The next forty-eight hours were nothing but me working tirelessly to track down the culprit.
I stared hard at the network board on the wall, red marker lines crisscrossing into a chaotic mess. I combed through his transactions from the past month, every single call record, and even checked on the homeless people he'd passed by on his morning coffee runs.
Finally, on the third day, in the foggy early morning, my communicator buzzed with thrilling news.
"Luna, the target's been spotted. 'Iris Tavern,' mid-mountain." The tracker's voice was low, tinged with a dangerous sort of excitement.
I snatched my car keys and headed straight out.
The air mid-mountain was damp and chilly, carrying the sharp scent of rotting pine needles. "Iris Tavern" was the only tavern up there. Parkin
