The question sits in my head without answer, the frustration that comes with it pressing into the same place the anger already occupies.
Five days.
Almost six.
Every hour that passes without something to act on stretches that pressure further, pulls it tighter, makes it harder to ignore the fact that she’s still out there and I don’t know where.
Christian’s phone vibrates against the table.
The sound cuts through everything else.
He glances down at it, reads, and something shifts in his expression, not surprise, not relief, just recognition.
“The Blackbird has a package.”
I straighten slightly.
“Where.”
“Motel. Ten minutes out.”
I’m already moving.
Jackson steps into the room as I grab my jacket, his energy sharp, restless, like he hasn’t stopped moving since we left.
“I’m coming,” he says.
“You don’t need to—”
“I’m not staying here,” he cuts in. “I’m not doing nothing.”
There’s no hesitation in it.
I nod once.
“Move.”
Lucian stays. Zach stays. Evelyn is already pulling more files toward her, her focus shifting as we leave.
The drive is short, the road stretching out in front of us with nothing in it but distance and the weight sitting in my chest.
I don’t fill the silence.
Neither does Christian.
Jackson shifts in the seat beside me, his knee bouncing once before he stills it, like he’s forcing himself to stay controlled.
The motel looks exactly like I expected when we pull in, half-lit, empty, the kind of place no one looks at twice.
Christian gives the room number.
We don’t hesitate.
He knocks once, then opens the door.
The woman inside smiles when she sees him.
It’s not warm.
