The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 502

The night sky over Northport was pitch black, thick as an overturned cauldron.

The heavy searchlights from the docks cast lonely, sweeping beams in the distance, illuminating piles of rusted shipping containers.

Wyatt's car was the first to screech to a halt. Two police cruisers from the Northport precinct were hot on his tail, their red and blue strobe lights flashing silently, casting broken, icy reflections across the dark water.

The road ended at the ocean.

Beyond the breakwater, the sea writhed like black ink. There was no horizon in sight, and absolutely no trace of a ship.

Wyatt ordered the precinct officers to set up a makeshift command post on the pier. Several young cops scrambled to erect portable spotlights, aiming the beams out over the water. But the light barely pierced the gloom, illuminating only fifty yards of churning whitecaps before being entirely swallowed by the vast, predatory darkness of the international waters.

Garrison stood at the very edge of the breakwater. The freezing ocean wind whipped his black coat violently around his legs.

He had been standing there for fifteen minutes, utterly silent, his eyes locked on the tablet in his hands.

The glowing red dot was still pulsing on the screen, like an ember refusing to die, anchored stubbornly twelve miles east of Northport.

Sloane's heart rate had spiked to eighty-two. Four beats faster than half an hour ago. She was terrified. Her heart was screaming the truth her body couldn't hide.

Wyatt walked over from the command post, stopping a few feet behind Garrison. He glanced at the tablet screen, then up at Garrison's profile.

Under the harsh, pale glow of the screen, the angles of Garrison's face looked jagged and hollow. His cheekbones and jawline were carved out of stone, and his lips were pressed into a bloodless line.

"Garrison." Wyatt's voice was instantly half-devoured by the wind.

"For the past two months, that ship's AIS signal has been bouncing between Northport, Portsmouth, and Hamburg. And the exact spot it went dark... is right out there in international waters."

After he finished speaking, total silence stretched between the two men for several seconds.

The ocean wind howled through the gap between them, carrying a biting, metallic chill—the undeniable omen of an impending storm.

"It's them." Garrison finally spoke, his voice dangerously low.

"The ones who killed Professor Harrison and Diego in the Antarctic five years ago. The ones who murdered Quinn three months ago. It's all them. But... five years ago, they answered to David. Who's pulling their leashes now?"

Wyatt let out a heavy sigh.