The car cut through the deserted road, tearing through the night landscape as we headed to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I sat in the back seat, lost in thoughts about my missing children. Caleb was driving, and Hunter kept a vigilant eye on the road ahead, the heavy atmosphere punctuated only by the constant sound of tires on the road.
Sensing the tension in the air, Caleb broke the silence, “You two are very quiet.”
Hunter, straightforwardly, replied, “I'm focused on picking up the scent of the boys or Jeff.”
Caleb tried to lighten the mood with a smile, “Doesn't seem like you're enjoying my company.”
I remained silent, my mind consumed by worry and anxiety and time passed slowly as the darkness of the night unfolded before us.
Caleb, noticing the seriousness on Hunter's face, tried to ease the tension, “I bet Jeff isn't around these parts.”
Sitting in the back seat, looking out the window opposite to Hunter's, I curiously asked, “Why do you think that, Caleb?”
Nonchalantly, he replied, “Oh, it's just a hunch. Sometimes a tracker's intuition can be more reliable than it seems.”
Hunter, gazing out the window, calmly responded, “It didn't seem like just a hunch to me, let alone intuition.”
Caleb became more serious, mentioning that it was just a joke and that the real concern was the hunger starting to bother him. I just listened, my mind focused elsewhere.
As Caleb drove, I took a deep breath, trying to control my emotions. Suddenly, the unmistakable scent of my children filled my nostrils. Hunter, noticing the change in my expression, straightened up in his seat.
“Stop!” I ordered abruptly.
Caleb hit the brakes and looked at me, confused, “What's wrong?”
I got out of the car without answering, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. The unmistakable smell of my children filled the air, a unique blend that only a mother could identify. My heart raced as my maternal instincts guided me.
A few meters ahead, I spotted a roadside hotel. Modest, but sufficient to reignite my hope. I returned to the car, looking at Caleb and Hunter with determination.
“We're getting close. We might find answers there,” I announced, my voice filled with emotion.
Caleb and Hunter followed me in silence, realizing the seriousness of the moment. We hurried into the hotel, our eyes alert for any suspicious movement. The receptionist greeted us with a smile, but our serious expressions indicated that we were not there for a quiet stay.
“We need information,” declared Hunter, his voice firm.
The receptionist, clearly surprised by the seriousness of our faces, stammered, “I-I can help?”
I took out my phone and showed the receptionist a photo of my children.
“Have you seen these boys around?” My voice carried the urgency consuming me.
Examining the photo, the receptionist shook her head. “I'm sorry, I just started my shift and haven't seen them.”
“I'm sure they've been here,” I insisted, my heart tight with anxiety.
The receptionist offered help, “I'll check with the management, maybe someone else has seen them.”
As she walked away, Hunter didn't wait; he started advancing through the hotel, determined to find the trail of the boys. The receptionist, obviously uncomfortable, warned that it was not allowed to enter without permission.
“I smell the boys,” Hunter explained, completely ignoring any establishment rules.
I didn't hesitate to follow him. Desperation drove me, and I wouldn't let formalities stop us from searching for our children. Together, Hunter and I moved through the dim corridors of the hotel. The receptionist, acting as a last resort, grabbed the phone from the counter and threatened to call the police.
“I'm calling the police,” she threatened.
Caleb, always practical, intervened before she could carry out the threat.
“It's better not to do that,” he warned, pressing the power button. “We don't want to attract unnecessary attention.”
We pressed on, our footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. The dim lighting highlighted the eerie atmosphere of the place. Hunter stopped abruptly, his expression intensifying.
“We're close,” he asserted, confident.
My heart beat irregularly. Hunter guided us through the hotel corridors, his expression focused as he traced the scent of our children. As we advanced, the hallways turned into a maze of closed doors and unknown shadows.
Finally, in front of Room 215, Hunter stopped. His gaze met mine, sharing silent communication. He gently pushed the door, which creaked open discreetly.
However, when the room revealed itself, the disappointment was overwhelming. Three neatly made beds, the room impeccably clean, but no sign of Cassian, Dorian, and Kane. Tears filled my eyes, and I knelt on the floor, despair taking over me.
Hunter approached and enveloped me in a firm hug. His whispered words tried to ease the pain tearing through my chest. “It's okay, Fierce. We'll find them. Everything will be okay.”
I met Hunter's golden eyes, my despair reflected in his compassionate gaze. “I was sure we'd find them here, Hunter. I was so sure.”
He reassured me that it wasn't the end, and that I shouldn't lose hope. We exchanged looks full of understanding, seeking mutual strength to face the unknown.
A deep voice interrupted our moment of despair. “What are you doing here?”
Hunter stood up, ready to face any challenge. “We're looking for three kids who were in this room,” Hunter explained.
“Who authorized you to enter here?” he asked, his tone disdainful.
“No one authorized us,” Hunter replied, firm. “Can we take a look at the hotel's security camera footage?”
Peter laughed ironically. “Are you a cop? Because if you're not, I suggest you get a warrant.”
“Please, help us,” I implored, my voice trembling. “We're looking for our children.”
“If you're not the police, you better leave,” he responded, indifferent.
“Who are you?” Hunter questioned.
“Peter Johnson. I own this place,” the man replied, displaying evident contempt.
“My name is Hunter Blackthorn,” Hunter said, then surprised him with an unexpected proposal. “How much do you want for the hotel, Mr. Johnson?”
The man blinked, confused. The business suggestion caught Peter off guard, and he asked if Hunter was serious. “You want to buy the hotel?”
“Yes,” Hunter confirmed, his expression serious. “How much do you want for it?”
A subtle smile appeared on Hunter's lips, revealing a strategy that I didn't yet comprehend. As Peter considered the offer, I clung to the hope that this move could open a door to discovering the whereabouts of our children.
Peter, evaluating the situation, calmly said, “Five million dollars.”
A silence hung in the air as Hunter absorbed the amount. “Alright,” he agreed. “Just give me the account number, and the payment will be made immediately.”
Peter's eyes gleamed with the opportunity, providing the necessary details. Hunter, without hesitation, took out his phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, this is Hunter Blackthorn. I'd like to transfer five million to Mr. Peter Johnson's account. It's for the purchase of his hotel,” Hunter announced, proceeding with the financial transaction.
A notification popped up on Peter's phone, confirming the transaction. He looked at the device, still incredulous. “This is... incredible.”
Hunter, now the owner of the hotel, kept his focus on the search for our children. “Now, we'd like to see the hotel's security camera footage.”
“Sure, sure. I'll show you,” said Peter, still processing the unexpected turn of events.
We were led to Peter's office, where the security cameras were monitored. Peter guided us to the system and began playing the recordings, while I held onto hope, waiting to find a clue about my children.
The footage revealed a few hours ago, three children escorted by a mysterious woman, her features hidden by black hair that resembled a hood. My breath caught as I saw Cassian, Dorian, and Kane being led out of the hotel.
“Hunter, who is she?” I asked, clinging to the hope of finding my children.
Hunter, closely examining the footage, furrowed his brow. “Ignis.”