PART FOUR
Chapter Thirty-One: The Connection
Eli never used names.
Names carried weight.Names left trails.
He learned that from his father long before he understood why it mattered.
The apartment where Eli lived was small but orderly, every object in its place. His father liked things that way—clean, quiet, efficient. It matched the way he worked.
That night, Eli sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the surface, eyes fixed on the faint crack running through the wall. His father stood nearby, removing his jacket slowly, methodically.
"You were late," his father said.
"I ran into her," Eli replied.
There was no need to ask who.
His father nodded once. "Did you learn anything useful?"
Eli hesitated. "Not an address. But she's close. Walking distance. She lives with her mother. No one else."
His father pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "And the mother?"
"Very sick," Eli said. "Weak. Doesn't leave the house much."
That got his father's attention.
"How sick?"
Eli thought of Lucia's guarded answers, her fear when she spoke about leaving her mother alone. "Bad enough that the girl skips school sometimes."
Silence stretched between them.
His father leaned back, fingers steepled. "That changes things."
Eli frowned slightly. "How?"
"It means time is on our side," his father replied calmly. "People make mistakes when they're desperate."
Eli looked down at the table. "She trusts me."
His father studied him carefully. "Good."
The word sat heavy in the air.
"You're doing exactly what you're supposed to," his father continued. "Staying close. Listening. Observing. No pressure. No force."
Eli nodded, though something in his chest tightened.
"Remember who we work for," his father added.
Eli didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Across the city, David sat in his office, staring at a screen filled with reports that led nowhere. Years had passed, and still Margret remained a ghost. Every lead faded. Every promise of information dissolved into silence.
Until now.
His phone buzzed.
He answered without greeting.
"There's movement," a voice said on the other end. "Not confirmed yet. But close."
David's grip tightened. "Define close."
"A teenage girl. New identity. Skips school. Caretaking a sick woman."
David's lips curved into a thin smile.
"Keep watching," he said. "Don't rush it."
He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, eyes dark with satisfaction.
Margret had always been careful.
But illness made people sloppy.
And children… children always broke rules.
Lucia felt the shift before she understood it.
Eli asked fewer questions—but listened harder. His silences felt heavier. When they walked together, he paid closer attention to the streets, the turns she avoided, the buildings she lingered near without realizing it.
"You're tense," he said once.
Lucia forced a smile. "Just tired."
"From taking care of your mum?"
"Yes."
He nodded. "You're strong."
The compliment unsettled her.
That night, Margret couldn't sleep. Pain radiated through her body, but it wasn't the illness keeping her awake. It was fear—sharp and insistent.
"They're close," she whispered into the darkness.
Lucia sat up. "Who?"
Margret shook her head. "I don't know. I just feel it."
Lucia's stomach tightened.
The next day, she saw Eli speaking to a man near the bus stop.
An older man. Broad-shouldered. Watchful.
The man glanced in Lucia's direction for just a second too long.
Eli followed his gaze.
Their eyes met.
For the first time since she'd known him, Eli didn't smile.
Lucia turned and walked away, heart pounding.
She didn't look back.
That evening, Eli's father received a message.
Confirmed. It's her.
He deleted it immediately.
Then he stood, grabbed his jacket, and spoke only one sentence before leaving.
"It's time."
Eli remained seated at the table, staring at the wall.
For the first time, he felt something he hadn't expected when he agreed to help.
Fear.
Because now it wasn't just information anymore.
Now, it was a hunt.