Tired of the sniping, I left the storefront and ventured back into the kitchen/bait-cleaning area. The narrow hall terminated in a grungy door. Scuffs and dents marred the brassy kick plate at its base. Long, thin lines of scratched paint bore testament to the number of times waitresses had dinged it with trays on their way through.

The tactical team—all six wargs—bent over maps they had spread over the countertops and weighted down with cans of pureed tomatoes. One tall woman sharpened a knife while a stout man fidgeted with his gun. Two steps into the kitchen, I attracted their attention. The annoyed vibe they cast in my direction sent me backing through the door. Must be a private meeting then.

One last bastion remained, and that was the staff break room outfitted with Wild West-style saloon doors. I let my feet guide me there as if that had been their intended destination all along.

I had showered off the blood and clay from the Rebec farm shortly after our arrival, then slept in a tiny closet masquerading as a studio apartment above the store. Coming downstairs had been a mistake. I should have known all roads would lead me right to Graeson.

“You’re pacing tracks in the floor. Come in and sit down.” His voice carried down the hall when I hesitated with a hand resting on one half of the set of swinging doors. “You’re going to make yourself tired, and tired people make mistakes.”

“Like trusting wargs?” I shoved inside and found him playing solitaire on a scuffed laminate tabletop, sitting in a chair with a warped leg. “Lesson learned. How about you let me go, and I forget about this whole unlawful-imprisonment thing you’ve got happening here?”

“You’re the best chance we have at success.” He thumbed the edge of his deck of cards. “Knowing what you know now, would you leave even if I gave you a set of keys?”

I didn’t bother with an answer. It was a rhetorical question. There was no way I could bolt when he had intel pinpointing Charybdis’s next move. Not when together we had the resources to stop him from taking another child’s life.

I joined him at the table, and my leg bounced under it. “I need some answers. You said you want my help. Fine. How long is this operation of yours supposed to last? I can’t stay off the grid for an entire month.”

“You won’t have to.” His lips pursed while he debated his next move. “The Garzas are fighting out the timeline. We expect Charybdis to make his move within the next seventy-two hours.”

“That breaks his pattern,” I argued. “Isn’t timing part of the ritual’s magic?”