We followed the trail in silence. Past the hallway lined with blackout windows. Into the master suite.
The room was cold.
Not in temperature. In energy.
The bed was made. Closet shut. Everything in place… except that streak of dried blood that ended at the base of the nightstand.
Creed’s voice was quiet, but laced with anger. “He was here.”
I nodded, teeth grinding behind a locked jaw.
Rollo had been here. Bleeding. Possibly dragged. He was taken. Maybe tortured. Maybe killed.And I hadn’t protected him.
Creed crouched and ran a finger along the blood. “It’s dry,” he muttered. “Probably happened yesterday.”
“We were just a few hours too late,” I said, voice flat.
My eyes scanned the room again.
That’s when I spotted it.
Two MacBooks on a sleek glass desk in the corner.
Identical. New. One of them was open to the login screen. The other still powered off.
I walked over, grabbed both.
Creed looked at me. “Can you crack those?”
“Give me an hour. I’ve got tools back at my place.”
Creed stood slowly, tucking his Glock away. “If he’s dead?—”
“He ain’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Not yet.” I was in denial. He was more than likely dead.
We moved through the apartment fast after that. Didn’t touch anything else. Didn’t waste time pretending we didn’t know what was coming.
Because deep down, I already knew.
Rollo was gone.
And Havoc?
He’d just put a target on his back he couldn’t outrun.
Back in the car, we pulled out of the garage in silence. I set the laptops in the backseat and leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past like static.
Then my phone rang.
I answered on speaker.
“Riot King?” the voice said—official, tight. “This is Gary Freedman from the lead investigation team. We completed the environmental assessment of your mother’s home. No lead in the paint. No contamination in the water supply. Not even trace levels.”
My spine straightened. “Then what the hell’s been making her sick?”
A pause.
“We believe… someone’s been poisoning her. Intentionally. Likely through food.”