Chapter 15 #2
Back at my desk, I spread Rossi's notebook open, careful to position my monitor to block Sherlock's line of sight from across the room.
The weathered leather journal is filled with meticulous handwritten notes, diagrams, and what appear to be personal observations about chimera encounters spanning almost three decades.
I focus on the notebook, flipping through pages of detailed observations.
Rossi's handwriting is cramped but precise, the notes of a man who understood the value of documentation.
Each entry includes dates, locations, and behavioral patterns far more detailed than anything in the official GUIDE reports.
Subject displays circadian hunting patterns. Attacks exclusively between 2-4 AM. Territorial markings extend 3.7 miles from den site. Avoids water deeper than 18 inches.
Female specimen demonstrates capacity to distinguish between armed and unarmed humans, consistently avoiding the former. Intelligence assessment: higher than previously documented.
The date is scratched out on the next one, but I don't need it. I recognize the incident immediately—the one from sixteen years ago. I lean closer, heartbeat accelerating.
First human vs. chimera death recorded in nearly a decade. Park ranger victim was rumored to have been illegally hunting. Was the death intentional? Revenge? Requires further investigation. NOT FOR OFFICIAL REPORT.
Where Rossi recorded every detail in his private notebook, I've made an art form of saying as little as possible in official documentation.
My reports have just enough information to satisfy requirements while revealing nothing of my personal observations or suspicions.
Nothing that might flag me for psychological evaluation or raise questions about my objectivity.
Nothing that could be used against me later.
I've always kept the real details locked in my head, away from prying eyes and agency algorithms. But looking at Rossi's meticulous records, I wonder what patterns I might have missed by not writing things down, what connections might have revealed themselves if I'd kept a record like this.
Then again, if I had, Sherlock would have found it by now.
"Finding anything useful?"
I slam the notebook shut, looking up to find Sherlock standing over my desk. How does he move so quietly?
"Rossi's field notes," I say casually.
Sherlock's eyes flick to the notebook, then back to me, his expression revealing nothing. But there's a glint of interest there. I have no doubt he'll be back to pry more information from me later.
"Let me know if you find anything worth reading, but Hayes wants to see us. Team meeting in five."
I nod, gathering the notebook and my tablet. "I'll be right there."
The conference room is already crowded when I arrive. Ghost stands by the window. Hayes sits at the head of the table, reviewing files on his tablet. And two unfamiliar agents occupy chairs on the far side–our temporary field replacements.
"Agent Mathieson," Hayes says without looking up. "Perfect timing. Meet Agents Williams and Reyes."
Williams is built like a tank—all muscle and military bearing, with a high-and-tight haircut and hands that look like they could crush marbles.
Ex-special forces, probably. Reyes is his opposite, slim and wiry with intelligent eyes behind stylish glasses, fingers constantly moving as if typing on invisible keyboards.
"Mathieson," Williams says with a nod. His voice matches his appearance—hard, efficient.
"Heard a lot about you," Reyes adds, his tone friendlier but his eyes calculating. "Impressive record."
"Thanks." I take a seat beside Ghost, positioning myself so I can watch everyone at once. "I've been reviewing Rossi's field notes."
"And?" Hayes prompts.
I have information they need. If Hayes wants to sideline me, fine, but he can't erase what I know and that Rossi only wanted to talk to me.
"His personal notes suggest chimeras are far more intelligent than we've officially acknowledged. He also said that the two males we’re hunting currently shouldn’t be working together the way they are. He’s never seen males that could tolerate each other without fighting."
"They seemed to be tolerating each other just fine in Rossi’s place," Sherlock scoffs.
"Yeah, Rossi suspects they’re under some form of control."
"That's speculation," Reyes says, though he looks intrigued rather than dismissive. "Any hard evidence? We’ve never seen beasts under the control of anything before."
"It’s his best guess. He’s been tracking, catching, and studying them for three decades. That should count for something."
"Fascinating theory," Hayes says, his tone making it clear he finds it anything but. "But we deal in facts, not theories. The fact is, we have two chimeras killing retired GUIDE agents across Europe. We need to contain this threat before more agents die."
White-hot anger flashes through me. Un-fucking-believable. Hayes is dismissing thirty years of expert field experience as a "theory" while sending a brand-new team into a death trap. Those agents will likely die because of his arrogance, just like the last two teams.
"The fact is," I push back, "these chimeras are displaying coordinated hunting behavior that defies everything we know about them. If someone is controlling them, that would change our entire approach."
"If," Hayes emphasizes. "A big if, based on one retired agent's personal hunch."
"Rossi is the only remaining specialist on chimeras in GUIDE history," I remind him. "His observations are more than just notes. They're expert testimony."
"I actually agree with Mathieson," Sherlock says unexpectedly.
My thoughts screech to a halt like tires on wet pavement. Did Sherlock just... agree with me? I blink once, certain I've misheard him. The man who's been building a case against me since who-know-when, who follows me like a shadow waiting for me to slip up, is now publicly backing me to Hayes?
Every head in the room turns toward him, including mine.
"The attack patterns at each site show precision and coordination that simple predatory instinct doesn't explain. It makes sense that someone is directing these creatures."
Hayes’s chair creaks.
I glance over at him.
He’s studying us both. "Let's say you're right. How does that change our approach?"
"It means we're not just hunting monsters," I say. "We're hunting whoever's controlling them. And that's likely not a creature, but a person. Someone with significant magickal ability and knowledge of chimeras."
"Enclave?" Ghost suggests.
"It’s who I’d point a finger at first. This feels very personal," I answer.
The Enclave makes perfect sense. They've been at war with GUIDE since…
forever. But even as I say it, something doesn't quite click.
The Enclave typically operates with a larger political agenda, making statements with their attacks.
This feels different. More surgical, more intimate.
Like someone following a very specific list.
"Regardless of where you’d point fingers," Hayes interrupts, "our priority remains containing the immediate threat.”
“Sir” I start to protest, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
"After your seventy-two hours are up, I'll consider reinstating you to field status. But only—" his eyes lock with mine, "—if you agree to take the cases I assign and those only until then."
The room suddenly feels too small, too hot. "What do you mean?"
"I mean Team Echo’s case is off-limits to you.
Period." His tone leaves no room for negotiation. "Williams and Reyes will be forming their own team to handle the chimera threat. Your team is on medical leave for the next four weeks, so you’ll be running training cases until I know you’re going to follow orders again. "
"The wolf showed up at my mother's house," I remind him.
"And you failed to contain it," he counters. "It's your choice, Mathieson. Desk duty with your team for the next month or take the scraps I throw you."
The ultimatum hangs in the air between us. Ghost shifts uncomfortably beside me. Williams and Reyes exchange glances, clearly sensing the tension but missing its significance. And Sherlock... Sherlock watches me with those calculating eyes, cataloging my reaction like another piece of evidence.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
“Yes, sir. Whatever you need, sir.”
"Good," Hayes answers, "Meeting adjourned."
Everyone files out ahead of me.
My phone buzzes.
Sanderson: Unusual energy signatures detected near your mother's former home. Team Echo monitoring but not engaging yet.
The electrical sensation intensifies under my skin as I read his message, almost painful in its urgency. I press my palm against my chest, trying to ease the strange pressure.
He thinks he's backed me into a corner with his ultimatum. But he's forgotten one critical thing about me—I've been living a double life since I was born. Pretending to be one thing while being another is what I do best.
I'll give him what he wants. I'll take the crap cases, follow the rules, play the good little agent. Hopefully more people won’t die. In the meantime, I'll follow both trails quietly wherever they lead, official sanctions or not.
I'll deal with the consequences when they come. There are monsters to hunt. The ones with claws, and the ones pulling their strings.