Chapter 116
Elara's POV
I arrived at Old Pine Café forty minutes early.
The place was exactly what I expected from the name. Dark wood paneling. Faded photos of the town from fifty years ago. A chalkboard menu with coffee prices that made me wonder if anyone actually paid nine dollars for a latte.
I chose a table in the back corner. My back to the wall. Clear view of the entrance.
Old habits.
A waitress came over. Young. Maybe nineteen. She had that practiced smile that said she'd been working here too long for minimum wage.
"What can I get you?"
"Coffee. Black."
"Anything to eat?"
"No. Thank you."
She left. I pulled out my phone and pretended to scroll through it. In reality I was watching every person in the café.
An elderly couple by the window. The man was reading a newspaper. The woman was knitting something that might have been a scarf.
Three college students at a center table. Laptops open. Headphones on. Probably cramming for exams.
A businessman in the opposite corner. Suit and tie. Typing furiously on his phone.
None of them looked like a private investigator.
The waitress brought my coffee. I thanked her and took a sip. It was terrible. Burnt and bitter.
I kept drinking it anyway.
My phone buzzed.
An encrypted message. Council logo.
My heart rate picked up. I opened it.
"Congratulations, Agent Grey. Assessment passed. Final results: First Place. Detailed report to follow. Stand by for assignment."
I stared at the screen for three seconds.
First place.
Of course.
I wasn't surprised. I'd dominated every single test.
I closed the message and immediately checked my other encrypted folder. The one I'd been refreshing every hour since I'd sent Warren my request.
Nothing.
No response about the Wild Hunt operation.
My jaw tightened.
The Council was taking their time. Probably debating whether a seventeen-year-old Omega—even one who'd just placed first in their assessment—was worth deploying against an international mercenary group.
I forced myself to breathe slowly.
It didn't matter. If they said no I'd go anyway.
I put my phone face-down on the table and went back to watching the door.
The minutes crawled by.
Six forty-five.
Six fifty.
Six fifty-five.
At exactly seven o'clock the door opened.
A man walked in.
Mid-fifties. Maybe older. Gray hair that needed a wash. A cheap jacket that had seen better days. His stomach pushed against his belt. His eyes swept the café once before landing on me.
He walked straight to my table.
"You Grey's kid?"
His voice was rough. Like he'd smoked two packs a day for thirty years.
I nodded. "Mr. Morrison?"
"Jack." He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down without waiting for an invitation. "You alone?"
"Yes."
"Your mom know you're here?"
"No."
"Your dad?"
"No."
He studied me for a moment. His eyes were bloodshot. There was a coffee stain on his collar.
"You said on the phone you wanted to talk about your sister."
I kept my expression neutral. "That's right."
The waitress appeared. "Can I get you anything?"
Jack looked at me. "You buying?"
I pulled out my wallet and put a twenty on the table. "Coffee. Whatever he wants."
"Coffee's fine." He waved her away. When she left he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So. What do you want to know?"
"What are my parents paying you to do?"
He raised an eyebrow. "That's client confidentiality sweetheart. I can't just—"
I reached into my wallet and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills. Part of the money Derrick had paid me for protecting his family. I'd kept some cash on hand. Just in case.
I laid the bills on the table between us.
Morrison's eyes lit up. He snatched the bills and tucked them into his jacket pocket in one smooth motion.
I watched his pupils dilate slightly. Watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips.
He reached for the bills. I put my hand over them.
"Answer the question first."
He sat back. "Your parents hired me to find someone."
"Who?"
He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "That's another question."
I pulled out three more hundred-dollar bills and set them next to the first two.
Five hundred dollars total.
His eyes gleamed. His hand darted for the money again. This time I let him take it.
He counted the bills slowly. Folded them. Tucked them into his jacket pocket.
"Your parents' oldest daughter. Lynette Grey."
The words hung in the air between us.
I couldn't breathe for a second. Couldn't think.
They'd been looking for her.
All this time. Every month. Every year.
They never stopped.
Something hot and sharp twisted in my chest. It wasn't quite pain. It wasn't quite relief. It was something messier. Something that made my eyes sting.
I blinked hard. Forced the feeling down.
Ninety thousand dollars.
The weight of that number, of their fifteen years of hope, hit me with renewed force.
So that was it.
The true cost of their hope, paid out in overtime shifts and clipped coupons.
They'd been paying Morrison to find Lynette.
To find me.
I swallowed. Forced my voice to stay steady. "How long have they been paying you?"
"Fifteen years. Give or take."
"And have you found her?"
Jack shrugged. "I've found leads. Followed them. Some went nowhere. Some went cold. It's a tough case."
I watched him carefully. The way his eyes shifted left when he said "tough case." The way his fingers drummed on the table.
"What kind of leads?"
"That's—"
I put another hundred on the table.
He took it. "Sightings. Mostly up north. Canada. A few in Alaska. Your parents think she went that direction after she disappeared."
"Disappeared when?"
"About seventeen years ago. She was three."
My chest tightened.
Three years old.
Lynette was three. No—I was three when I disappeared.
"Do you have any recent information?" I kept my voice flat. Professional.
Jack leaned back and scratched his chin. There was stubble there. Gray and patchy. "Recent's relative. I got some stuff from about two weeks ago. But it's gonna cost you."
I pulled out my wallet again. I had four hundred dollars left. I put two hundred on the table.
He looked at it. Looked at me. "That all you got?"
"For now."
He sighed and took the money. "Fine. Two weeks ago I got word from a contact in Canada. Said there was a woman matching Lynette's description seen in a town. Tall. Dark hair. Late teens or early twenties."
"Did you follow up?"
"Sent someone to check it out. By the time they got there she was gone."
"Where did she go?"
"Don't know." He spread his hands. "Trail went cold. Happens a lot in this line of work."
The waitress brought Jack's coffee. He dumped three sugars in it and stirred.
I watched him drink. Noticed his hands. The nicotine stains on his fingers. The cheap watch on his wrist.
I looked at his face again. Really looked.
His skin was tan. But not the kind of tan you got from working outdoors in Oregon. This was a tropical tan. Sun damage. Freckling around his temples.
"Mr. Morrison. When was the last time you were in Canada?"
He paused mid-sip. "Why?"
"Just curious."
"I don't do all the fieldwork myself anymore. I got people for that."
"When was the last time you went to Canada?"
His jaw tightened. "Few years back. Why does it matter?"
I leaned forward slightly. "My parents have been paying you six thousand dollars a year for fifteen years. That's ninety thousand dollars. And the best you can give me is a cold lead from two weeks ago?"
"Hey." He set his cup down hard. Coffee sloshed over the rim. "This ain't easy work. Your sister disappeared without a trace. No records. No trail. It's like she vanished into thin air."
"Or you're not actually looking."
His face flushed. "You calling me a liar?"