It felt like a Friday. Fridays were always a little grimy and worn out—a week on its last legs. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t been home since he’d arrived at ACG on Sunday.

He’d been working for almost five straight days. Was that possible? He often lost track of time once he’d sunk his teeth into a problem, and he hadn’t had a puzzle this interesting since he’d left the Marines. He felt exhilarated—answers beckoned just out of reach. He was close now. Another few hours and he’d know if his suspicion were correct.

Where are you, WR8TH? What do you know that you don’t want me to find out?

He could have gone home at night, but the thought never entered his mind. He needed to be near the work when inspiration struck. Besides, there was nothing waiting at home apart from a restless bed. Sleep was out of the question. Bear lurked behind his eyelids, patient and hopeful. Her smile jolted him awake and hurried him back to his keyboard.

The only meaningful breaks he took were his nightly video calls to Ellie. Once she was tucked in, Gibson would read to her until she got sleepy. They were halfway through Charlotte’s Web, and Ellie was anxious about Wilbur. She loved stories with the same intensity as Suzanne. It was an obvious connection, but somehow he’d never made it before now. That he read to both of them. Well, he could forgive himself for not thinking like that. It was safer that way. But now he couldn’t not see it, no matter how hard he worked to keep the two girls separate in his mind.

He had worked long into the night that first Sunday. Mike Rilling offered his assistance and set up a workstation for him, but Gibson politely and firmly threw him out of the conference room. He needed to be alone to think. Charles and Hendricks had been none too pleased to be shut out, but Abe got it and laid down the law.

Around three a.m. that first night, he’d hit a snag and taken a break, making a looping circuit around the empty corridors of ACG. He thought more clearly when he walked, and after a few laps, an answer began to present itself. He was on the way back to the conference room when he’d noticed a light on under an office door that had been dark the last time around. He’d stopped to listen at the door when it opened sharply. He stood eye to eye with Jenn Charles, who in her heels might have an inch on him. She’d taken off her suit jacket, but not her gun—the new office casual.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he said, taking a step backward. “Didn’t think anyone was here. Thought you were a burglar.”

“Do you need something?”