Page 151 of What We Become

Micah comes back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. His blue-gray eyes find mine across the room, and he shakes his head slowly.

“Nothing in the trash,” he says. “No packaging, tags, or ribbon scraps. The tulips aren’t there either. Whoever did this took everything with them.”

“There goes that idea,” Sage says, and Micah pulls her in without waiting to be asked.

I open Odin’s secure relay and select Fenrir’s channel.

We haven’t communicated since he locked me out of my own server and cost us the catch on Sage’s phone—I’ve been too pissed to want anything from the guy. But when something disappears inside a system that should’ve caught it, Fenrir is the person you ask to find the hole. So I swallow my anger and attach the first network probe, this afternoon’s packet, the security logs, and photographs of the flowers.

ME:

I need external eyes around our house between twelve forty-five and one thirty this afternoon. Six cameras show no approach. Door and window sensors show no entry. Flowers appeared inside during that window. Images attached. Second packet has the same routing pattern as the probe from twelve days ago.

The response comes less than a minute later.

FENRIR:

Received. Expanding search radius. Preserve all original files.

I look at Holden. “Fenrir’s searching traffic cameras and private feeds beyond our system.”

“How long will that take?”

“Could be minutes. Could be hours.”

Knox comes in through the back door. “Nothing on the roof. Attic’s clean too.”

“You checked the roof?”

His expression tells me that was a stupid question.

“Of course you checked the roof.”

Holden’s phone rings. He looks at the screen and answers immediately.

“Odin.”

He moves into the living room, giving Odin a sharp summary while I turn back to the florist databases. One chain has sold twenty-three sunflower arrangements in the last three days. Another has sold nine. The third has only one transaction matching twelve sunflowers and eucalyptus.

Cash purchase. This morning. 8 a.m.

The store is eleven miles from our house.

“Got one.”

Everyone moves closer.

“Twelve sunflowers, three eucalyptus stems, paid for in cash at eight this morning. No customer account and no delivery address. Whoever bought them walked out carrying the bouquet.”

“Store cameras?” Holden asks.

“Local system. I can’t access it from here.”

My laptop chimes before I finish the sentence.

FENRIR:

Confirmed florist. Footage incoming.