This felt restrained.
Contained.
Like pressure sealed behind steel.
Conversation around the table slowly died as the team noticed it too.
Lucas straightened slightly against the wall.
Russ lowered the coffee cup halfway to his mouth.
Miles stopped talking altogether.
Clay leaned back in his chair, arms folded loosely across his chest while he watched Russ carefully.
Waited.
Because whatever this was—
It was bad.
Russ stepped to the table without speaking immediately.
A thick file landed against the metal surface with a dull slap.
No one touched it.
For a second, all Clay could hear was the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
Then Russ looked up.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Miles exhaled under his breath.
“Don’t we always.”
Russ ignored him completely.
Instead, he opened the file and turned it toward the center of the table.
Photos.
Coordinates.
Incident reports.
Medical tags.
Clay’s eyes caught on those first.
Medical.
Something cold slid through his stomach.
“She was supposed to check in three days ago,” Russ said evenly. “She didn’t.”
The room narrowed instantly.
