Snow Fall.
Snow Fall.
Thompson sat on the edge of the bed, his hands pressed against his face. The hotel room was dim, the curtains still drawn, but he hadn’t been sleeping anyway. The weight of the video Jerome sent still clung to him, the images burned into the back of his mind. Alex. Ashley. The call. Someone had been in that house the whole time, watching them, waiting.
His phone vibrated against the nightstand. He snatched it up without checking the caller ID.
“Yeah?”
Jacob’s voice came through, sharp and to the point. “We’ve got something. Just sent you the triangulated locations.”
Thompson sat up straighter. “How many?”
“A lot,” Jacob admitted. “This isn’t a simple trace. Whoever’s behind this is smart. The signals bounce between multiple towers, so there’s no clear pinpoint on where the diplomats are being held. Aaron’s going to have to sift through it.”
Thompson exhaled through his nose. Another damn waiting game. “He’s on it.”
“Good,” Jacob muttered. Then, a beat of silence. “Tom—be careful. We still don’t know who the hell we’re dealing with.”
“We’re not dealing,” Thompson said flatly. “We’re hunting.”
Jacob grunted. “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.” Then the line went dead.
Thompson tossed his phone onto the bed and ran a hand over his jaw. Too many locations. Too many false leads. And not enough time.
He stood, grabbed his jacket, and headed for Aaron’s room.
Meanwhile, in Hera’s room, she sat on the bed, legs crossed, phone resting in her palm. She had tried calling the Winston Center three times today. Three times, and no answer.
She shouldn’t even be thinking about this right now. There were bigger things happening—the diplomats, the Watchmen, whatever the hell Thompson was chasing. But none of it drowned out the gnawing thought in the back of her head.
She sighed and hit the call button again.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then—
“Winston Center, this is Nurse Angela speaking.”
Hera swallowed, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me.”
A brief pause. Then a soft sigh. “Ms. Snow.”
“How is she?” Hera asked. She tried to keep her voice even, but the slight waver betrayed her.
Angela hesitated. That pause alone told Hera everything she needed to know.
“She’s… not doing great,” Angela admitted. “Her episodes are getting worse. Sometimes she doesn’t recognize where she is at all.”
Hera closed her eyes.
“She keeps asking for you.”
Hera’s stomach twisted. “Does she—” She stopped herself. “Does she remember anything?”
“Sometimes,” Angela said gently. “Little things. But she’s slipping, Hera. It’s not like before.”
Hera’s grip tightened around the phone.
Angela hesitated, then said, “Do you want to talk to her? I can bring the phone to her room—”
“No.” The word came too fast. Hera took a breath. “Not right now.”
Angela was silent for a moment. Then, softly, “Hera… I don’t know how much longer she’ll have moments of clarity. You should think about coming back.”
Coming back. Like that was an option.
“I can’t right now,” Hera said.
“I know,” Angela murmured. “Just… think about it.”
The call ended.
Hera stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Then, with a slow inhale, she shoved the phone into her pocket, squared her shoulders, and left the room.
There were more pressing matters to deal with.
Meanwhile, back in Thompson's room, he sat on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop screen the only source of light in the dim room. The video played again, flickering across his face in cold, muted colors.
Alex. Ashley. The last morning he ever saw them.
He knew every second of this video by heart now—the way Alex brushed a stray curl from Ashley’s face, the way Ashley smiled at the screen when she saw him. The way he had smiled back, never once suspecting that it would be the last time.
His fingers curled into fists on his lap. He had trained himself not to think like this. Not to dwell. But the guilt had a way of creeping in anyway, like a slow-working poison.
He could still hear himself in the recording, his voice carrying over the speakers. Be good for your mom, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.
Soon never came.
He exhaled sharply and leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face. His body was restless, thrumming with a frustration he didn’t know how to burn off.
There had to be something he wasn’t seeing.
His mind turned over every angle, every possibility, until a single thought settled in his chest like a weight.
Darren
His assistant had always saved his video calls. Some protocol he never thought much of at the time, but now—now, it mattered.
Maybe Dennis still had a copy of that morning’s call. Maybe there was something in it that Thompson had overlooked.
He grabbed his phone and stared at the screen for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to Dennis since the funeral. Since the day he buried Alex.
He pushed the thought aside and dialed.
Aaron's room was a huge clutter as Thompson entered. He walked straight to Aaron, who was busy flying his fingers across his keyboard.
Thompson scanned the screen, his expression tight. “You see the triangulated location?"
Aaron didn’t look up. “Yeah. And it’s a mess.”
Thompson walked over, scanning the laptop screen. The map was cluttered with red markers, spread across the city like blood splatter. Too many locations. Too many false leads.
Aaron exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Whoever’s behind this isn’t stupid. The signal keeps bouncing between relay points. Some of these locations don’t even make sense. A parking lot? A shopping mall? Either they’re covering their tracks, or they’re screwing with us.”
Thompson’s jaw tightened. “So where do we start?”
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “I’m narrowing it down. Looking for patterns. They wouldn’t risk moving hostages too often—it increases exposure. They’d need somewhere remote but still accessible to keep the diplomats. My guess? An abandoned site. Warehouse, maybe.”
Shane caught the stress ball and snorted. “Yeah, because bad guys always love warehouses.”
Aaron shot him a look. “You’d be surprised how often they do.”
Thompson folded his arms. “How long?”
“Give me an hour,” Aaron said. “Maybe less.”
Thompson gave a sharp nod. “Get it to me as soon as you have something.”
Aaron barely acknowledged him, already focused on his work. Thompson exhaled and turned for the door, disappearing down the hall without another word.
As soon as he was gone, Shane let out a dramatic sigh and sprawled across the bed again, tossing his stress ball in the air. “Man, this is taking forever.”
Aaron didn’t look up. “That’s because it’s a nightmare. The signal keeps bouncing between relay points, making it a mess to untangle. Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing.”
Shane caught the ball and sat up. “Still, you’ve been at it for hours. Maybe your brain needs a break.”
Aaron huffed. “What, and talk about your love life again? No thanks.”
Shane shot him an annoyed look. “It’s serious, man. Jess has been off lately. Ever since she got that big contract, she barely replies to my texts. When she does, it’s always one-word answers. She’s never been like this before.”
Aaron kept typing, not even glancing at him. “Maybe she’s just busy.”
“Yeah, but we always made time, no matter what. Now it’s like…” Shane ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, like I’m not a priority anymore.”
Aaron sighed loudly, finally turning away from the screen. “Shane. She’s a model. Her job is literally to fly around the world, go to events, and be on camera all the time. What do you expect?”
Shane frowned. “Not this.”
Aaron smirked. “You sure? Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”
Shane opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking frustrated.
Aaron shook his head. “Look, man, maybe she’s overwhelmed. Or maybe she just needs space. Either way, you overthinking it isn’t gonna help.”
Shane sighed, rubbing his face. “Yeah, maybe.”
Before Aaron could respond, his laptop beeped. His head snapped toward the screen, fingers instantly flying over the keyboard. The map shifted, markers flickering away until only one pulsed in bright red.
Aaron’s breath hitched. His eyes locked onto the location.
Then he grinned.
“I know where they are.”