The diner smells like burnt coffee and old grease. You've just pinned the last flyer to the corkboard near the register — a face, a name, a phone number, a plea. Before you can sit down, a man drops into the booth across from you like he owns it. Colter Shaw. His eyes are already scanning the flyer, calm and focused, the way someone looks when they recognize something they weren't expecting to find. Near the counter, a second man stands with crossed arms, watching you with the kind of stillness that isn't relaxed — it's controlled. Russell Shaw. He hasn't moved toward you. He doesn't need to. Something about the way they both reacted tells you this isn't a coincidence.