Page 225 of Ruin Me Gently

“You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” Silas shot back. “You’re just here to cash a check. So get it done.”

Orion nodded, inhaling slowly through his nose, eyes darting to the ceiling briefly before his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Setting up persistent background execution,” he murmured. “Live querying all public and private surveillance grids, optimising for multi-threaded recognition. This asshole won’t even be able to take a piss in public without us knowing about it.”

Finn leaned in, eyes tracking the screen. “You’re streamlining the response time?”

“Better. Running predictive modelling, cross referencing historical location data and movement patterns.”

“And if he’s changed his appearance?” Finn asked.

“AI’s smarter than people think—it maps bone structure, movement patterns, even how someone walks. If he tries to switch up his look, the system will flag anomalies.”

My stomach turned.Fantastic.The exact kind of power that made me want to throw my phone into the nearest ocean.

“Good,” Silas said. “Keep refining it. I want immediate alerts pushed to us the second there’s a hit.”

Orion grumbled. “Yes, sir, Mr. Big Boss Man, sir.”

I could feel the fire radiating from Silas’ skin.

“Now,” Orion drawled. “Let’s talk about cashing that cheque, huh?”

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

The glow of thescreen burned deep into my retinas.

Tension coiled between my shoulders, the dull ache in my neck creeping down to my spine. A headache pounded behind my eyes, but I ignored it.

It’d been over two weeks since we’d been in the AIFG software, and I’d gotten home late. Again.

Lilith had been asleep, curled on her side, tucked into the blankets, her hair a messy halo against the pillow. I hadn’t woken her. I’d just stood there, watching her from the doorway for a minute. Maybe longer.

Then, I’d walked right back out and straight into my office.

Now I was here. Stuck.

I was six years deep into Clark’s call history.Six years.

I scrolled through rows and rows of numbers, my fingers tight on the mouse. The logs stretched out in endless columns, showing every outgoing and incoming call the bastard had made, each one a thread I was trying to unravel.

There had to besomething. Some kind of pattern. A familiar number he kept calling. An old contact. Someone.

I clicked into another entry.Private number.

Another.Disconnected.

Another.No data found.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling hard through my nose.

I was missing something. I had to be.

This was ridiculous.

He wasn’t some criminal mastermind. He was a fucking news anchor—a man who sat behind a desk and read words someone else wrote for him. A man who spent his life being spoon-fed his own inflated ego on live television.

He wasn’t smart enough to disappear like this.

Restaurants. Work contacts. A few calls to distant relatives, but I’d already cross-referenced those with police records.

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