Grayson
The war room had become Grayson’s entire world. Maps covered every surface, marked with an ever-growing constellation of red pins that represented false leads, dead ends, and shattered hopes. Five days since Ravyn’s capture, and they were no closer to finding her than they had been the morning he’d arrived at that empty clearing.
“Latest intelligence from the Canadian border,” Kane reported, walking into the room with exhaustion written across his features. “Three more false sightings, all confirmed negative. Whatever scent traces our people are finding, they’re planted.”
“How many teams are we running in circles now?” Alpha Blackwood asked from his position near the communications array.
“Seventeen active search groups across six states and two provinces,” Kane replied grimly.
