By noon, Herc wanted to cry mutiny and run directly to Meeka’s side. He had knocked on nearly ten dozen doors asking strangers if they’ve “seen this man,” threatening military force if “he” was not recovered soon, and attempting to “find the High Lord’s son.” With every pronoun, every picture, and every question his soul felt pained. It wasn’t who Meeka was or how he wanted to refer to them. It went against everything he had been taught on the Southern Isle as a child. Referring to someone under their truth was as natural to him as air. Not doing so felt like suffocation.

To add to this cognitive dissonance, he was hunting someone who didn’t exist. Dominique Moreau was only a figment of the High Lord’s imagination, a ghost of an idea lost on the wind. Herc’s rational mind was grappling heavily with the fact that his military training was being wasted on what he knew to be a futile task. He prided himself so heavily on successful missions that intentionally throwing one was taking more effort than doing well would have.

He was chasing nothing while protecting that which he held most precious. Not Meeka, per say, but rather all that they represented. The war with the Western Isle had left both sides changed, yet very much the same. Herc’s home held freedom of person at the highest level of their ideologies. It was this marker that frightened the West into a frenzied attack, hoping to stop the spread of these ideals from infiltrating their repressed and regimented society. By rescuing Meeka from these laws, Herc wasn’t saving the entire Isle, no. But even saving just one life was better than nothing.

His task was bigger than himself, and reminding himself of the fact was taking all his strength. But with each passing moment, his resolve began to slowly crumble until he finally pulled Jack aside, speaking as low as possible. “How much longer must we play this charade? We know where they are, or at least where James was supposed to hide them, can’t we just—“

“Herc, please,” Jack rasped. “We must continue our search as scheduled. The hotel is on the opposite side of the city. How would it look is we were to jump to only one building in the area, then leave?”

“I’m not suggesting that. I know it requires strategy, but surely we can steer the investigation—“

“Right off the rails, cousin. To protect them, you must let them go. For now.”

With a heavy sigh, Herc nodded. “I miss them.”

“And if you ever want to see them again outside of a prison cell, you need to stick to the plan. Just keep reminding yourself that keeping your distance for now will mean a higher potential to keep them close the rest of your lives. Can you do that?”

Another nod, and the two men rejoined the group, ready to begin their search, once more. As they approached the other officers, Herc saw that the man they were currently questioning was becoming increasingly defensive. “You have no authority here! This is a Public Country, not your military-driven war-state! I have rights, you fruity, pig-humping, fa—“

With that, something inside Herc broke loose. He rushed the man, grabbing him on both sides of the collar and thrusting him into the wall. Heat rushed to his cheeks, his features so twisted in anger that they physically hurt. The fear in the other man’s face only fueled him further as the Captain hissed in his ear. “You protest too much, sir! Which means you know something of value, do you not?”

The man stuttered and stammered, whether from pain or fright was unclear. “I don’t— there isn’t—“

Herc slammed him into the hard brick once more. “Speak! Or suffer the wrath of the Imperial Army!”

A light touch on his shoulder spooked Herc to the point of flinching as he wiped around, facing his cousin. “Sir,” the younger officer said, softly. “We have the man arrested. Now is not the time for interrogation.”

It took several deep breaths before Herc was calm enough to let the man down, handing him over to the guard. As the troops moved to the next house, Jack whispered in his ear. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Herc breathed back.

The search continued, as did the recurring themes of the day. “Yes, Ma’dam, considered to be in extreme danger.” “No, Sir, there is no reward. Failure to provide information is considered Treason to the Western Crown.” “We are using every resource for a successful recovery.”

Again and again it went. Business after business, house after house, street after street. When nightfall came, Herc felt as if his very soul was exhausted, and there were still on the opposite side of the seafaring town from his dear Meeka.

“Captain, we have lost the light. We should rest for the eve, and take a fresh start tomorrow,” Jack said, in his most respectful tone.

“Yes, Commander Hillyard. Let us retire to the ship.”

“Actually, Captain,” his cousin spoke softly this time. “As we are so far from the docks, I have taken the liberty of booking us a room within the township. For easier accessibility in the search, of course. I have a written copy of the location, here.”

Herc’s heart leapt at the site of the address, though he kept his features as tight as possible. When he felt he could stop his voice from shaking, he replied, “Excellent thinking, Commander. Let us leave, at once. The sooner we are to bed, the sooner we may begin the search tomorrow. Please make sure that the evening search party has their instructions.”

“Sir, yes sir,” he responded, with a salute.

With that, the young Captain bounded into a cab, slipping the driver the address and more than a few coins. “Quick as the horse will take us, please. I am exhausted and in need of revival.” His heart continued to pound until he set eyes on the small hotel’s entrance.