Chapter 11
Spencer didn’t sleep, instead he rested. Simply closed his eyes and let his body reset just enough to function. But sleep implied peace and his mind was not about to let that happen. Not tonight anyway.
The client file lay open on the small desk by the window, pages worn from being handled too many times, over too many years, by too many people who had all failed to do what he and Mark had been hired to finish.
Details on the missing heir of the Smokeclaw clan and how her return had been delayed long enough. There was no negotiation, just a simple demand. Spencer leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the page without really seeing it.
It didn’t sit right, it never had. They had taken the job simply because of the bounty. Because it was enough to walk away from this life. Enough to finally stop, but the longer he looked at it, the more cracks he found. It wasn’t just a simple retrieval.
“She is to be returned for her long-awaited union.”
Union, the way they even worded that was strange, not a marriage or alliance. It was far too formal and too… deliberate. Spencer’s jaw tightened slightly. He’d dealt with enough clans over the years to recognise the signs. The politics and power structures. But mainly control.
The Smokeclaw clan wasn’t subtle about it, they never had been. The males had a reputation of always being angry and always on edge. Like they were one breath away from tearing into something just to prove they could.
And the females… Spencer frowned, that was the thing, you never saw them, not often and definitely not without a male chaperone, but when you did they were quiet and subdued.
He exhaled slowly, closing the file with a soft thud. “You ran,” he muttered under his breath. The heir wasn’t lost, she had made the decision to run. That explanation fit better than anything else in the brief. Which raised a major question… Why was the clan so desperate to get her back?
Not just find her, make sure she was safe, that wasn’t in the brief. But return immediately, what was the rush after all these years?
Spencer’s fingers tapped once against the desk. Then stilled. Because his instincts, the part of him that had kept him alive thus far, didn’t like it and didn’t trust it. That part didn’t speak up often without reason.
Behind him, Mark snored, loudly and obnoxiously. Completely at ease in a way Spencer rarely was. Spencer glanced over his shoulder, he didn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed. His brother lay sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his face, breathing deep and steady.
Unbothered or, at least, pretending to be. Mark could sleep through almost anything.
Spencer knew better than to assume the snoring meant he wasn’t thinking about it too.
Still, he needed space. Sitting here trying to will himself to sleep clearly wasn’t working, So Spencer stood quietly, pulling on his coat and stepping out of the room without a word.
The Ferret’s Mott was silent this early and empty. Peaceful in a calming way that was a complete opposite to its evening vibe. Spencer slipped out into the street and paused because it too felt different.
The town, stripped of its evening noise and movement, felt… softer. The early morning air carried a sweetness to it, salt from the sea mixed with something lighter, something fresh that spoke of spring settling in properly. It was… pleasant.
Spencer frowned slightly at the thought. He wasn’t used to pleasant. He stepped forward, boots quiet against the ground as he made his way through the still-sleeping town.
Only a few others were out. A figure in the distance carrying something that glowed faintly. Another leaning against a wall, half-asleep, half-watching the world go by. Paranormals, all of them.
None of them were paying him any particular attention, which was good and Spencer preferred it that way. His feet took their own journey and, not surprisingly, they led him to the water’s edge. Via an overgrown path that led away from the town but instead around fallen rocks and near to cliffs.
The sea stretched out before him, calm and deceptively quiet beneath the early light. The surface barely moved, gentle ripples catching the dawn in soft flashes of silver and blue.
But Spencer knew better than that, beneath that calm was something vast and ancient. He could feel its pull, not as strongly as before and definitely not as threatening, but still present. It was like Krakens Hole knew what he was and instead of scaring him off, it gently welcomed him.
Spencer stepped closer to the edge, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he watched the water, and his instincts stirred, not with danger or alarm but curiosity and yearning. The need to belong. It was a whisper of something that didn’t come from the job, the bounty, nor the clan.
It was something personal. He frowned slightly at that thought because that was harder to ignore.
“You’re getting distracted,” he muttered to himself, yet it didn't help. If anything, it made him more aware of it. The way this place settled into him. The way it felt… right.
He exhaled slowly. “This isn’t permanent,” he said under his breath.
Find the heir, finish the job, leave and retire, that was the plan. That had always been the plan. And yet…
His gaze drifted back toward the town. Toward the quiet streets.
Toward the place that, for reasons he didn’t fully understand, felt more like something he’d been missing than something temporary.
Spencer’s jaw tightened as he straightened slightly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the thought.
“Focus,” he said.
Because that was what mattered. Not whatever this place was doing to him, it was the job and the target and the truth… and yet something in his gut told him all three were about to collide.