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“Simple as that, huh?” Sterling's tone was dry, but not dismissive.

“It's straightforward,” I replied. “Fewer complications.”

“Simpler,” Sterling corrected. “Not the same thing as better.”

The distinction registered, acknowledged but not fully embraced.

I understood what Sterling meant, that simplicity came at the cost of connections, relationships, the human network that had once defined my existence.

But those connections required emotional engagement I no longer possessed, making them functionally irrelevant to my current state.

“CITD thinks you're dead,” Sterling summarized, leaning back in his chair. “The people who knew you have grieved and started to move on. Bringing Cade Cross back now would create complications we don't need while hunting Asmodeus and whatever came through that gate.”

“Agreed,” I said simply.

Sterling gestured toward the basement stairs.

“There's more you need to see.” I followed him down to a heavy door reinforced with both conventional and supernatural protections.

He worked through multiple locks, revealing his true workspace beyond—a hunter's archive more extensive than anything CITD could imagine.

Weapons lined one wall, everything from ancient ceremonial daggers to modern firearms modified for supernatural threats. Another wall held bookshelves packed with grimoires, journals, and reference texts in multiple languages. Tables supported maps, ritual components, surveillance equipment.

But what caught my attention was the investigation board dominating the far wall. Photos, newspaper clippings, string connections tracking supernatural events across the country. At the center: the demon gate. My last known location.

“My disappearance,” I observed, approaching the board.

Sterling nodded. “Been tracking everything related to the gate since it closed. Trying to understand what came through, what might have happened to you on the other side.”

I studied the meticulous documentation, noting patterns in the colored strings connecting seemingly unrelated events.

Red for confirmed demonic activity. Blue for unexplained deaths.

Yellow for witness accounts. Green for physical evidence.

All radiating outward from the central point, the moment the gate had closed with me inside.

“You've been thorough,” I acknowledged.

“First month was the worst,” Sterling said, moving to stand beside me. “Demonic possessions spiked 400%. Multiple simultaneous manifestations across six states. Like floodgates opening.”

He pointed to a cluster of red markers. “We contained most of them, exorcisms, banishments, the usual methods. But they were organized. Targeting specific locations.”

I frowned, studying the pattern. “Ley lines,” I observed. “They were following supernatural energy pathways.”

“Got it in one,” Sterling confirmed. “Took us weeks to figure that out. Sean spotted it first, after the third wave.”

Sterling moved along the timeline. “Second month, different tactics. Subtler. Demonic possessions of people in positions of influence, police chiefs, hospital administrators, local government officials. Creating infrastructure they could use.”

“For what?” I asked.

“That's the question,” Sterling replied grimly. “Whatever Asmodeus is planning, it's bigger than random chaos. More focused.”

He continued tracing the timeline. “Third month, targeted killings of hunters and sensitives, people who could identify demons on sight. Fourth month, acquisition of artifacts and texts related to dimensional breaches. Fifth month, establishment of secure facilities in major cities, purpose unknown.”

“And the sixth?” I prompted.

Sterling's expression darkened. “Silence. Complete cessation of trackable activity. Like they all went to ground simultaneously.”

“Or they're preparing for something bigger,” I suggested.

Sterling nodded grimly. “That's what keeps me up at night.”

He moved toward the evidence board, his weathered hand gesturing to various sections covered with familiar handwriting. The sharp, angular script was unmistakable - Sean's desperate scrawl, the letters formed too quickly by someone chasing connections with single-minded intensity.

“Sean tracked most of this,” Sterling said. “He became... obsessive after you disappeared.”

I stepped closer to the board, taking in the extent of Sean's research. Notes connected with red string, newspaper clippings, symbols I recognized from ancient texts - all meticulously organized despite the frantic energy evident in the handwriting.

Sterling's voice softened slightly, concern seeping through his gruff exterior. “Wouldn't sleep. Barely ate. Just hunted and researched and hunted some more.” He shook his head. “Took down more demons in the first three months than most hunters see in a decade.”

I absorbed this, fitting it into my understanding of Sean. The recklessness, the self-destructive intensity, the refusal to accept loss, all consistent with established patterns, but amplified beyond previous parameters.

“He was looking for me,” I stated, understanding without needing clarification.

“Every demon he caught, he interrogated before exorcising. Wanted to know where you were, how to get to you.” Sterling's mouth tightened. “Some of the methods he used... they weren't gentle.”

The implication settled heavily. Sean had crossed lines, had employed techniques that pushed ethical boundaries. Torture, perhaps. All to find me.

The knowledge should have triggered emotional response, guilt, concern, something.

Instead, I processed it as data. Sean had compromised his principles out of attachment to me.

That attachment remained, would influence his reactions to my return.

Useful information for managing the upcoming interaction.

“Is he still actively searching?” I asked.

Sterling hesitated. “Not as intensely. But he hasn't given up. Never will, knowing Sean.”

“What's the immediate concern?” I asked, redirecting to practical matters. “Beyond my return and Sean's potential reaction.”

He moved to another section of the board, where more recent events were documented.

“Asmodeus has gone quiet, but his network remains active.

We've identified at least three major cells operating in the Northeast. One here in New York, one in Boston, one in Philadelphia.” He tapped the map where each location was marked.

“They're coordinating, but we haven't been able to determine their objective.”

I studied the pattern, my mind immediately seeking connections. “They're still following ley lines. But converging now, not spreading out.”

Sterling nodded, impressed despite himself. “That's what Sean said too. They're moving toward something. We just don't know what.”

“Or where,” I added, tracing the theoretical point of convergence. Multiple possibilities existed based on the currently identified pattern. “We need more data.”

“That's where Sean comes in,” Sterling said. “He's been tracking the New York cell for weeks. Has surveillance set up, informants in place. If anyone has the latest intelligence, it's him.”

I nodded once, decision crystallizing. “Then we need to see him. Now.”

Sterling studied me for a long moment, weighing options with a hunter's pragmatic assessment. “You're right,” he admitted finally. “But approach matters. He's fragile, even if he'd kill me for saying so.”

“How do we proceed?” I asked, deferring to Sterling's deeper understanding of Sean's current psychological state.

Sterling considered, weighing options with the careful deliberation of someone accustomed to life-or-death decisions. “Direct approach. No games, no ambiguity. I call ahead, tell him I've found something he needs to see. We go together.”

I nodded. The protocols were familiar, logical. “And after?”

Sterling's expression softened slightly, revealing the genuine care beneath his gruff exterior. “That's the complicated part. He's been running on rage and denial for six months. Seeing you alive...” He shook his head. “Could go either way. Relief or breakdown. Possibly both.”

“I'll manage it,” I said with confidence.

Sterling's gaze sharpened. “Can you? You're different now. Something happened to you in that gate. And Sean will notice, he knows you better than anyone.”

The question landed with unexpected weight. Could I navigate this interaction when I myself didn't fully understand what had changed? When everything that had once felt important now seemed distant, academic?

“I'll adapt,” I said finally. Simple, direct. The only commitment I could honestly make.

Sterling studied me for a long moment, then nodded once, decision made. “Let's go, then. You know where to find him.”