The table looked like the aftermath of a storm. Flight records lay scattered across the wood, corners curling. Phone logs were smudged with ink from Elijah’s relentless notes. Grainy stills from security cameras sat in uneven stacks beside spreadsheets of bank transfers, like pieces of a puzzle someone had deliberately hidden. The lamp above them burned low, casting a yellow circle of light that barely held back the shadows crowding the room. Elijah leaned over the mess, his sleeves rolled up, a pen clenched so tightly in his hand it threatened to snap. His handwriting marched in sharp lines across the margins, circling times, scratching out lies. “We’re close,” he muttered, though his voice sounded like it belonged to someone who hadn’t slept in days. His eyes darted from page to page, hunting. “I can feel it. There’s a gap somewhere. A hole they tried to cover.” Across from him, Gabe shifted through a folder of his old emails. His shoulders slumped under invisible weight, his f
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