Charles stepped in the front door and dropped his bag to the ground with a thump. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the wall for a moment as he let out a long, ragged breath. Then he wearily tossed his keys into a bowl on the bookshelf.

Three more missing people this week, and the beat cops kept complaining that EMS support was spotty. Apparently, some kind of chest cold in Lower Valehaven was keeping them tied up with house calls for oxygen.

He looked up as a clatter came from the kitchen. “Millie?” he called.

“Hi! I’m here. Hello. One sec!”

Charles chuckled and sat down on the entryway bench to take off his boots. He could smell the distinctive scents of lemon cleaner mingled with taco meat. Amelia must have mopped before starting dinner, and he wasn’t about to risk the wrath of a dragon whose lair had just been messed up by his dirty work boots. He dropped them to the ground one at a time and groaned a little at the way his feet ached.

At thirty-six, Charles wasn’t an old man, but he could definitely feel soreness after a long day in a way that he hadn’t ten years ago. Walking across the living room, he peeked into the kitchen to see his wife simultaneously trying to stir taco meat, chop vegetables, and juggle her phone on her shoulder.

He walked in and gently took the knife out of her hand, lest she lose a finger or two, pressing a light kiss to her warm forehead as he did. He put the knife down to wash his hands, then set to chopping tomatoes and lettuce so that Amelia could better focus on stirring and talking.

“Lu?” he mouthed silently. Amelia nodded. She was on the phone with her sister, Lucy. “Tell her hi for me,” he whispered.

Amelia smiled. “Chuck says hello. Also, have you tried using beef tallow for that? I’m not the biggest fan, but Kelly swears that it cleared up her skin.”

Charles finished chopping the lettuce and tomatoes, half listening to his wife chattering with her sister while he did. She had a soothing voice — bright and soft.

He popped a slice of tomato into his mouth and grimaced slightly. Was it him or had produce been tasting more… bland lately? He would have expected this from winter tomatoes, but it was early September now. They should have been just right.

“All right, go feed your babies,” said Amelia to Lucy. “Love you. Talk later.”

She hung up, a small smile on her lips, but a misty wistfulness clouding her eyes. Charles knew better than to mention it. If she needed to talk, she’d come to him, but forcing it out of her was a recipe for disaster. And she’s been doing so well — staying so strong — for months now. Instead, Charles offered her a small smile and squeezed her shoulder before turning away so Amelia could covertly wipe her eyes.

They had sat down for dinner and were assembling tacos when Amelia gasped. Charles looked around. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned the exits of the room instinctively.

“I just remembered something!” cried his wife. “I had the weirdest guy come into the library today. One sec, let me show you.”

She dropped her taco onto her plate, stood up from the table, and hurried away. A few shreds of lettuce that had escaped their tortilla prison lay limply on the tablecloth. Liberation foiled by their lack of legs. Charles brushed them back onto Amelia’s plate while he waited for her to return. When she bustled back in, she clutched a large plastic zipper bag stuffed with what looked like a second plastic grocery bag.

He expected her to open it, but she plopped it on the table and picked up her phone instead. She told him while she pulled up her photo gallery about a rather unsettling character who’d come into the library that morning. He’d been shifty and secretive, refusing to speak and… looking for Charles?

“Then he put the rest of the notes in this bag, threw it on the desk, and ran away!” said Amelia. “It was the weirdest thing! I sorted through them, and I think I’ve figured out what it was supposed to say, though. Here. What do you think?”

She offered Charles her phone, which he took with interest. A moment later, he felt his jaw drop. His fork boldly followed suit, diving to the plate like an elite swimmer. The tinkle of silver on ceramic seemed to echo through the kitchen. There was no way. There was absolutely no king’s cursed way…

He looked up sharply at Amelia. “Millie, did you catch this guy’s name?”

“What? No. Not unless it’s one of the names on the notes. Like I said, he wouldn’t talk.” She shrugged. “Weird, right?”

Charles chuckled long and loud, then set down Amelia’s phone, stood up, and swept his wife up in his arms, spinning her around. Amelia let out a little shriek of surprise.

“No, Millie, that’s not weird at all. Not if this is what I think it is. And you are brilliant! Utterly brilliant.” He kissed her lips firmly, then pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

“Chuck, what the heck is going on?” Her voice came out muffled against his shirt collar.

“Mill, you’ve just given me the first solid lead I’ve had in over six years! That’s what’s going on!” Charles grinned triumphantly and punched the air.

“Solid lead for what?” she asked. “And what is LOTHIENNE?”

Charles shook his head firmly as he pulled out his own phone. “Best keep that name to yourself, love.”

“What? Why?” she asked, forehead furrowing.

Charles stopped scrolling through his contacts and pinned her with his eyes, willing her to understand even if he couldn’t say why. “I’m serious, baby. You’ve got to forget you ever heard that name. I’m thrilled that you got me a lead, but none of this would be worth it if you got hurt. Just… lie low. Okay? Don’t talk about it. Don’t research it. Nothing. This isn’t small potatoes like that siren bust yesterday. Just know that this guy is bad news, and you might have helped me finally get my hands on him. Tracking this guy has been like…” He shook his head. “Like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.”

Imagining the analogy caused a trail of illusory smoke to trickle out between Charles’ knuckles. He clenched his fist, cutting off the illusion. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, Millie. I just need you safe. More than anything in the world, I need you to be okay.”

Amelia nodded, looking at him with complete and utter trust in her amber eyes. “Yeah, okay. I get it. Serious case and all that. I’ll be careful. And you know me… I can take care of myself.” She smiled with a mischievous quirk to her lips. Indeed, she could; it was the only thing that let Charles sleep at night.

Turning back to his phone, he finished pulling up Samuel’s contact and dialed. Four lethargic rings sounded as Charles drummed his fingers impatiently against his thigh.

“Hey beautiful,” drawled the voice on the other end of the line.

“Suit up, Smirk. Millie just got the craziest lead on the Faengster. And all those missing persons cases? I think they’re connected.”

Samuel paced through the bullpen in a haphazard pattern that resembled a runaway ping-pong ball, dodging chairs and desks at the last moment before collision. He seemed to be attempting to cover every square inch of the room in the most chaotic pattern possible. People ducked out of his way, grumbling and swearing, as he prowled.

In direct contrast, Charles lounged in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, tossing a small, yellow dragon plushie in the air before catching it, again and again and again. The dragon’s left wing was embroidered to say, “Happy Birthday, Chuck! Love, Millie.” Next to the words was a tiny red heart with a 22 carefully stitched inside — Charles’ badge number.

Amelia had come down to the station with him so they could record her statement about how she’d come across the evidence, and when they were done, she’d taken the car home to go to bed. It was late now; she’d probably been asleep for hours. Night shift officers kept the station lively, but they stayed out of Charles and Samuel’s way. The detectives were thinking. Ignore their eccentricities, if you please.

Charles and Samuel had gone over the mysterious bag of notes with a fine-toothed comb, then turned in both the notes and the grocery bag to evidence before settling in for a long, hard think. Fingerprints were being run at the moment, and tomorrow they’d collect the security footage from the library, but right now there wasn’t much else they could do. That was alright. There was more than enough to muse on to keep them busy for hours.

It turned out that Charles’ hunch about the names on the notes had been correct. They didn’t account for every open missing persons case in Valehaven, but they connected to a slew of disappearances over the past thirty-six months that had no leads and seemed to have no motive. The people had just… vanished. Other than that, there was nothing about the missing people that seemed to be related. Those on the list covered every imaginable demographic — old and young, male and female, human and fae, professionals, deadbeats, model citizens, and criminals. Having a lead now, after so long in the dark, was intoxicating.

“Lord of the broken hears mermaids sing,” mused Samuel. “Can’t be the warehouses down by the river unless he’s moved recently. We went over every square inch of that place not all that long ago.”

“Nah,” said Charles. “I don’t think it’s the warehouses. Too many people coming and going down there to be discreet, but not enough to hide in the hubbub. What about an eastern restaurant? You know, the djinn takes his meals?”

“Maybe there’s one next to an aquarium or something?” asked Samuel.

“Yes!” Charles slammed his hand onto his desk in agreement, and a passing brownie receptionist nearly dropped her coffee in surprise. She shot Charles a reproving glare, which he responded to with a chuckle and a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he muttered. Turning back to Samuel, he said, “There’s a place just east of Dreamweaver’s that Millie loves. And the Playhouse has this new siren show. Maybe he’s nearby.”

Samuel climbed directly over a desk in order to reach his own desk faster and pulled his phone off its charging cable.

“Remember what it’s called?” he asked. “And are you hungry?”

Charles shrugged. “No, but I should remember. Its takeout menu is on my fridge.”

“No matter. Eastern restaurants near me,” Samuel mumbled under his breath as he searched his phone for the place.