There’s amusement in her tone like she already has a theory about why we’re here. Probably thinks I am getting into trouble—or trying to dig my way out of it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed that.

“Something like that,” I say, offering her a tight smile. “Can you let Mo know we’re here?”

“She let me know to look out for you, so I let her know as soon as I saw your truck.,” Nancy replies easily, tapping her long nails against the desk. “Said she’d come to grab you when she was ready. You boys staying out of trouble?”

“Trying to,” Bennett says with a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no cocky lilt to his voice, no real effort behind it.

Nancy chuckles, clearly not noticing the tension hanging between us, the way the air feels stretched tight like a wire about to snap. “Well, don’t let me keep you. You know where the coffee is if you need it.”

I nod, but the idea of drinking anything right now makes my stomach churn. My nerves are stretched too thin, coiled tight beneath my skin. I can feel the weight of whatever’s coming pressing down on me, making my shoulders tense, my hands itch to do a task—anything—to shake this feeling off.

We don’t have to wait long before Mo appears, her expression grim as she motions for us to follow.

“Come on. We need to talk.”

There’s no teasing in her tone, no casual ease to cushion whatever’s coming next. Just a direct order, clipped and serious. That alone is enough to make my pulse pick up.

The hallway seems longer than usual as we follow her, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly, casting sharp angles of light and shadow along the walls. The smell of cheap disinfectant lingers in the air, but it doesn’t do much to cover the underlying scent of paper and old dust.

Gabe’s office looms ahead, and the second we step inside, it feels like the air shifts—thicker, heavier, like the room itself is bracing for what’s about to happen. It’s ridiculous, but I swear even the walls know we’re walking into something bigger than we understand.

The glow of the computer screen is the only real light in the dim office, casting eerie blue shadows across the desk. The familiar clutter of Gabe’s things—his old leather notebook, the empty coffee cup still sitting near the monitor, a pen resting at an odd angle like he just set it down—makes my chest tighten.

But my eyes immediately lock onto the files pulled up on the screen.

Names. IP addresses. A digital trail leading somewhere I don’t think any of us are ready for.

I don’t realize I’ve gone still until Mo starts speaking.