Odin had just finished feeding, changing, and swaddling little Callum before setting the twin back in his bassinet. Emmie was still nursing from Clara, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. When Emmie went too long, Clara felt like she’d taken a muscle relaxer and chased it with an Ambien. When she finally finished, Atlas gently reached over and pulled the baby onto his lap and covered Clara, who curled into a ball in the recliner.

Odin returned to the peaceful scene to see his phone buzzing on the kitchen counter.

Duncan Gilchrist was calling.

“Hey, Duncan. Did we get the Gutenberg?”

“Not…well, not exactly, sir. They’ve pulled it.”

“What are you talking about?” Odin pointed to the phone and to the bedroom door and Atlas nodded. Odin walked into the bedroom and shut the door, not wanting to wake Clara or the babies. “Explain yourself.”

“The room was filling up for the auction,” Duncan Gilchrist explained. “Not nearly as many people as yesterday, but they have some cars going up later today, so a few new faces. Anyway, the auctioneer, after the two-hour delay, stepped to the podium and said that ‘at the request of the seller, the Gutenberg Bible was being pulled from the auction’. I’ve never seen anything like it. We were way pass the reserve price, so it wasn’t that. I have no idea. I’ve been asking, but nobody has much to say, just that the Gutenberg is NFS— not for sale.”

Odin stopped in front of the window overlooking Las Vegas Boulevard. “That makes no sense. Unless somebody swooped in and stole it out from under us. Have we taken possession of the First Folio yet?”

“No, no money has changed hands yet.”

“Fine time for Raven to be MIA. Shit. This day just keeps getting better and better, and the sun hasn’t even come up yet here,” an exasperated Odin Titan said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

Duncan began to speak, but Atlas burst into the room, cradling Emmie in the crook of his powerful right arm as if she were a sleeping football. “I have something,” he announced.

“I’ll call you back, Duncan, gotta go,” Odin said, disconnecting his call. “Good news. Give me good news.” Odin implored his brother.

“I don’t have a source on this, or any confirmation. It’s an e-mail, sent to my private e-mail account, which nobody has but friends and family. It was just sent. It says Odin, Nolan Weston, and Annalise Rubidoux are together. In Bulgaria, on the Black Sea Coast, on the run. That they need our help.”

Odin scrunched his face in confusion. “Bulgaria? Black Sea? What in the…who’s it from?”

“It was just signed ‘a friend’. No idea. It’s a throwaway Gmail account, a bunch of random letters and numbers.”

Odin punched up a map of Bulgaria on his phone. “Black Sea…hmm…I mean Bulgaria doesn’t have that much shoreline, but can your source narrow it down any? Did you respond?”

“Not yet. Like I said, it just hit my inbox.”

“If he’s with Nolan and Annalise, he’s in good hands,” Odin opined. “But dammit, so many questions. Can we reroute your Ukrainian guy from Vienna and have him go to Bulgaria?”

“Yeah, I mean if he’s even free,” Atlas replied. “But just telling him ‘go to the Black Sea Coast in freaking Bulgaria’ isn’t going to do much good.”

“Agreed. Work your anonymous source, and I’ll see what sort of satellite coverage we can get on that area. But Atlas…”

“Yeah?”

“Can we put the baby back to bed first?”

Atlas laughed, a rare sound that was one of Odin’s favorites. Atlas always kept his emotions close to the vest, but during times of stress, such as his brother and friends going missing, he fell back on his SEAL experience and the absolute necessity of gallows humor and keeping a light heart until after the mission ends, no matter what’s happening. Compartmentalization.

As Odin took Emmie back to the nursery, Atlas replied to the mystery e-mail, asking for some sort of confirmation, more information, or a clue as to the sender’s identity.

Odin returned to the bedroom and began to speak, but Atlas raised a hand to quiet him as he received a reply in his inbox from his anonymous friend in Bulgaria.

“Just got something back,” Atlas announced. “But it’s weird. He says that Canaan and his group have a phone, but that it won’t be safe to use. It’ll be monitored and traced. But that they have a phone, and if we can get a message to them, to tell Canaan to get to the Royal Sands Hotel in somewhere called Elenite. But he spelled Canaan’s name in a weird way. C-a-n-a-a-n-u-s. ‘Canaanus’? Does that mean anything to you?”

Odin thought a moment, then looked up the Royal Sands Elenite on his phone. “Hmm. If I have the right place, Canaan will be seriously slumming it at the Royal Sands. Elenite fits, it’s right on the Black Sea. But the ‘Canaanus’ thing? Not a clue.”

“Too bad he never really mastered Titanese,” Atlas said, reminding his brother of the code they created growing up, the one that saved them when Atlas and Piper needed to escape from Spencer Cameron.

“We’ll brainstorm,” Odin suggested. “There has to be a way. Think of Nolan and Annalise, too. Between those three, we can find a way to point them in the right direction.”