Chapter 4 4

Minutes later, pushing the door open, my gaze immediately found Cynes as, on the phone, his eyes briefly met mine before looking away.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured, the kind of tone that made you lean closer without meaning to. “Two days ago. No, I haven’t confirmed the lead yet. I’ll handle it.”

He listened for a moment, eyes drifting to me. Then, softly: “No, Detective, that’s not a request.”

After ending the call, he slipped the phone into his pocket and leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms. “You took more than ten minutes.”

With a glance toward the clock, I remarked, “Yeah, well, you ever try packing up a box that doubles as your apartment? It’s not exactly efficient.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Just watched me for a moment, then jerked his chin toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”

The command in his tone made me want to argue on instinct, but my legs had other ideas. The chair groaned as I dropped into it, my clothing still damp from the rain.

Turning away, Cyne reached for a small sideboard near the wall, one of those old, polished ones that probably cost more than I’d ever owned at once. He picked up the phone that sat there and pressed a button.

“Call Daisy’s,” he said. “Delivery. My usual and…” His eyes flicked to me. “What do you eat?”

I blinked. “Uh. Food?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” I said quickly. “Eggs? Toast? Anything that doesn’t crawl off the plate works for me.”

“Add a full breakfast,” Cyne said into the receiver, ignoring my sarcasm. “And coffee. Black.”

Afterward, he hung up without another word and turned back to me. “You’ll eat here. For now.”

I frowned. “You ordering me breakfast now? What, this part of the job description too?”

He didn’t smile. “You look half-dead. That’s not an insult, it’s an observation. You’ll be no use to me if you collapse mid-case.”

“Touching,” I muttered. “You always this charming before coffee?”

His gaze slid toward me, sharp and unreadable. “Only with people who refuse to take care of themselves.”

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable. The air between us felt heavy, like there was something humming just beneath the noise of the rain. Cyne moved back behind the desk, and for a long moment, the only sound was the soft scrape of paper against wood as he sorted through the folder I’d left the night before.

Finally, he asked, “You said you found a notebook.”

I nodded, pulling it from my jacket and setting it on the desk. “It got wet at the apartment, so it’s a bit blurred, but you can still make out a few words. Names, mostly.” Then with a shrug, I continued, “A couple of phone numbers.”

Reaching out, his fingertips brushed the damp edge of the notebook, and something strange flickered through me…a sharp, electric awareness that had nothing to do with caffeine or hunger.

Cyne stilled, eyes on the paper, then slowly, he looked up at me. “You touched this?”

“Yeah?” I frowned. “What of it? You told me to look for clues, and how the hell else would I have got it here if I hadn’t?”

“I told you to observe,” he corrected softly. His eyes had gone darker, not just in color but depth, like they could drown you if you stared too long. “Touching things… sometimes has consequences.”

I tried for humor to chase off the sudden chill. “What, like bad juju? You superstitious now?” I asked.

His expression didn’t change.

My laugh faltered. “You’re serious,” I declared.

He leaned back again, folding his hands loosely in front of him. “The woman we’re looking for, Mara Keene, was chasing something she didn’t understand. If she left traces behind… they might not all be physical.”

A soft knock broke the tension. Cyne turned toward the sound, and a minute later, the door creaked open. A young delivery girl stepped in, balancing a paper bag and two coffee cups. The warm scent of breakfast flooded the room, cutting through the chill like sunlight.

“Daisy’s delivery,” she said, flashing a polite smile.

“Thank you,” Cyne said, already handing her cash from his pocket. His voice was smooth again, practiced civility.

As soon as she left, he set the bag on the desk, pulled out a takeout container, and slid it across to me. “Eat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I don’t eat breakfast,” he remarked.

“Of course you don’t,” I muttered, peeling open the lid. The smell of eggs and bacon made my stomach growl audibly. “Let me guess…you live off caffeine and moral superiority?”

His mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

I took a bite, trying not to moan at how good it tasted. “You’re seriously not gonna have any?”

He shook his head once. “Not hungry.”

I caught his eyes for a moment, too bright, too focused, and felt something twist in my chest. Not hunger, not exactly. More like curiosity laced with something reckless. “You ever eat anything at all?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Cyne’s gaze lingered on me, just long enough for the silence to stretch. Then, softly, “Not the way you mean.”

A prickle ran down my arms, the kind that made every instinct scream danger even while something deeper whispered stay.

I looked down at my food, heart thudding a little too fast. “Right,” I said finally. “Good talk.”

He shifted a file toward me, breaking the moment. “When you’re done, we’re going to pay a visit to Mara Keene’s editor. She freelanced for a publication called Cityline Weekly…small outfit, local readership, but they’ve run a few investigative pieces that stepped on the wrong toes.”

I frowned. “So she wasn’t just writing fluff pieces about coffee shops and condo prices.”

“No.” His tone cooled a degree. “Her last submission was about a series of unexplained disappearances in the industrial district. She turned in her notes… but never filed the full article.”

“Let me guess,” I said, taking another bite. “The story got too close to something real.”

“Or someone made sure it didn’t get finished.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I stopped chewing.

In the silence, I could hear the rain start again, the sound steady against the window.

Cyne glanced toward the gray light filtering through the blinds. “Finish your breakfast. Then we find out what her editor knows.”

I nodded slowly, unsure whether the heavy weight settling in my stomach came from the food or the realization that I might’ve just stepped into the same story Mara never got to finish.