Draven's pov
They said ghosts don't exist.
They lied.
Because Chloe Riverdale,who once stood in front of me in flesh and blood, defiant and clever,was now nothing more than vapor. I stood before six monitors in my underground command room, each screen blinking with failure. Heat flushed through my neck as images scanned back and forth, maps flickering red, search logs looping endlessly like a cruel joke.
No trace.
No credit activity. No phone pings. No public cameras catching so much as a flicker of her shadow. And this was me,Draven,the man who could trace the heartbeat of a bird in flight if I wanted. But her?
Gone.
It was like chasing wind.
"Run it again," I growled at Lucas, my lead tech operative, who sat hunched before the main terminal.
He glanced back nervously. "Sir, we've run the trace five times. Cross-checked it with Interpol, satellite logs, darknet drops,"
"Again."
He swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."
