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The warmth in his voice does deeply irresponsible things to my nervous system.

I sink slowly onto the edge of the armchair instead, suddenly exhausted all over again.

“This whole town is emotionally unregulated,” I mutter.

Briggs nods. “That’s why the coffee’s strong.”

Before anybody can say something else equally life-altering, Ashby’s phone rings.

The sound cuts through the room.

All four of us freeze. Nobody calls this late anymore unless it’s about something that matters.

Ashby checks the screen. Immediately, his expression changes. “The PI.”

Every nerve in my body tightens instantly.

He answers on speaker without hesitation. “Ivy, hi.”

Static crackles briefly through the line before the PI’s voice comes through. “I think we found something real this time,” Ivy says with a thick New York accent.

I stop breathing normally.

Ashby straightens. “Go ahead.”

“There was another sighting three days ago outside Seattle. Woman matching Maggie Sterling’s description. A different shelter volunteer recognized the photo I sent over.”

Hope hits me hard enough to hurt.

Beside me, Briggs sits forward in the chair. Torin goes very still.

“She used the name Mae,” the PI continues. “Paid cash for food nearby. Stayed one night, then disappeared again. But this trail’s better than the Canada one.”

Seattle.

Rain city.

Water before fire.

My stomach twists.

“Oh wow,” I whisper.

The PI keeps talking while Ashby checks incoming messages.

Then his phone buzzes.

Photos.

Ashby walks toward me and hands over the phone without a word.

My fingers shake as I take it.

The images are grainy. Distant. A woman in a dark hoodie outside what looks like a shelter entrance near downtown Seattle.

But…

My chest caves inward.