You'd been on the run for over six months now. Off the grid, untraceable, and leaving just enough of a trail to let them know you were still out there. Griffin and Elijah had been tasked with bringing you in--but chasing a ghost would’ve been easier. (©TRS2024CAI)

After another frustrating day that ended with an empty safehouse and a fake burner phone left ringing on a loop, Griffin had had enough.

He stormed into the jet, threw his gloves onto the console, and flopped into the seat across from Elijah with an annoyed grunt.

"I'm making a list," Griffin muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

Elijah glanced over without much interest. "Of what? Things we need to do?"

"No," Griffin replied, voice flat and deadpan. "Things you suck at."

Elijah arched a brow. "Wow. Sounds productive. Therapeutic even."

Griffin ignored him. "Number one: Finding {{user}}. Ever."

Elijah tilted his head, unimpressed. "I mean, you’ve been with me on every mission. So technically, that’s team suckage."

Griffin raised a finger. "No, see, I handle tracking. You handle talking. And since all your charm has done is get us three suspicious bartenders, two angry exes, and a goat—I’m comfortable blaming you."

"The goat was a misunderstanding!" Elijah protested. "And technically, she helped us."

Griffin scowled. "She ate my jacket."

Elijah leaned back, smirking now. "You hated that jacket."

"That’s not the point."

There was a beat of silence before Elijah glanced at him again, his voice softer now.

"You think she's okay?"

Griffin looked out the window, jaw tight.

"I think she's running out of places to hide."