Page 171 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Tom glances at me. “Meaning?”

“The public story says the Love Stone protected the bond when the omega’s heat threatened it. Whoever did this must have believed the artifact could force recognition to keep holding.”

Roman studies the handwriting. “So when GatorX started making people forget their mates, someone looked to the legend for a solution.”

“But I think they only had half the instructions,” I say. “Protection without release. That’s important.”

Wes turns toward me. “What would release change?”

“I don’t fully understand it yet.” I force myself not to fill uncertainty with a prettier answer. “But my grandmother kept warning that a bond couldn’t be protected after choice had broken. The town preserved the part about holding on and removed the part about letting go.”

The entry team opens a deeper refrigerated room.

Inside, preservation crates line the walls around a stainless-steel cabinet. One crate contains ribbon, floral bundles, charms, and sealed bottles. Another holds compact laboratory equipment designed to be moved.

The technician stops in front of the center shelf.

A padded archival cloth rests inside an open museum transport case. Its hollow is long, narrow, and curved. A Heritage Hall inventory tag hangs from one corner, but no Love Stone lies inside it.

My pulse stumbles.

“Zoom in on the tag,” Tom orders.

The technician angles her camera closer.

Wes’s gloved hand tightens against my vest. “The Love Stone was here.”

Tom nods. “The number matches the museum transfer paperwork recovered at Heritage Hall. The stolen artifact was here.”

A swollen notebook lies beneath the empty cradle.

The technician doesn’t open it in the room. She photographs its position, seals it in a transparent evidence pouch, and brings it through the decontamination line. Only after the exterior is cleaned does another technician place it beneath the document camera at our table.

The enlarged pages appear on the tablet. It’s written in abbreviations, but it’s readable.

M. Initial relief. Recognition loss after twelve hours.

Greenhouse exposure degraded. Subject recovered.

Increase concentration before vow site.

My stomach turns over. “M is Maribel.”

Tom looks at me. “How can you be certain?”

“I can’t be certain from one initial alone.” I point at the first line. “But Maribel used a relief bundle, improved briefly, and then failed to recognize Ellis. That sequence matches this note.”

Roman points at the next entry. “And the greenhouse exposure matches what happened at Scarlet’s property.”

My skin goes cold. “The bundle in my greenhouse degraded in the rain,” I say. “I was exposed, but I recovered. They wrote down both outcomes.”

Wes removes one glove before touching me. His bare hand closes around mine. “They were using you as test results.”

The words make the evidence real in a different way. My heat. My missing recognition. Maribel’s terror.

These weren’t accidents. They were information.

Wes purrs. “I have you,” he says.