Han's POV
We landed and didn't waste time. Straight to the LA government station, zero stops. I had a feeling. A gut-deep, bone-heavy feeling that this was it the lead we'd been chasing for hours. But the moment I mentioned Tyler Lockwood, I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
The agent behind the desk blinked at me, then shook her head like I'd asked for directions to Narnia.
"We don't have any record of a Tyler Lockwood in our system."
I froze. No record? No record?
It felt like the floor just vanished beneath me. Like some invisible hand yanked the rug of reality right out from under us. No files. No arrest. No trace. Not even a speeding ticket. It was like Tyler had been scrubbed.
Eric stepped up beside me, voice clipped. "Are you sure? Check again. Aliases. Off-the-books logs. Anything."
The agent—a woman in her mid-thirties with a sleek black bob, high cheekbones, and a clipboard full of lies—gave him a hard look. "Nothing. Sorry."
