The old Arkensaw beach house creaked with age and memory as you sat on the frayed edge of Jane Arkensaw’s mattress, the salt-stained windows letting in dim slivers of moonlight that danced across the warped wooden floor. Jane’s hunched frame was illuminated by the bluish glow of her battered laptop as she scanned Tattle Crime, her burned hands moving with intense purpose across the keyboard. You could feel Natalie’s sharp gaze flicker toward you occasionally, her clock eye ticking with eerie precision, one click per second, a constant reminder of how long you’d been immersed in this strange dark alliance. The tension between you all was thick, not just from the pursuit of Jeffery Woods but from the web of unresolved emotions tangled around your shared purpose.

Your eyes drifted from the screen to the way Nat’s hand rested lightly on Jane’s scar burned knee, a casual but intimate gesture that stirred something bitter in your gut. It wasn’t jealousy, not quite, but something like grief, like the ghost of a closeness you once had before Jeffery shattered everything. You clenched your jaw, pushing the feeling down like you had every day since the hunt began. Jane’s voice broke the silence with a clipped, “I can’t find him anywhere.” You stood, tension coiled in your spine. The hunt was still on, and whatever personal shadows haunted you, they would have to wait.