Stiles wrapped what remained of the Egg McMuffin he’d picked up in Bedford and dumped it back into the paper sack that had spawned it. It hadn’t been a pleasant eating experience, certainly nothing that would qualify as “breakfast,” but it had put something in his stomach and calmed the tremors of hunger, and that was all it was supposed to do. It had also further depleted the already paltry sum in his pocket. Five dollars left, he reminded himself. Spend it wisely.

He let his mind wander as he tried to enjoy the scenic beauty along the roadway and the wry-witted music of Prine, and a casual glance in the rearview mirror almost caught him smiling. Despite the dreary winter herald in the air and the croupy engine and the lack of funds in his pocket, Stiles was in a comparatively good mood. Certainly better than he had been of late. And that surprised him. He’d been slowly drowning for weeks now, waiting, killing time as best he could, feeling the minutes inch by and the bitterness build within him and fill his throat. Waiting was always the worst. Too much time for worry and regrets and resentment. Too much time, period. Now the hunt was on again; at least he had something to do. He wasn’t quite sure what it was or how to do it or what he’d be doing it to, but it had to be better than sitting idle.

The hunt is on again. Deep down, the thought gave him a tingle of anticipation, almost excitement. But he didn’t acknowledge it. He never would.

He still felt guilty for yelling at Alex the night before, though he wasn’t sure just why. Hell, he had a lot of gall just popping in like that after three whole years, no hello, no how’s my favorite brother. Just smart-ass remarks and self-pity and here’s your assignment, Mr. Phelps. Nothing personal. Just business.

He sighed to himself. But what did you expect? An enthusiastic thank you, a pat on the back? An apology for not getting around to see you, maybe a promise to take in a ball game or go fishing like brothers really should? Get serious, he snapped to himself—this is Alex you’re talking about. You couldn’t expect things like that when he was alive, let alone now. Still distant, still impersonal. Always had been. Always will be.