Travis gently placed the bouquet of flowers he had brought onto his mother's tomb, then walked toward an adjacent grave to lay down a second bouquet.
"This is unusual. So many people visited this grave today," a caretaker commented, murmuring to himself as he walked away from the tomb after finishing his cleaning.
Travis didn't catch the man's comment, letting him go on his way without a word. Kneeling slightly, he reached out and touched the epitaph where a woman's name was engraved in beautiful calligraphy: Elizabeth Summer.
"Auntie, I'm here," Travis whispered, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry I have to let you down again. I still haven't been able to find your daughter." He stared at the beautifully carved letters. "I promise I'll find her, Auntie. No matter what." He offered a deep, respectful bow to the tombstone before stepping back to his mother's grave.
It had been nine long years since his mother passed. A year after her best friend's death, consumed by a downward spiral of depression and guilt, she had taken her own life. Everyone knew that the tragedy that claimed her best friend, Elizabeth Summer, was a terrible mistake. The real target that unfortunate night had been his mother—but Elizabeth had borrowed her car to pick up her child. The fatal ambush happened anyway, leaving a little girl entirely alone and ultimately driving Travis's mother to her grave.
Travis had never given up on the case; both his mother and Elizabeth deserved justice. For years, he had ordered his men to investigate the hit and locate the girl his mother had entrusted to him, but every lead had turned out fruitless.
"Mom, I'm here once again. I still haven't found her," Travis mumbled helplessly in front of his mother's tomb, finally covering his face with both hands in sheer frustration. "Her relatives said she never stayed with them. I've asked around everywhere, but there's absolutely no news. Am I really that incapable? I feel so useless. Finding her should have been easy, but it's been years without a single shred of progress."
He continued to speak to his mother mentally, standing frozen in a dark, imposing silhouette that naturally made other visitors steer clear of his path.
He spent nearly an hour at the cemetery before finally walking away, his face clouded with guilt. Every single visit ended like this—leaving him in low spirits, with a nagging sense of failure eating away at his pride.
At the parking lot, Savannah watched Travis approach the car with a grim expression. Hawk followed a few paces behind with a relaxed, easygoing stride, prompting Savannah to roll her eyes at the contrast. She had just gotten into a minor argument earlier and was in no mood to deal with a dark cloud.
"What's wrong, boss? Bad mood?" she asked as Travis climbed into the backseat. Savannah opened the front passenger door and slid inside, while Hawk seamlessly took his position in the driver's seat and started the engine. "I have a piece of good news for you, though."
"Say it," Travis muttered, leaning his head back against the headrest. He closed his eyes to calm his frayed nerves, though his instincts remained strictly on alert for any potential threats.
Savannah turned her body sideways toward Hawk, balancing a laptop on her lap. She pulled up a set of documents that had just been sent over by a contact in military intelligence.
"I asked someone to help us track down Ms. Summer's daughter," Savannah reported, turning to hand him the laptop. "She compiled a list of every woman currently between the ages of 21 and 23 who lost their parents and share the same name as the daughter. My contact even included those who have since married. We have less than a hundred prospects now, so filtering through them will be much easier this time."
Travis opened his eyes and reached for the device to review the document himself. While his expression remained perfectly stoic, a wave of genuine relief washed over him. Just moments ago, he had been sulking over a dead end, and now a breakthrough had been handed right to him.
"Thanks, Sav. We'll hire some private investigators to quietly vet these ladies," Travis said, handing the laptop back to his secretary.
While Savannah acted as his corporate secretary and Hawk as his driver, they—along with two other subordinates—were actually highly trained military operatives. They were currently embedded deep within an S-class syndicate investigation, and working under Travis served as the perfect cover.
"Heh! I'm good at what I do," Savannah said proudly. "It's a good thing we crossed paths with you, or you would have spent another decade trying to locate her."
Her boast was entirely accurate. Four years ago, their squad had been on a high-stakes mission to raid a syndicate mansion when they were ambushed before even reaching the perimeter. Hawk, Savannah, Valkyrie, and Brown had barely escaped with their lives. Savannah and Valkyrie had been heavily wounded, forced to rely on their comrades to carry them.
They had scrambled through a maze of dark alleys to lose their pursuers when an open second-story window of a house came into view. It was blatant trespassing, but with death snapping at their heels, no one cared. Hawk expertly scaled a nearby tree and leaped over the perimeter fence, quickly unlatching the gate from the inside to let the rest of the bloodied squad through.
They collapsed onto the ground, chests heaving from the brutal run. Hawk quickly tore a strip from his own shirt and tied it tightly around Savannah's thigh to stanch the heavy bleeding from a bullet wound, while Brown scrambled to attend to Valkyrie.
"Don't you dare die on me, Val! If you die, I'll stomp on you until you're double dead meat!" Brown cursed frantically, wrapping improvised cloths over his own wounds.
"I have a first-aid kit right here," a calm, masculine voice suddenly echoed from the shadows.
The squad instantly stiffened. Reacting on pure military instinct, Hawk drew his weapon and pointed it directly at the young man's head.
"Just so you know, even if you are soldiers, you're currently trespassing on private property and holding a civilian at gunpoint," the man spoke in a remarkably relaxed tone, tossing a fully stocked medical kit toward them. "Those are more than enough grounds to strip you of your badges and have you court-martialed."
Without waiting for a response, the man walked over to a small courtyard garden where several patio chairs were set up.
"You might as well move inside if you don't want your comrades' wounds getting infected," he added nonchalantly. Despite his detached demeanor, his actions were entirely focused on keeping them safe.
"We apologize for the sudden intrusion," Brown said, his medical training kicking in as he began utilizing the kit to aid his friends. "We'll head out the moment we stabilize their wounds."
"My name is Travis. And the intrusion isn't the issue, but look at your girl over there. She's completely pale," Travis countered, gesturing toward Savannah. "Are you certain she can even make it back to your base? I can—"
Travis suddenly cut himself off, his eyes locking onto a nearby monitor. The CCTV feed showed a group of armed men rapidly advancing toward his property.