Because his phone buzzes once. Then again. Then stops.
He pulls it out, checks the screen.
I watch the tension ripple through him, subtle but certain. Like an old wire pulled taut.
“What is it?” I ask.
Elias looks up.
His voice is calm. Too calm.
“He made a move.”
Elias pockets his phone, but his eyes stay on me. Reading me.
I feel my body go rigid. “What kind of move?”
He answers with a question of his own. “Do you still want to know everything?”
The question hangs there, and it’s not rhetorical. I nod.
“He was seen an hour ago near the southern inlet highway. Someone in my network flagged the vehicle.”
I picture the stretch of road—one that snakes down past the old fishing docks and dead-end rental cabins. Not far from the turn-off to Miramont. Not far from the clinic.
My stomach drops. “So he’s circling again.”
“He never stopped.”
My pulse thuds against my skin. “What now?”
Elias moves, walking toward the console desk along the wall. It’s built into the cabinetry, almost hidden. He keys in a code, and a screen slides upward. A digital map glows blue against the quiet room.
“You don’t need to be part of this,” he says, low. “You could stay here, wait it out. Let me deal with it.”
But I shake my head before he finishes. “No. I want to see.”
He studies me. Not just my words—but my resolve. Then nods once and switches the feed.
A grid of six cameras populates the screen. Most show empty terrain—gravel lots, coastal roads, quiet intersections. One shows a moving car. Caleb’s. I know it instantly. The old rust-colored pickup he never let go of.
“He’s not alone,” Elias murmurs.
I lean closer. There’s a passenger in the front seat, but I can’t make out his face.
“Who is that?”
Elias doesn’t reply immediately. “Could be one of two people. Doesn’t matter. Neither are friends.”
I look at him. “So this is it? You’re going after him?”
He doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
“When?”
He closes the screen gently. “Tonight.”
I go still. Every part of me wants to saygood. Wants to saydo it. But my mouth moves differently.