The digital clock on my bedside table glows a harsh neon blue: 7:15 AM. I haven't slept a wink. My eyes feel like they have sand behind them, and my brain is a buzzing hive of flight manifests. I’ve spent the entire night tracking Lila’s trail through offshore bank pings and satellite footage. Every time I close my eyes, I see that grainy photo of her in the grey hoodie.

I sit up, my silk sheets rustling in the quiet room. I feel a strange, heavy fatigue in my limbs, more than just the ...