40. Mason

Chapter forty

Mason

I walked into my office at Shaw Investigations, the familiar scent of old paper and coffee hitting me as I crossed the threshold. The room hadn't changed much since I'd last been here, but it felt different.

Derek, AJ, Sam, and Waylen filed in behind me. Milly had refused to come, seeing as my office was in Pack territory. Sam immediately sprawled in one of the chairs facing my desk, his casual posture at odds with the tension in the air. AJ leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, while Waylen sat with his laptop on his knees, his fingers already twitching, as if eager to start typing.

Derek moved slowly around the room, his eyes taking in every detail. I glanced at Sam, noting the changes in my brother since he'd left to join the Wolf Council. He seemed older somehow, more serious. The easy grin I was used to seeing was replaced by a thoughtful frown.

"How does it feel, being back?" I asked him.

"Weird," Sam admitted softly, running his hand along the edge of my desk. "Everything seems … smaller."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. It wasn't just the physical space that had changed—it was us. We'd both grown in different directions since he'd left.

Derek snorted. "That‘s because you're used to that fancy office of yours at the Wolf Council now, bro. Probably has a view and everything, right? Let me guess, a panoramic vista of perfectly manicured lawns where wolves in suits chase squirrels during their lunch breaks?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but I caught a small smile tugging at his lips. "For your information, it‘s just a regular office."

"Uh-huh." Derek grinned, clearly not buying it. "No gold-plated door? No mini-fridge stocked with premium raw steaks?"

Before Sam could answer, there was a knock on the door, and Jase bounded in. Behind him strode Carlito Mendez, our second in command at the agency. Carlito had joined us three years ago, bringing with him a wealth of experience and a complex past. Derek had recommended him after hearing about his struggle to find his place after a dishonorable discharge from the Marines. A covert operation that Carlito had been leading went wrong, and the military blamed him. Carlito did, too, but I'd seen the file. He didn't do anything wrong, but the military needed a scapegoat to take the fall. When Derek found him, Carlito had been living as a rogue in one of the conclave cities, drinking to try to forget. Unlike my dad, Carlito was someone we could help. Offered the chance to prove himself, he took it, sobered up, and used his skills to great effect with our agency.

Carlito gave me a sharp nod as he walked in.

Jase's eyes bounced between Sam and me, barely contained energy practically vibrating off him. "Is it true? Is the gang all back together?"

"For now." I turned to the others. "AJ, this is Carlito Mendez."

AJ shook Carlito's hand, his expression neutral, but I knew they were sizing each other up.

"When did Jase join the agency?" Sam asked. "I thought he was working for Mai?"

"He is, but despite his multiple attempts to get them to change their minds, the Alphas are still going by the must-be-twenty-one-to-be-an-enforcer rule. Of course, he's ignoring it and still watches Mai's back, but he's also working here now to get some experience."

"Mainly so that when they do let me join officially, I'll be way ahead of motherfuckers like Cameron Blake."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Cameron is twenty-two, already an enforcer, and has asked Amara out three times in the last month," Derek explained.

"This isn't about Amara," Jase said stiffly.

"Kid, I don't even know you," AJ crossed his arms, "but even I know that's bullshit."

Jase's mouth gaped open. He really needed to work on his poker face.

Before Jase could reply, Carlito said, "The boy‘s got potential. Raw talent, but he's learning."

Jase's mouth clicked close. By now, he knew Carlito almost as well as I did, and that was high praise coming from him.

"Alright, let‘s get down to business. We need to talk about Tristan." I nodded to Waylen, telling him he had the floor.

Waylen's fingers stopped their constant tapping on his laptop as he looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His hair was a disheveled mess, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration. He let out a dramatic sigh, his lips quirking into a wry smile.

"Ah, the elusive Mr. Munroe," Waylen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Our very own digital Houdini. Let me tell you, folks, this guy‘s giving me a run for my money."

He stood up, stretching with a series of audible pops from his back. His oversized black hoodie hung loosely on his skinny frame as he started to pace, his movements restless and energetic.

"I‘ve been digging into every nook and cranny of the digital world," Waylen continued, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. "I‘ve combed through security footage, financial records, known associates—you name it, I‘ve hacked it. But this guy? He‘s like a phantom in the machine." Waylen‘s keen eyes darted around the room, taking in everyone‘s reactions. "Every time I think I‘m getting close, poof! He disappears on me. It's like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net." He paused, a determined glint in his eye. "But don‘t worry, no one outruns Waylen the Wizard forever. I‘ve got a few tricks up my sleeve yet."

Derek's expression grew more serious. "Any leads at all, Waylen?"

Waylen‘s lips twisted into a grimace. "Well, that's the rub, isn't it? We've hit a wall harder than a werewolf running full tilt into a silver-plated door." He started tapping his fingers against his leg, a rhythm only he could hear. "We've reached out to our contacts in other Packs, but no one's seen or heard anything. It's like Tristan vanished into thin air, probably cackling like a supervillain as he did it." Waylen's expression shifted, a mix of frustration and determination coloring his features. "But mark my words, I'm going to get him. No one stays hidden from me forever, not in this digital age. It's just a matter of time before he slips up, and when he does …" He trailed off, his eyes gleaming with the promise of the hunt. "Well, let's just say Waylen the Wizard will be ready and waiting."

I picked up a purple tennis ball from the side of my desk, throwing it against the wall, then catching it. "We need to move faster," I said, my voice low. "Every day Tristan‘s out there is another day Shya's in danger. We can't afford to wait for him to slip up."

Derek cleared his throat. "There might be someone we haven‘t approached yet," he said, his eyes flicking between Sam and me. "Someone who might have information."

There was no fucking way. "Absolutely not."

Derek held up his hands. "Whatever you want, bro, but he has contacts we don't."

Fucking hell! The last thing I wanted was to deal with Ronnie fucking Bishop right now.