Page 34 of Damian
Her way of finding the one angle we all missed.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to focus. “We keep at it. Next lead, next place. We don’t stop until Luthor runs out of shadows.”
Nobody argued. But I saw the same thing in their eyes that I felt in my chest — frustration, anger, and the sharp edge of something that looked a lot like missing her.
40
Damian
By the second night, the maps looked like a spiderweb, red lines crisscrossing until the paper was more ink than white. Cyclone had flagged chatter about a convoy moving through an industrial stretch outside the city. Trucks, unmarked. Possible weapons, maybe girls.
We hit it hard. Fast.
But by the time we reached the stretch of road, the only thing waiting for us was dust. Tracks blurred in the gravel, heading in a dozen directions. No convoy. No Luthor.
River’s growl cut the quiet. “They’re laughing at us. Every damn step, they’re two ahead.”
“Cool it,” Roger snapped, his jaw tight. “Anger doesn’t get us closer.”
“Neither does standing in the dirt!” River’s hands flew up, his frustration boiling over.
I stepped between them before it could turn into something worse. “Enough. You think Luthor doesn’t want us snapping at each other? He’d pay money to see this.”
River muttered something under his breath but backed off, pacing the roadside instead. Roger kept his arms folded,eyes scanning the horizon like he could drag Luthor out of hiding by will alone.
Cyclone closed his laptop with a snap, his mouth a hard line. “Every lead is static. Either someone’s feeding us garbage, or Luthor has eyes we can’t see.”
We climbed back into the truck, the silence heavy. I stared out the window at the blur of night, jaw tight.
And all I could think about was Morgan.
Her recorder. Her voice threading through chaos, calm and sure. She had a way of finding cracks where no one else even looked. Without her, it felt like we were swinging blind in the dark.
I’d promised her I’d come back once Luthor was locked up. But what if I couldn’t? What if every empty road and stripped warehouse was proof I was already failing?
Cyclone muttered from the driver’s seat, “We’ll get him. We have to.”
I clenched my fists. “We will,” I said. But my chest knew the truth—without Morgan, the fight felt harder. Colder. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was chasing Luthor, or chasing the chance to keep a promise I’d already hung my heart on.
41
Damian
Dawn broke gray and heavy over the shipping yard. Steel containers stacked high like walls, gulls screaming overhead. Cyclone swore he’d picked up movement here two nights ago, a pattern he couldn’t ignore. We rolled in quiet, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
And found nothing.
The yard was deserted. No guards, no trucks, no Luthor. Just the echo of our boots on wet concrete and the bitter tang of salt air.
River slammed his fist against a container, the clang echoing across the rows. “Three days. Three goddamn days of chasing shadows.”
“Save it,” Roger barked. His temper was fraying too, though his voice was low and dangerous instead of sharp. “We don’t need noise. We need answers.”
“Answers?” River spun on him, teeth bared. “We’re no closer than when we started!”
The two squared off, shoulders tense, anger sparking in the air.
“Enough!” My voice snapped across the yard, harsherthan I meant. They both froze, eyes on me. I let the silence hang a beat, then ground out, “Luthor wants this. Wants us divided, snapping at each other. We don’t give him that.”
