68: Chapter 68 Sean Takes the Initiative

Shaun didn't manage to have a peaceful night's sleep.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, while his mind continued to race.

Fiona Goode's power was fading.

This wasn't a guess; Elizabeth had said it herself.

And Fiona hadn't refuted it.

That Old Hag, the one who was always stubborn and never showed weakness—she had remained silent.

Silence was an admission.

Shaun rolled over and continued to ponder...

Logically, this had nothing to do with him.

To whom the power of the Supreme Witch was passed was the witches' own business.

Cordelia was much easier to talk to than Fiona, and far more normal.

If the power passed to Cordelia, he wouldn't have to deal with that Old Hag who could turn hostile at any moment.

But he had made a promise to the Old Hag before.

He'd promised to help her investigate the treasure and find that source of power.

At the time, he was naturally forced by circumstances, but he had given his word after all.

Shaun sat up and rubbed his face.

Since he couldn't sleep, he might as well figure things out first.

Right now... the breakthrough lay with the Colombians.

Elizabeth was working with them, and they were the ones keeping that Bat Monster.

They surely knew a lot.

But who would help him investigate?

Ballard had returned to Los Angeles.

Before leaving, she specifically sent Shaun another message: "The Bureau is calling me back to follow up on a cold case. Be careful."

Shaun simply replied with a "Good."

Ballard wasn't from New Orleans; she had come here for White's case.

Now that the case was closed, she was gone.

It was normal, nothing much to say about it.

But with one less person, he had to find another way.

Madison could do it, but he didn't want to involve her.

That girl didn't know how to hold back; he might end up having to clean up her mess.

Cordelia could also help, but she was the Headmistress of the Academy and had her own affairs to manage.

Fiona Gallagher was even less of an option; she was just an ordinary person.

After thinking it over, he realized he had to rely on himself.

Shaun picked up his phone and pulled up the information Jamie from the Technical Team had sent earlier... several Colombian strongholds in New Orleans.

Bars, warehouses, and nightclubs, all around the edge of the French Quarter.

Hector hadn't shown his face since being bailed out, but his men were still active.

Recently, they had been concentrating at a private club in the French Quarter with deep connections; those who entered were all people of status.

Shaun stared at the address, calculating in his mind.

Barging in directly wouldn't work; he had no reason and lacked the strength.

Asking for help was too risky.

He would scout the place first, see what the situation was at the club, and then decide on the next step.

In any case, he now had Self-Healing and Telekinesis; though neither was particularly strong, they were enough to keep him alive.

After pondering for a while, Shaun turned to look and saw that dawn was nearly breaking.

Well!

No point in sleeping now.

He got out of bed and changed his clothes... a dark hoodie, black jeans, and sneakers.

As he left, he passed Fiona's room; the door was open, and no one was inside.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner came from downstairs; she was cleaning.

Shaun stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. Fiona was pushing the vacuum around the hall, her ponytail tied high, with a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

"I'm heading out for a bit," Shaun said.

Fiona looked up and glanced at him. "When will you be back?"

"Not sure."

Fiona didn't press further, merely nodding. "Come back early. What do you want for dinner?"

Shaun thought for a moment. "Whatever, anything you make is fine."

The corners of Fiona's mouth curled slightly, and she lowered her head to continue vacuuming.

It was clear that Fiona was quite satisfied with her current life.

Shaun went out, got into his car, and started the engine.

The file folder was on the passenger seat; he glanced at the address and stepped on the gas.

As the car drove out of the estate, Shaun decided to go to the police station first, and later he would stake out the Colombians properly.

However... at the moment Shaun left, the phone in the estate began to ring, but since he had already gone out, he didn't hear it.

...

6:00 PM that evening.

Shaun parked his car across from that narrow street in the French Quarter and turned off the engine.

The private club was on the corner, an old three-story building with dark gray exterior walls. The windows were tightly blocked by heavy curtains, and two large men in suits stood at the entrance.

It was still early, so there weren't many people at the club's entrance yet.

Shaun looked around and decided to stake out from the restaurant across the street.

Well... he'd wait out the day and see...

The restaurant wasn't large, with a narrow storefront. The sign read "Maxs Bakery." Several rows of cupcakes were displayed in the glass window, their buttercream frosting a bit crooked—clearly handmade, not exquisite but quite substantial.

Shaun pushed the door open, and a sweet aroma of butter and sugar greeted him.

There were six or seven tables in the restaurant, half of which were occupied. There was a seat by the window.

He walked over, sat down, and ordered a black coffee and a cupcake.

The coffee was served; the taste was average, but the cupcake was actually quite good, with a bit of sea salt added to the cream, making it sweet without being cloying.

Shaun ate while staring at the club across the street through the window, silently staking it out until nightfall...

The two big men were still at the door. Occasionally, people would enter, all dressed in suits and leather shoes, some even bringing female companions.

Shaun noted down everyone's face and the time they entered.

After sitting for about twenty minutes, the restaurant door was pushed open, and two women walked in.

The one in front was tall with dark hair and somewhat sharp features. she wore a gray hoodie, and her jeans were stained with flour. She carried a shopping bag in her hand.

Following her was a blonde woman, slightly shorter, wearing a pink sweater with her hair tied in a ponytail.

"Max, look, there are quite a few people in the shop today," the blonde woman said softly.

"I hope it's like this every day." The tall one placed the shopping bag on the counter and shouted inside, "Old John, how's business today?"

A bald old man's head popped out from behind the counter. "Not bad. Did your mom call today?"

"Of course she did!" the tall one said.

"The fifty-seventh time this year?"

"The fifty-seventh time..."

After answering, the tall woman scanned the restaurant, her gaze landing on Shaun... or more accurately, on the cupcake on his table.

"How's your cupcake?" she asked.

Shaun was taken aback for a moment. "Not bad."

"Is 'not bad' okay, or is it delicious?"

"It's delicious."

Having received a satisfactory answer, the tall woman nodded and turned to the blonde woman. "Hear that? Delicious. Looks like everything is fine."

With that, she ignored Shaun.

Shaun withdrew his gaze and continued to stare at the club across the street.

Two more people entered the door—one fat and one thin, both dark-skinned, clearly Colombians.

Shaun noted them down.

Another half hour passed, and many people entered one after another; Shaun recorded them all.

A moment later, another voice came from beside him: "You've been staring across the street for a long time."

Shaun turned his head.

The tall woman was standing by his table holding two cups of coffee. Her expression was casual, but her eyes were very sharp...