Page 49 of Rescuing Sophia

Sophia raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but doesn’t push. “If you say so. Enjoy your coffee, boys.”

As she walks away, her hips swaying just enough to distract me, I catch the guys exchanging glances. One of them lets out a loud, exaggerated cough, barely disguising the words,“pussy-whipped,”while another chuckles under his breath. I roll my eyes, but thecorner of my mouth twitches—yeah, I’m not even going to pretend they’re wrong.

“She’s settling in well here.” Ethan leans back, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, she is. It’s... It’s good to see.” I cross my arms, a hint of pride creeping into my voice.

Gabe opens his mouth to respond when all of our phones buzz simultaneously. I pull mine out to see a message from Mitzy.

Briefing in 15. HQ. Don’t be late.

The tone shifts instantly, the casual banter dissolving as we exchange looks. This can only mean something serious has come up.

“Looks like we might get some answers,” Walt mutters, already standing.

We quickly finish up and head back to Guardian HQ. The tension builds as we walk, each of us mentally preparing for whatever Mitzy has to share.

When we enter the briefing room, Mitzy is already there, along with Stitch and Jeb. The map of the last known movements of Greaves and his yacht is projected on the wall, casting a faint glow over the room. We all take our seats, the air thick with anticipation.

Mitzy doesn’t waste any time. “Here’s what we know. The yacht docked in Bucharest, but there’s no record of Greaves disembarking. Since then, the yacht has been moving erratically, and we’ve lost visual confirmation of his location.”

Stitch jumps in, typing rapidly on her laptop. “We’ve been monitoring all major transportation hubs, but so far, nothing concrete. There’s been a lot of digital chatter, but it’s all noise—nothing we can pin down.”

Jeb crosses his arms, his expression grim. “It’s like he’s gone to ground, or he’s deliberately throwing us off.”

Rigel leans forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Could he have slipped off the yacht unnoticed? Maybe using a smaller craft?”

“It’s possible,” Mitzy acknowledges, “but unlikely without uscatching some trace of it. The fact that we haven’t suggests he’s either still on the yacht or he’s found another way to stay hidden.”

Gabe taps his fingers on the table, clearly frustrated. “So, he’s keeping us chasing our tails. Spreading misinformation, throwing us off his trail.”

“Smart move,” Ethan grudgingly admits. “If we don’t know where to focus our efforts, we can’t pin him down.”

“Hell, he could be dead for all we know. That’s one way to disappear.” I take a deep breath, thinking about the problem.

The room falls into a heavy silence as we all absorb the situation. We’re no closer to finding Greaves than we were before, but the determination in the room is palpable.

“Unfortunately, that’s impossible to prove. We have no body.” Mitzy tugs at her ear. “I’m working on the theory he’s still alive and kicking. We’re going to shift our focus, going old school. Watch his known associates. They might be helping him stay hidden.”

Stitch’s fingers pause over the keyboard, her expression thoughtful. “We’ve already started digging into their backgrounds, but these people are careful. They know how to cover their tracks.”

“Someone’s bound to slip up.” Gabe leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gruff tone matching his rugged demeanor.

“It’s not much,” Ethan admits, “but it’s a start.”

For the next hour, we dive into the details, refining our strategy and piecing together what little information we have into a plan. The frustration of the unknown is still there, but now it’s tempered with a clear direction.

As the meeting wraps up, chairs scrape against the floor, and everyone begins to gather their gear. Gabe grunts something about needing a stiff drink, while Walt claps Rigel on the back, muttering about the long hours ahead. Stitch and Mitzy exchange a few last words, their heads bent over the tablet, before heading out with Jeb in tow. The team disperses, each of us heading out into the night, focused on the tasks ahead.

We may not have solved the problem, but we’ve taken a step forward.

The walk back to my apartment is filled with thoughts of our next moves. The cool evening air nips at my face, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke.

It’s fully dark by the time I reach home, the streetlights casting pools of warm light on the sidewalk.

As I open the door, the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and herbs envelops me. Sizzling fills the air, punctuated by the soft clink of utensils. A low hum of jazzy, mellow music sets the scene.

“Sophia?” I call out, shrugging off my jacket.

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