Page 101 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“I take it you weren’t this sickening with him?” Priya asked, eyebrow raised.
“Absolutely not,” Rory declared, though the slight flush on his cheeks suggested otherwise.
That little bubble of jealousy grew inside me again. Jesus, what was I, a pathetic, lovesick teenager? “Let’s look at his other conversations,” I found myself snapping. “You guys are so easily distracted. I don’t know how you get anything done.”
“Who put you in charge?” said Rory, with a smile.
…but I like it…
I deliberately sighed loudly and moved my gaze to the screen.
“Look, this one is about a missing persons case,” said Priya.
And as Felix methodically scrolled through conversation after conversation, a disturbing pattern emerged. We read in silence as the full scope of Dev’s investigation materialised before us. Dev had reached out to shifter connections across major cities, using subtle, coded language. Manchester, Liverpool, Cardiff, Glasgow. He never directly mentioned “shifters” or “wolves,” instead referring to “one of us” or “people like your brother.”
“Bloody hell.” Priya pointed to a message from a contact named Morgan in Cardiff. “Three gone without a trace since February.”
“And here.” Rory jabbed at another exchange. “Two more in Manchester just last month.”
My stomach tightened as the evidence mounted. By my count, at least fifteen shifters had vanished across the UK in the past six months—and these were just the ones Dev had managed to document.
“I can’t believe he didn’t bring this to Killigrew Street,” Rory said suddenly, his voice tight with frustration. “All this time, he was building this case, and he never once thought to…”
…probably didn’t want any more interaction with me…my fault, as usual…
The thought was so loud and raw that my hand instantly flew to his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’m sure he was just about to come to you. He was gathering evidence before presenting his findings.”
Privately, I harboured less charitable thoughts about Dev. The journalist struck me as an arrogant asshole who likely believed he didn’t need professional support for his little “investigation.” It wasn’t like he could even publish all this as a story. The fool should have brought this to Seb months ago.
“Wait—stop scrolling!” Rory lunged forward, nearly knocking Felix’s laptop sideways. “I know her! Carrie MacGregor—shifter woman, slightly older. She helped me out when I was sleeping rough in Glasgow. Lives there in one of the city packs.”
Felix clicked on the thread, and immediately I could see this conversation was substantially longer than the others. The timestamps stretched back over four months, leading right up to Dev’s disappearance.
The story unfolded piece by piece: Carrie’s second cousin Ewan, who’d struggled with alcohol dependency, had vanished without a trace. She’d filed an official missing persons report, but when the police investigation stalled—unsurprisingly, given the chronic underfunding of Scottish police forces—she’d taken matters into her own hands.
Carrie MacGregor
The more people I talk to, the more I realise how much bigger this is than Ewan. How is it possible our kind have been disappearing for years, and nobody has ever noticed?
Just few enough, I suppose. And it’s the same picture across the country - they know exactly who to target to remain undetected.
This systematic targeting suggested organisation, resources, planning—a level of sophistication far beyond random opportunistic abductions.
Just what exactly was going on here?
Felix continued scrolling until we reached messages from just days before Dev’s phone went dark. Carrie had sent an audio file with a brief message:“From the friend I told you about on the phone. Listen immediately.”
“Play it!” Rory demanded, practically vibrating with tension beside me.
Felix clicked on the file.
The audio began with a jumble of muffled sounds—paper rustling, fabric brushing against what must have been a hidden recording device, indistinct voices weaving in and out of audible range:
“…don’t understand why we need to…”
“…facility nearly ready…”
Static swallowed several seconds before the audio suddenly cleared.
