Page 79 of The Sentinel

“This show mattered to him,” I said, the words sharp with the truth of it. “Not just because it was his job. But because he believed in it. He believed in uncovering the truth. In shining a light on the things people tried to keep buried. In giving voices to the ones who didn’t have them.”

A thousand memories threatened to crash over me. Diego, sprawled in a chair at my apartment, laptop open, headphones on, grinning as he tweaked an episode’s intro music for the fifth time just to get it perfect. Diego rolling his eyes every time I spiraled about a script but still reading through every word, pointing out the parts that needed tightening. Diego calling me, voice buzzing with excitement, because a new lead had come through on one of our deep-dive cases.

And now? Now, his voice was gone.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the grief down.

“Diego knew what he was doing. He knew how to dig, how to follow a trail. He knew when a story wasn’t adding up.” My pulse pounded. “And now, he’s dead. And the police don’t care.”

My hands shook, but I kept my voice steady.

“His parents are on a plane right now,” I said, my breath hitching slightly. “They’re flying to Charleston. Tothe place where their son died. They deserve answers. They deserve justice. And right now, they have nothing.”

A hollow ache burned in my chest. I could still hear María Gil’s sobs over the phone, the way her voice had cracked when she askedDónde está?—where is he?

I closed my eyes for a brief second, exhaling.

“I’m not going to let this go,” I promised, my voice firm. “And if you’ve ever trusted me—if you’ve ever believed in what we do here—then I need you now.”

I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table.

“I need your help.”

Marcus’s fingers twitched. His expression didn’t change, but I saw the ripple of tension go through him.

“I’m asking you—all of you—to help me find the woman who holds the key to this. Her name is Evelyn Hart. She’s the mayor of Charleston. And she’s disappeared.”

I paused, letting the weight of it settle.

“I don’t need conspiracy theories. I don’t need speculation. I need real leads. I need eyes. If you’ve seen her—if you know where she’s staying, who she’s talking to, what car she’s driving—I want to know.”

I let my voice soften, threading it with something raw, something real.

“Diego deserves justice. And I can’t do this alone.”

I let the words hang for a beat, then pushed forward.

“I’m putting something on the table. If you help, you won’t just get a mention on the show—you’ll get more. A private event, in Charleston, fully paid. And I’ll attend, too. We’ll celebrate together.”

I lifted my gaze again, locking onto Marcus. His eyes had darkened, but there was something else there too—something quieter.

Pride. Not just in me, but in this. In the way we wereworking together, in the way his resources were fueling something bigger than just vengeance. He didn’t need the credit. Didn’t want it.

Because this? This was mine.

“This is personal,” I said, voice thick. “And if you’ve ever lost someone and been told to just move on—to let it go—then you know why I’m doing this. Why I have to do this.”

A long exhale.

“Let’s find her.”

Then I killed the mic.

The room went silent.

I barely had time to breathe before Marcus was there, fingers brushing my wrist, his body so close I could feel the heat of him everywhere.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice low, dark, reverent.

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