’t covered. The man was a hunter. He knew how to move unseen.
“They didn’t leave together,” Gregor said, studying the footage time stamp. “Fergal left first. Duff went after him, or left separately.”
“Or Duff was taken too,” Jermon offered.
“Possible but unlikely. His cabin shows no signs of struggle, and a man with his skills wouldn’t go quietly unless he chose to.” Gregor’s jaw tightened. “My assessment is that Duff sensed something and followed it.”
“Which means Duff might know where Fergal is,” Rhene said.
“Or Duff might be walking into the same trap.”
The room absorbed that possibility in silence.
Gregor looked at the frozen frame on the security monitor—Fergal, captured mid-stride, his face clearly visible in thedaylight. He was squinting slightly, and his expression held something that Gregor couldn’t quite categorize. Not fear. Not determination. Something more like resignation, the look of a man walking toward something he knew was dangerous because the alternative was worse.
What had someone told him? What threat had been convincing enough to make Fergal leave without waiting for Gregor, without telling him, without trusting that Gregor would handle it?
The answer came with the sickening clarity of a puzzle piece clicking into place.
A threat against Gregor himself. Someone had told Fergal that Gregor was in danger, and Fergal—brave, reckless, impossibly selfless Fergal—had gone to handle it alone rather than risk Gregor’s life. He’d left without alerting Gregor precisely because Gregor’s presence would make it worse.
He’d gone to protect Gregor. The way Gregor had spent his entire life protecting Fergal.
And now he was gone.
Gregor closed his eyes and made a vow.
I will find you. I will bring you home. And when I do, I will tell you everything—every truth, every secret, every word I’ve been too afraid to say. The truth about your brother. The truth about what I did. The truth about why I couldn’t say the three words you deserved to hear every single day.
