Page 8

Closing his laptop, Ethan finished his cold tea. On Thursday, at 7:30 p.m., he would explain The Tempest’s colonial implications and Prospero’s problematic power dynamics to someone who’d probably never considered Shakespeare outside high school English requirements. And, because it was Ethan delivering the summary, it would be efficient, professional, and completely lacking in romantic potential. Definitely.

Ethan’s reflection in the darkened window showed the small smile he hadn’t realized he was wearing. Correcting his expression, he went to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

Chapter Three

“You missed dinner,” Julian said when Rook walked into the Shadow House kitchen at eleven forty-seven. He stood at the island counter, dividing leftover roast chicken and vegetables into precise portions for refrigerator storage. Cillian sat at the table, shadows pooling around his feet, watching Julian as if the man was performing surgery or some kind of magic trick.

“I’ll probably bake later, and I had a body disposal situation, remember.” Rook grabbed a beer from the fridge. “And then…I met someone.”

Cillian’s head tilted, his black eyes narrowing with sudden interest.

“Someone who yelled at me,” Rook continued, dropping into the chair across from Cillian. “Outside a theater…about my terrible intervention tactics.”

Julian looked up from the container he’d been sealing. “Did you murder someone in front of them?”

“No, that’s the weird part.” Rook took a long drink, replaying the encounter for the dozenth time in his mind. “I just stopped some drunk asshole from cornering him. The guy - Ethan - got mad because apparently I made his job harder by escalating the situation instead of de-escalating it. He told me he has six years of de-escalation training and gave me a whole speech about professional courtesy versus personal interest that honestly just made me want to…” he stopped himself, aware everyone was staring. “Anyway. He works at the Garrison Theater. I’m going back Thursday.”

“You skipped the murder step entirely?” Cillian’s voice carried a hint of amusement, which, from him, meant he was practically laughing. “How disappointingly civilized.”

“I didn’t skip it. The timing was just different.” Rook set down his beer, remembering Ethan’s precise explanation of Brad’s escalation pattern, the analytical way he’d cataloged Rook’s tactical failures. “The first step is the important one - he’s not scared of me. He just thinks I’m inefficient.”

“That sounds familiar.” Julian glanced at Cillian with a small smile that made Cillian’s shadows ripple. “Though at least Rook didn’t leave body parts in an alley for his introduction.”

“To be fair, you offered disposal advice.” Cillian’s tone suggested this was high praise. “It showed initiative.”

Thorn stood from the map table, all six-foot-seven of ancient authority crossing to the island. He’d been reviewing case files, which meant something had his attention beyond Rook’s romantic prospects. “The Garrison Theater. That’s in the theater district, correct?”

“Yeah, Madison and State.” Rook’s protective instincts flared without conscious thought. “Why?”

“Silas.” Thorn didn’t raise his voice, but the summons carried through the house like a physical pull.

Footsteps on the stairs, then Silas appeared in a pristine white shirt and silver-rimmed glasses despite the late hour. He carried a tablet, fingers already swiping through files before he reached the table. His pale gray eyes fixed on Rook.

“The theater district,” Silas said without preamble. “You’ve been there recently?”

“Tonight. I stopped by after processing that Syndicate lieutenant.” Rook sat forward, his chest tightening. “What’s going on?”

Silas set the tablet on the table, turning it so everyone could see a map of downtown Madison, red pins clustered around several blocks. Twelve pins total, Rook counted automatically. Twelve too many.

“Disappearances,” Silas explained. “Twelve victims over six months. All service workers - bartenders, ushers, coat check attendants, that sort of thing. All last seen in the theater district.”

Rook’s beer hit the table hard. Ethan worked in the theater district. Ethan cataloged patron behavior and dealt with entitled assholes like Brad every single week.

“Pattern analysis suggests coordinated abductions rather than random opportunity.” Silas zoomed in on the timeline. “Disappearances occur every two to three weeks. Last documented case was nineteen days ago - Mandy Carmichael, a coat check at the Barrymore Theater. We’re approaching another likely incident window.”

“Trafficking?” Julian moved closer to examine the data, his eidetic memory already processing the information.

“That’s the most probable scenario. The victims fit a specific profile - young, attractive, and all of them were working late shifts in venues frequented by wealthy patrons.” Silas pulled up victim photos. Rook forced himself to look and to memorize their faces. “Theater venues provide access to both targets and potential buyers. The social structure creates natural power imbalances that discourage reporting.”

Rook thought of Ethan explaining Brad’s escalation pattern, mentioning six years of de-escalation training like it was routine preparation rather than evidence of persistent threat. But could it be what Ethan is doing as an effort to keep himself safe? Has he already been targeted? “Have you identified the network?”

“Not yet. The disappearances are too clean. There are no witnesses, no evidence, and no connection between victims beyond the theater district employment.” Silas swiped through more files. “I’ve been monitoring surveillance footage and financial transactions, but whoever’s running this operation understands countersurveillance protocols.”

“It could be someone with legitimate access.” Thorn crossed his arms, shadows darkening around his feet. “Theater staff, venue management, or a regular patron with season tickets. Someone who blends into the environment.”

Rook’s mind immediately went to Brad - hedge fund manager, season ticket holder, and entitled asshole who thought professional courtesy meant personal availability. But Brad was too obvious. Predators who lasted long enough to disappear twelve people knew better than to be obvious.

“We need more intelligence before moving.” Thorn’s tone made it an order, not a suggestion. “Surveillance, pattern confirmation, and network identification. Then we take down the operation, not just individual actors.”