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“We need to narrow it down.” Ethan studied the geographic distribution. “What properties have recent electrical usage spikes? Holding people requires power for lighting, climate control, and security systems.”
“Brilliant.” Julian pulled up utility records. “Filtering now.”
The list dropped to four locations. Ethan examined each one - three had legitimate business operations that explained power consumption. The fourth was listed as vacant storage, but electrical usage had increased forty percent over the past six months.
“There.” Ethan tapped the screen. “That industrial property on Riverside. It’s supposedly empty, but power consumption indicates a pattern of active occupation.”
Julian zoomed in and pulled up building specifications. “It’s a three-story warehouse, with reinforced concrete and minimal windows. It would be perfect for containment.”
“Silas, we found something.” Ethan turned toward the terminal where Silas monitored surveillance feeds.
Silas crossed the room quickly and reviewed their analysis. “Excellent work. I’ll see what cameras we have in the area and, if necessary, deploy surveillance drones for visual confirmation.”
“How long until you have footage?” Ethan tapped on the table, feeling the tension of being so close but…
“Four hours.” Silas returned to his terminal, fingers flying across multiple keyboards. “If victims are present, we’ll know by sunset.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his consciousness. He’d been awake for thirty-one hours, running on adrenaline and the desperate need to find Fiona before…
“Coffee?”
Julian stood beside him, holding a perfectly made plain coffee with a dash of cream. “I added two sugars.”
“How did you know I take…”
“Rook told me what you had for breakfast. Guardians are very particular about small details like that.” Julian set the cup down carefully. “In case you were wondering, he’s been baking in the kitchen for the past hour. Apparently making focaccia helps with anxiety, although he said the same thing four days ago about bruschetta, so I’m not sure what he’s using as a predictable metric.”
Ethan wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic, letting heat seep into his palms. “This is good.”
“Cillian installed a commercial espresso machine last month.” Julian sat beside him. “He’s fairly new to coffee, but for me it’s a necessary life fuel, so he researched optimal equipment and got me one.”
“That’s...” Ethan searched for the right word. “Really considerate.”
“The bond makes guardians attentive to their beacons’ needs.” Julian adjusted his glasses. “Rook will probably start leaving you gifts soon. Fair warning, they might appear strange in terms of courtship. Cillian brought me a first-edition grimoire and my former supervisor’s wallet.”
“A wallet? From someone you knew?” Although when Ethan thought about it, a shadow would make an excellent pickpocket.
“She was the woman who got me fired from the library.” Julian’s expression remained neutral. “Cillian was just letting me know he could access her and do away with her if I wanted him to. I told him that wasn’t necessary, of course.”
Ethan sipped the coffee, adding that information to the screeds of details he’d picked up in the course of the day. “How did you handle the supernatural revelation? I feel as though I should be panicking, and I’m almost waiting for it, but this all seems so normal somehow. You lived in what could be considered a human bubble only a matter of months ago, so how did you adjust?”
“I’d been dealing with people who made no logical sense for years.” Julian’s lips quirked. “At least guardians have consistent internal logic. Cillian says what he means. If he’s going to kill someone, he tells me directly. It’s refreshing compared to library politics.”
“That’s...actually a fair point.” Ethan had spent four years navigating theater patrons who said one thing and meant another, conflated professional service with personal interest, or became hostile when he established clear boundaries. “Direct communication is so underrated.”
“Extremely.” Julian returned to his keyboard. “Most people treat honesty like a weapon instead of a tool.”
Before Ethan could respond, Rook appeared from the kitchen, carrying a platter of freshly baked focaccia. The bread steamed, herbs and olive oil releasing aromatics that made Ethan’s stomach clench with sudden hunger.
“You need to eat.” Rook set the platter down beside Ethan’s coffee. “You haven’t had food since breakfast.”
“I was working.”
“I know. But your blood sugar’s probably crashing, and you’ll think better after protein and carbs.” Rook tore off a piece of focaccia, and handed it to Ethan. “Trust me.”
Ethan accepted the bread, still warm from the oven. The first bite revealed perfect texture, a crispy exterior, a soft interior, and salt and rosemary balanced precisely. “This is exceptional.”
“Baking is my coping mechanism.” Rook settled against the desk beside Ethan’s chair, close enough that his shadows drifted across Ethan’s forearm. “How’s the analysis going?”
