When Kelvin regained his footing, he realised the man was already disappearing into the crowd.

The hell! he wouldn't make him get away without answers.

Not willing to lose him, he bolted after him.

The man didn't look back. He kept pushing forward, carving a path through bodies and noise.

Kelvin did look back.

Once.

Mabel sat where he had left her, head tilted toward the bar, waiting. Unaware. Untouched by the collision of past and present detonating in his chest.

He turned away before guilt could root him to the spot.

Leaving her without an explanation felt wrong. Kelvin believed first impressions mattered-sometimes more than people admitted. He wished he had stayed longer and learned more about her.

But timing had never been kind to him.

And there were more pressing matters now.

With his focus back on the man, the crowd swallowed the distance between them in seconds.

Kelvin moved.

He slipped through bodies, shoulders angled, eyes fixed on the faint glint of metal that surfaced and vanished with each swing of the man's stride. The bass thudded against his skull as he followed at a measured pace-close enough to keep him in sight, far enough not to draw attention.

The man headed toward the rear of the club.

Kelvin matched him.

A flash of the medal near the restrooms. A sharp turn. A shove.

Then the emergency exit door burst open, flooding the corridor with harsh white light.

Kelvin reached it just as it slammed shut.

He burst through after him.

The night air hit him hard-cool, sharp, cleansing. The roar of the club faded behind him, replaced by the hum of the city and the distant blare of traffic.

The man was already halfway into an SUV.

Kelvin broke into a sprint, but it was too late.

The engine roared to life, tyres screeched, and the vehicle sped down the road, disappearing into the night.

Kelvin swore under his breath-then forced himself to focus, memorising the license plate before it vanished completely.

The chase was over.

For now.

He turned back toward the club, hoping-against better judgment-that Mabel might still be there. That he could explain. Apologise. Salvage something that had felt unexpectedly real.

But when he reached the corner where she had been sitting, the seat was empty.

Kelvin scanned the dance floor. The bar. Every familiar angle of yellow and curls.

Nothing.

The loss settled heavily in his chest.

Tonight had taken from him twice.

No answers about his mother.

And no second chance with the woman who had stirred something he thought long buried.

***

Kelvin returned to his hotel room long after the noise of the club had drained from his ears.

The room was dark except for the thin spill of city light slipping through the curtains. He didn't turn on the lights. He dropped his jacket over the back of the chair and lowered himself into it, facing the window.

Accra stretched before him-alive, indifferent. Headlights traced slow veins through the streets below. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, arguing, loving, living lives untouched by the weight pressing against his ribs.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

Mabel's face surfaced uninvited.

The way she'd smiled. The ease of her laughter. The brief, reckless hope he'd allowed himself to feel. She had been nothing more than a moment-random, uncomplicated-but moments like that were rare in his world.

And he had walked away from it.

Again.

Kelvin exhaled slowly and leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall backwards. The floor was cool, grounding. He stared upward, blinking away thoughts he didn't have time to entertain.

Regret could wait.

Answers could not.

He pushed himself up and crossed the room to the desk. The computer hummed softly as it came to life, its glow cutting through the darkness. Kelvin pulled the chair closer, his movements deliberate now-focused.

He typed in the license plate.

Once.

Carefully.

Then he paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

His mother's face flashed through his mind-not as she had looked in photographs, but as she had the last time he'd seen her alive. Whole. Laughing. Unaware.

Kelvin hit Enter.

Lines of data scrolled across the screen.

Registered owner. Vehicle history. Renewals. Addresses.

His jaw tightened as the system worked.

There it was.

A name.

Kelvin leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as he read it again to be sure he wasn't imagining things.

This wasn't a dead end.

This was a door.

He sat back slowly, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his eyes as something cold and resolute settled in his chest.

Tonight had taken from him-but it had also given him something far more dangerous.

A lead.

And Kelvin Bruce had never been the kind of man to let one slip away.

He would have to find a way to thank Chief Inspector Bentil for showing him the way into the system.

For now, he needs to rest up before the real hunt in the morning.