Page 29 of Cross the Line
The manager examined the photo for half a second before returning to his phone. "Look around." A broad gesture with his free hand. Irritation evident. "You think I memorize every kid who comes through here? We get hundreds every day."
My partner tensed beside me. Before he could say something that might shut down our only lead, I leaned against the counter and switched tactics. Softened my expression. Let my shoulders relax. Offered an easy smile. The one that had talked me out of speeding tickets and into exclusive clubs.
"Just trying to find a missing teenager before something bad happens. His mother is worried sick."
The manager's attention flicked up. Held mine for a moment before returning to his phone with a noncommittal grunt. Not a breakthrough, but not a complete shutdown either.
Hawley had already moved away from my charm offensive. Methodically examining the layout of the space. His focus complete. Invisible lines tracking across the room, noting exits, blind spots, and the path Min would have taken that night. Like he'd built a mental simulation of events that only he could see.
One last smile for the manager before joining my partner near computer 27.
"Computer 27 is positioned with clear sightlines to both exits." A subtle gesture toward the main entrance and a smaller doorat the side of the room. "He chose it deliberately. Watching for someone."
I studied the setup. The observation impressed me. The computer faced away from the wall, giving whoever sat there a perfect view of anyone coming or going. Not the choice you'd make if you were just there to play games.
"Smart kid."
A sleepy-eyed employee approached us. Clutching an energy drink. He barely looked older than Min himself. Acne-spotted cheeks. Hair that needed washing.
"You guys looking for someone?" A yawn interrupted his words.
Min's photo appeared on my screen. "This boy was here two nights ago. Did you see him?"
The employee squinted. Recognition dawning. "The quiet kid in the blue hoodie? Yeah, I remember him. Kept looking over his shoulder like someone was after him."
I straightened. Alert flooding through me. "Did he say anything about where he was staying? Or did you see which direction he went when he left?"
The employee took a long swig of his energy drink. Thinking. "Didn't talk to me. But when he left, he didn't go toward the main street. Went through the side door, the one that leads to the laneway."
A glance at my partner, who was already heading toward the side exit. Outside, rain hammered the awning above the door. The laneway stretched in both directions. To our left, it connected back to Yonge. To our right, it narrowed between buildings.
"Which way would you go if you didn't want to be seen?"
He pointed right, toward the narrow passage. "There. Away from streetlights and traffic cameras."
The laneway stank of rotting food and stale beer. Amplified by moisture. Dumpsters lined the concrete walls, overflowing with garbage bags and discarded furniture. Our flashlight beams cut through the darkness, bouncing off puddles and wet brick.
"Somewhere close but not obvious." Methodical precision marked every sweep of his light. "He needs shelter. Visibility. Multiple escape routes."
We moved deeper into the laneway. Our footsteps splashing through puddles. Without discussion, we fell into a pattern. Him taking the left side. Me taking the right. Our beams crossed and separated in a strangely synchronized rhythm. Checking behind dumpsters and stacks of empty crates.
"You seem to know how runaways think." I watched him carefully for a reaction. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. Made him appear younger. Less severe. "Professional insight or personal experience?"
His pause was almost imperceptible. Just a slight hitch in his movement before he kept scanning the laneway. "Both." The single word hung between us before he added, "Foster system. Three homes every two years."
The admission caught me off guard. In the week we'd been partners, this was the first personal detail he'd voluntarily shared. An unexpected need rose to offer something in return. To balance the sudden shift between us.
"I stayed put. My dad and I haven't spoken since I chose this job. My mom did the rest of it alone. Held everything together while she could." The darkness covered my expression.
His attention flicked to me. A brief moment of recognition between us before he turned away. "Check behind those crates." Professional again. The moment of vulnerability closed.
I moved toward a stack of wooden pallets. Shone my light into the narrow space behind them. "Nothing here." Frustration edged into my words as water soaked through my jacket. Myshoes were waterlogged. My socks squelched with every step. "Maybe we're overthinking this. Maybe he just passed through and kept moving."
He shook his head once. Definitive. "The security footage shows exhaustion. He wouldn't have gone far after leaving."
I stared at him. Surprised. "You could tell he was tired from that grainy footage? I could barely make out his features."
"It wasn't his features." He continued scanning the buildings above us. "It was his posture. The way he held himself. When you're that tired, you find the closest safe place and crash."
