Will swallowed down hard on the rising bile. He'd guessed as much on his own, but the confirmation was another sick shard in his chest.
He stood in a rush. Phone. Where'd he leave his phone? Kitchen? His jacket was closer, slung over the back of the couch where he'd deposited it an hour ago; he went for that first. "We have to move," he said as he shrugged it on. "We're doing this all wrong. We could comb every street in the fuckin city, she'll be dead before we find her." Phone, wallet— kitchen bench, done. Shoes? He stalked around the couch, trying to remember where he'd kicked them off. "We need some fuckin firepower. Merlin. Merlin fuckin loves to spout off about how all-fuckin-seeing he is. Michael. Gotta be some cop shit he can do. Put a fuckin warrant out on his arse, why the fuck ain't we thought of that yet—"