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The afternoon drags while we sink into the monotonous slog of chasing down leads, sifting through endless surveillance footage, bank records, and criminal profiles. Hours blur, and boredom threatens our sanity.

I lean back in my chair, stretching my shoulders and glancing around the room. Eli is sprawled lazily, spinning a pen between his fingers and muttering to himself while his other hand flips through files. Matteo sits stoically at his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration as he pours over data, completely oblivious to Eli’s theatrics. Jensen hunches over his screen, scowling at something he’s reading.

“If I have to look at one more bank transaction,” Eli groans dramatically, leaning back until his chair creaks dangerously, “I’m gonna stab myself in the eye with this pen.”

“You’re welcome to,” Matteo replies without even looking up, voice dry as sandpaper. “Would be the most exciting thing you’ve done all day.”

Jensen chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Keep whining, Eli. Maybe Matteo will let you help with cross-referencing traffic camera footage instead.”

“On second thought,” Eli mutters quickly, snapping upright, “these bank records sound delightful.”

I smirk faintly, shaking my head at their endless banter. It’s the only thing keeping us from losing our minds while hunting ghosts. My eyes blur as names and faces flash across the screen, connections forming frustratingly slow.

Eli’s chair scrapes loudly as he pushes away from his desk. “That's it. I’m going out to get coffee.”

“We have coffee in the break room,” Jensen says absently.

Eli snorts, grabbing his jacket. “I said coffee, not pond sludge. Anyone want anything?”

Jensen makes a vague gesture, either agreement or dismissal—it’s unclear. Matteo nods distractedly. I look up at Eli, mouth twitching into a smirk. “Bring me back something strong enough to dissolve paint, would you?”

He salutes sarcastically. “Consider it done, boss.”

Matteo finally glances up as Eli exits. “You think better coffee will improve his attitude?”

I arch a brow. “No. But he might complain less if he takes himself for a walk, he’s like a puppy.”

Jensen laughs softly, eyes flicking briefly to Matteo. “Wishful thinking, Seanna.”

“You know me—eternal optimist,” I reply dryly, rubbing my temples lightly, trying to ease the ache building there.

The room falls back into a rhythm of clicking keyboards and sighs of frustration. When Eli returns triumphantly, holding steaming cups aloft, the rich aroma of genuine coffee fills the bullpen.

“This, gentlemen,” Eli declares smugly, passing cups around, “is coffee. Take notes.”

Matteo rolls his eyes but takes a careful sip. “Not terrible.”

Eli gasps dramatically. “Did Matteo just give me a compliment? Quick, Jensen—take his temperature.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Jensen warns mildly, hiding a smirk behind his cup.

I chuckle softly, savoring the bitter, strong taste of my drink. This, at least, helps ease some of my frustration over Diego’s fucking stubbornness. Our progress is slow at best, but we’re getting closer to Reyes. One layer at a time, we’ll strip away his protections until he has nowhere left to hide. Reyes' carefully built fortress will crumble.

My gaze drifts momentarily to my phone, remembering Dad’s earlier message. I sigh quietly—soon enough I’ll need to head over to the organization's headquarters to see what Uncle Max has uncovered.

We fall back into our tedious rhythm, each of us buried alive in a digital avalanche of endless data. The hours drag painfully slow, my eyes glazing over as I stare at screens filled with intel I've already branded permanently into my memory. My patience frays dangerously thin, restless tension coiling beneath my skin until I just can't fucking take it anymore. I abruptly shove myself to my feet, stretching my arms overhead until my spine cracks satisfyingly, loud enough to announce to the room that my tolerance has officially died.

“You good, boss?” Eli asks cautiously, peering over his monitor with wary curiosity.

I ignore him, pacing purposefully toward the oversized whiteboard dominating the room—our chaotic altar to Javier Reyes, covered in mugshots, tangled aliases, maps cluttered with colored pins, and scrawled notes. Each desperate scribble is a testament to months of frustration. Folding my arms tightly, I stare down the mess, irritation simmering dangerously beneath my surface.

Behind me, chairs creak subtly as the team senses the shift, their attention snapping to me with cautious alertness.

“We’re missing something fucking obvious,” I snap sharply, voice hard and edged with agitation. “There’s another angle here—some crack we haven’t forced open yet.”

Matteo lifts his head slowly, dark eyes moving methodically over the board, revisiting trails he's walked too many damn times. “We’re thoroughly examining everything Diego provided. Nothing stands out yet, but we’re getting closer. Something will break soon.”

“What about Reyes’ family?” I pivot sharply to face them, eyebrow raised in challenge, daring any of them to argue. “Have we made any actual progress there, or are we still chasing ghosts?”