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The investigation into Reginald Cross had, for nearly a month, produced considerably more questions than answers, Farrow’s team working through encrypted data drives and fabricated decades-old records with the particular, grinding patience such cases inevitably demanded, and Allen had gradually, reluctantly settled into a wary rhythm of waiting for updates that rarely, if ever, arrived.

The call, when it finally came, arrived late in the evening, Farrow’s voice carrying a controlled urgency Allen hadn’t previously heard from her.

"We caught a break," she said without preamble. "One of the encrypted files finally decrypted properly. It’s not much, but it’s the first genuine lead we’ve had since he disappeared."

Allen gathered his own party immediately, and within the hour, Farrow had arrived at their Hegeville headquarters, a considerable dossier spread across their meeting table, her own exhausted but focused expression carrying the particular energy of someone who’d finally found solid ground after weeks of frustrating uncertainty.

"A property registration," she explained, tapping the relevant document. "Buried under several layers of shell corporations, but ultimately traceable back to an account we’ve now confirmed belonged to Reginald Cross. A private residence, roughly four hours from here, purchased eleven years ago and, as far as our records indicate, never publicly associated with him in any capacity."

"A safehouse," Vivian said.

"That’s our working theory," Farrow confirmed. "We don’t know if he’s currently using it, or if it’s simply an old, abandoned asset he’s long since moved past. But given how carefully everything else about this man was constructed, I’d wager it holds something considerably more useful than an empty house."

"When do we move?" Allen asked, old, familiar resolve settling into place.

"Carefully," Farrow said, a note of caution entering her voice. "This isn’t a straightforward retrieval. If he’s connected to the same organization behind the Zurich summit attack, we should assume the property carries security measures we can’t fully anticipate. I want a full tactical briefing before anyone sets foot near that location."

"We’ll be ready," Myria said, already pulling up her own tablet to begin the preparation Farrow’s warning demanded.

---

They spent the following two days in careful, methodical planning, Farrow’s WHRIB team coordinating directly with Fallen Crown’s own considerable combat expertise, and Allen found himself, watching Myria and Farrow work through contingency after contingency with matched, professional thoroughness, grateful for exactly how far his own family’s tactical instincts had developed since those early, improvised days of simply surviving whatever crisis presented itself.

"Entry points," Myria said, reviewing the property’s satellite imagery for what felt like the dozenth time. "Two visible, though a structure this carefully maintained likely has considerably more we haven’t identified yet."

"We treat every unknown as a potential threat," Farrow agreed. "No assumptions, no shortcuts."

Irene, watching the preparation unfold with visible, restless impatience, finally spoke up during a brief pause in the planning. "Can I ask something? What do we actually do if we find him there?"

The question settled uncomfortably over the room, and Allen felt his own complicated, unresolved anger resurface at the possibility. "We bring him in," he said. "Alive, if possible. He knows things we need. Killing him just because it might feel satisfying doesn’t actually give Haruki’s family the answers they deserve."

"I know," Irene said quietly. "Doesn’t mean it’s not tempting."

"It’s tempting for all of us," Vivian said gently. "That doesn’t make it the right call."

Everlyn, who’d remained quiet throughout most of the planning, finally spoke, her own voice carrying quiet, considered weight. "What if it’s not just about him anymore? What if whatever we find in that house connects to something considerably bigger than just his own individual guilt?"

The observation settled uneasily over the gathered group, and Allen found himself turning it over with growing, uncomfortable certainty that Everlyn’s instinct carried real weight. "Then we deal with that too," he said. "Whatever it turns out to be."

Farrow nodded slowly, her own expression carrying the particular, careful gravity of someone who’d already privately arrived at similar conclusions. "I want to be honest with all of you," she said. "My own instincts suggest this investigation is going to lead somewhere considerably larger than a single family’s betrayal. I don’t yet know what that means. But I’d rather all of you walk into that property properly braced for the possibility, than caught unprepared by whatever we actually find."

Allen absorbed the warning with quiet, mounting resolve, glancing toward his own family gathered close around the considerable, spread-out planning materials, and felt old, familiar determination settle firmly into place.

"We go in prepared for anything," he said. "Whatever this actually is, we face it together, the same way we’ve faced everything else."

"Together," Myria confirmed, and the room settled into the particular, focused quiet of a family preparing for whatever considerable trial still waited, patiently, on the other side of tomorrow’s careful, deliberate approach.

The raid was scheduled for two days later, at dawn.

Allen spent the intervening evening reviewing his own status panel with quiet, deliberate focus, weighing the Exchange’s remaining catalog against whatever unknown danger the safehouse might still hold. Nothing felt urgent enough yet to justify a purchase made from anxiety rather than genuine, considered need, and he closed the panel eventually, trusting instead in the preparation his family had already, thoroughly completed.

Myria found him there, quiet in the guild’s darkened common room, and settled beside him without needing explanation for his restless, unsettled mood.

"You’re thinking about Haruki again," she said gently.

"I keep wondering if finding Reginald actually changes anything," Allen admitted. "Whatever we learn, it doesn’t bring him back. Doesn’t undo what Edward did, or what this butler set in motion. Sometimes I wonder what we’re actually chasing."

"Answers," Myria said simply. "Not because they undo the loss. Because they might prevent the next one. Whatever this organization wants, however patient and considerable their planning has proven, we can’t protect anyone properly if we don’t understand what we’re actually facing."

Allen let the reasoning settle, drawing quiet strength from her steady, familiar certainty. "You’re right," he said. "I just wish understanding didn’t always have to cost so much first."

"I know," Myria said softly, drawing him close. "I wish that too."

They sat together a while longer in the quiet dark, the guild headquarters settling into stillness around them, and Allen allowed himself, finally, to rest ahead of whatever the dawn’s careful, considerable approach still had waiting.

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