ROWAN #2
I reach for the retaining-wall photograph and pull it closer. “Every time we lost him, there was stone.”
Lev’s attention snaps to me.
“The first victim’s yard. The warehouse. The quarry trail.” I tap each location in the photographs as Amand lays them out. “We kept looking for where he went after the scent stopped.”
Amand studies the limestone photo from the warehouse. “Because we assumed he left.”
Medusa nods slowly. “If this bloodline is what he carries, he may have been shifting instead. Once he stoned against the surrounding rock, you wouldn’t be looking at a gargoyle anymore. You’d be looking at another section of wall.”
Lev’s expression turns increasingly horrified as he looks from the quarry photograph to the old illustration. “At the house, I put my fucking hand on that retaining wall.”
I remember.
He crouched beside it, following the scent right to the place where it disappeared, then ran his fingers over the stone while the rest of us searched roofs and neighboring yards.
Amand remembers too. “He could’ve been close.”
Lev looks at him. “Don't say the next part.”
Amand’s mouth twitches. “You may have touched him.”
“I hate this case.”
Medusa folds her arms and looks at the photographs again. “At the quarry, he could have been anywhere along that limestone face. He knows the district, knows where the stone matches his natural coloration, and probably knows exactly how long he can stay still without giving himself away.”
Lev slowly drags both hands down his face. “You’re telling me I may have spent three days chasing this asshole while he sat ten feet away pretending to be masonry.”
Medusa folds her arms across her chest, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression now that the answer is finally sitting in front of us. “Possibly closer.”
I pull the quarry photograph closer and set it beside the first. “At both scenes, you followed him exactly where you should have. The problem wasn’t the trail.”
Amand leans forward and braces his forearms on the table. “It was what we did when the trail stopped.” He taps the pale limestone in the quarry picture, then slides his finger toward the empty ground beyond it. “We assumed he kept moving because we couldn’t see him anymore.”
Lev’s mouth tightens. He’s gone still in the way he does when something bothers him enough that his brain starts picking it apart from every direction. “So I smelled him right up to the stone, lost him, and immediately started searching farther out.”
“Every time,” I say.
Medusa shifts the old book toward him. “And if he was already stoned, every step away from the wall took you farther from him.”
Lev stares at the illustration for another second before pushing his chair back and standing. “That is so fucking insulting.” He starts pacing between the shelves, one hand dragging through his curls. “I’ve been running after a man who might literally have been sitting there watching me leave.”
Amand’s mouth pulls faintly at one corner. “You did spend a long time sniffing that wall.”
Lev points at him without breaking stride. “I need you to decide whether you want to be useful or murdered.”
“I’m being useful.”
“You’re enjoying it too much.”
I sit back and watch him pace. Normally movement helps Lev think. He circles rooms, follows whatever catches his attention, doubles back when something feels wrong. It’s part of why he’s good at this. He notices what the rest of us miss because he never stops looking.
This case has been punishing him for exactly that.
“You’re always moving when you lose a trail,” I tell him.
Lev stops near the end of the table and looks at me. “Because standing there accomplishing nothing usually isn’t how I solve cases.”
“I know.” I pick up the quarry photo and hold it where he can see it. “But look at what you were doing here. You were checking the wall, then the ground, then above us. You circled back twice. Every time your attention shifted, you gave him another chance to become part of everything else.”
Amand nods slowly. “If his defense works because the eye accepts him as background, movement helps him. You’re taking in too much at once.”
Lev comes back to the table and takes the photograph from me. “So my entire investigative style is currently working for the suspect.”
Medusa gives him a dry look. “For this suspect.”
“That distinction is doing very little for my self-esteem.” He drops back into the chair and leans over the photograph until his forearms rest on the table. “Fine. Assume he stops the second the trail dies. We know he’s there somewhere. That still doesn’t tell me how to see him.”
Medusa pulls the old book closer again and runs her finger beneath the passage. “It says the stone form mimics coloration, texture, surface patterning, and reflected light. It doesn't say he ceases to occupy space.”
Lev looks up at her. “I was hoping for a more useful weakness than technically still has a body.”
Amand studies the illustration again. “So even if we know he’s there, seeing him may be another problem entirely.”
Medusa nods. “The accounts don’t explain how anyone reliably broke the concealment. Most of them only realized a gargoyle had been there after it moved.”
Lev looks back at the photographs. “Great. So we’ve upgraded from not knowing where he goes to knowing he may be standing directly in front of me.”
Lev chews on his bottom lip while he studies the photographs. The frustration hasn’t disappeared, but there’s something else under it now, the first real sense that we have stopped following him blindly. “So I’m not looking for a gargoyle. I’m looking for the part of the wall that’s lying.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Amand says.
“It’s the better way.”
I watch Lev trace one finger along the edge of the quarry wall in the photograph. His hand pauses near a darker seam, then moves back. “At the warehouse, I kept trying to catch the scent after it vanished. I didn’t stay in one place long enough to notice anything else.”
“You didn’t know you needed to,” I say.
He glances at me. “You’re being suspiciously nice about this.”
“You nearly lost your mind yesterday because I touched something stupid. I’m giving you one.”
Lev snorts, but his shoulders loosen a little. “Generous.”
Medusa closes the book halfway but leaves one finger tucked between the pages. “Knowing what he is also means we can stop wasting time trying to outrun him. If he knows you’re following his scent, he has probably been counting on you doing exactly what you’ve done so far.”
That lands harder than anything else.