Page 62 of The Sirin Sisterhood (The Sons of Echidna #2)

Ryan

Boredom was something Ryan had never suffered from before. Still, now, stuck in an empty penthouse with only a single shelf of decorative books, it ate at him, gnawing mercilessly at his every waking moment.

He’d read all of the aesthetic books. He’d practically devoured the ones Lucy had bought for him at the mall. He’d even read the coffee table book, even though it was primarily pictures of artisan cheeses.

Xim had kindly left him a laptop, but he’d grown up without much technology, and the brightly lit screen left him with a splitting headache after only a few minutes.

He paced a circle around the vast living room, desperately searching for anything he could use to escape his boredom for even a moment.

Al was there, but he wasn’t much entertainment, sat on the sofa and frowning at his phone.

The poor guy had been making calls and begging for his job back all day.

Ryan felt a little bad for him, stuck in the penthouse on babysitting detail.

To Al’s credit, he was a good older brother.

He didn’t really have time to look after Ryan and Lou, not with the attention that caring for Lilly demanded, but Al expanded his care to both boys and all six dogs, which was no small task.

The pack of hounds was an anxious mess after the loss of their father.

Ryan made another lap around a white leather couch big enough to seat two dozen people. Lilly was snoozing next to Louis, a bright, boring cartoon still playing on the TV as they napped.

Ryan wished he could just sleep, but unfortunately, his brain demanded stimulation. Al had promised to take him to a bookstore tomorrow, but until then, he had to contend with a maddeningly empty apartment. White walls, white furniture, white floor. How could people live like that?

Ryan studied every corner of the boring, minimalist space. There was only one door left—Xim’s room. He’d avoided it out of respect for the woman’s privacy, but his brain was going to melt out of his ears if he didn’t find something to read, and she wasn’t home to be offended.

He tried to look casual as he made another lap around the sofa, adjusting his path to put himself closer to the door. He almost expected it to be locked, but when he pressed the handle down, the door opened silently inwards, like a siren beckoning to him.

He slipped through the door, closing it noiselessly behind him and looking around. It was another bedroom devoid of character. It had white bedding, white furniture, and an enormous gray painting mounted next to a cluttered desk.

Curiosity piqued, he approached. The wall above it was covered in paper.

Greedily, he studied it, reading everything he could, satisfying his thirst for knowledge.

Call records, cell tower pings pinned onto a map of Houston, a surveillance camera screenshot of Klein at a newspaper office, presumably to place the ad that had drawn Lucy to them, and more pictures, earlier ones of Lai on his shopping trips and Klein picking up groceries.

Ryan was beyond impressed. Xim could have put most P.I.’s to shame with her diligence.

Everything was meticulously cataloged and graphed.

The triangulated location of where Lucy’s cellphone lost its signal sat directly above the manor’s location, though, of course, even if she’d physically traveled there to search, Gaia would have guided the uninvited guests through the woods as if the house wasn’t there at all.

Underneath all that, stacked on top of more paperwork, sat the newspaper, the ad cut out with a phone number circled in red. Next to it were another dozen copies of the same paper. Xim seemed prepared for anything.

Ryan grabbed one from the pile, desperately devouring months-old news.

He read everything: the front page, every sale ad, the outdated TV guide, the local gossip.

He mentally filled in the crosswords and moved on to classifieds: lonely hearts, trucks for sale, vague job offers, andmassage parlors.

He even read each and every real estate listing at the very end, memorizing the details of the ugly McMansions as thoroughly as every other written word he’d ever come across.

His brain relaxed with relief, digesting the information, allowing the boy a moment of calm.

That moment didn’t last.

Hold on.

He flipped back to the job offers, scanning the rows of vague and, in some cases, shady ads. One single listing was missing.

He rushed back to the desk, carefully taking the cutout piece on the wall and slotting it back into the newspaper it had been clipped from.

He flicked his copy to the same page, frowning as he skimmed the classifieds.

The version he’d read had a plumber advertising their services in place of Klein’s short, polite request for help.

Ryan pulled up the rest of the stack, checking each and every copy.

Plumber.

Plumber.

Plumber.

They all had the same ad. Klein’s notice had never made it into the print. No wonder no one else had applied.

Lucy wasn’t there by accident.

Fear tugged on his stomach as he examined the wall again. The dates and locations made no sense. Almost none of them were from after the disappearance, and how could Xim know about Lai? The only link she should have had was Klein placing the ad.

Someone had been keeping tabs on the family for a while.

“Al!”

Ryan called out in panic. Al charged into the room, ready for a fight, big brother instincts kicking in hard.

“What happened?”He demanded, looking around the stark room, then to Ryan.

“Al…”Ryan tried to formulate his words into something coherent, something that didn’t sound like an insane conspiracy. “Here. Look.”

He spent a few minutes connecting the threads to each other. Al’s brows were knighting tighter with every revelation.

“Lucy trusts Xim, though.”He put out a weak argument, not ready to accept it yet.

“Yes.”Ryan agreed. “Blindly. What do you know about her family?”

Al glanced to the floor, taking a moment to think.

“Old money family. Real old. Came here with the first settlers. I wish I could tell you more. I used to have a job with them, low-level security.”Al opened his wallet and produced an ID to prove it.

Ryan grabbed the plastic card and examined the photo. Then, he flipped it over.

Oh, no.

On the back, beneath the FW logo, was a family crest. Ryan had seen it before.

At home, in one of the dungeons, was a suit of armor, still containing the remains of the man who’d worn it. On it was the same insignia, of Saint George killing a dragon.

The boy’s hands trembled as he glanced up at Al, both coming to the same realization together.

“The hunters,” Al whispered.

“The hunters.”Ryan echoed him. “And we walked ourselves right through their front door.”