They arrive at the intersection of Huguenot and Woodrow, and he's strangely spooked by how normal it is, nondescript and peaceful. While Kate was being kidnapped miles away, these modest homes saw families sitting down to dinner. As he, Ryan, and Esposito chased leaves and sticks and peculiar book dedications, the kids inside finished their homework and their parents exchanged stories of their respective work days. And now, he's standing on a quiet corner, desperately looking for his wife or some new clue about where she might be, and these houses will have their porch lights turned off for the night, no need to worry about anything else until morning.

There are uniforms with them now; he and the boys may be way out of their jurisdiction, but this is about Detective Kate Beckett, and any typical territorial pissing match will be ignored in favor of finding her. They all look to him now, awaiting instructions from the civilian who knows too much.

Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder. "Any ideas?"

"Nothing." And he hates himself a little because something feels terribly familiar. He knows this neighborhood, but he's certain he's never been here. "I've got nothing."

Ultimately they decide to spread out and conduct a search of the immediate area, knowing that they've been brought to this particular intersection for a reason. Jerry Tyson did not have a bundle of sticks tied into the shape of a street sign just because he was feeling crafty. It doesn't take long before his hope is heightened.

"Over here!"

An officer Castle doesn't know is standing guard next to a light post. Quickly scanning it, he finds a notice about a lost dog and a flyer about an upcoming event at the local church, but sandwiched between them is a familiar page. He carefully peels it away and cradles it in his hands; the light shining above gives it an eerie glow.

To one of my favorite fighters of crime,

You once said "…if you don't believe in even the possibility of magic you'll never ever find it."

Believe now.

There's something off about it, but he can't figure out what it is before Esposito is taking the dedication from him. And he wants to believe. He wants that so badly. So he shakes it off and looks up at the detective.

"Has anything else been found yet? I mean, the dedication is great, but there's no clue about where they've gone. There must be something else here, right? What about the traffic cams?"

Ryan joins them then, a frown on his face. "Well, I can answer that last one. All traffic cams for this neighborhood have been down for the last hour or so. No known cause, but they're working on fixing the problem."

Of course. Tyson was fine with them having access to video feeds for as long as it helped lead them to this point; he's changed the rules of the game now and they don't have that help. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Good. Esposito is just as frustrated.

And Ryan is still the voice of reason. "We spend a little more time here, combing the intersection until we're sure we haven't missed anything obvious. If there are no clues, or new suggestions about how to find clues, then maybe Tyson doesn't want us to find anything."

Esposito jumps in. "Or it's just too dark to find whatever it is."

Castle's pissed. "So we just give up on it. On her?"

"Of course not. But maybe we go back to the precinct and regroup. Put all of our information up on the mur-, on the board and see if any of it makes more sense when we're not chasing the exact clues that Tyson has left for us at the exact times he's wanted them found." He can tell it pains Ryan to have to put a stop to any of this and he almost feels bad for snapping at them.

With a shake of the head and a few choice words muttered under his breath, he wanders around to where the uniforms are searching diligently for anything out of the ordinary. But somehow, Castle knows they'll find nothing. That there's nothing more to find here. It's time to take Ryan's advice and head back to the 12th so that they can gather all of the evidence, refocus, and maybe get a fresh perspective of what they've found so far. His mind is reeling, with so much to consider and more that lingers just out of reach.


When they get back to the precinct, he finds a new cell phone waiting for him on Kate's desk; it's a small reassurance, but he's comforted now that there's a way for her to contact him again. Espo is in Gates' office, making sure she's up to speed, and Castle is grateful that she's keeping the same long hours they are. Ryan is just returning from the break room and hands Castle a mug before they move over to the murder board. They lean against the desk there, side by side, and the silence is too much.

"Just ask me, Ryan." The detective has been practically twitching, obviously curious and attempting to hold back his questions in lieu of bothering the man whose wife is missing.

"How did you do that thing with the MTA poster? I mean, how'd you look at that and know they'd gone to Staten Island? I know you always have crazy theories about our cases…conspiracies or aliens or zombies…but today was something different."

"Honestly, I have no idea." He takes a sip of his coffee and tries to come up with a reasonable answer. "And it was more than just the Staten Island thing. The déjà vu has been bugging me all day. That sounds exactly like one of my wild theories, I know, but this isn't the same as when I say stupid shit to drive Beckett crazy."

"What else felt weird to you?"

"The ferry terminal, that neighborhood. And honestly? Even the dedications."

"Okay, but the book dedications should feel familiar to you. You've written a couple dozen of them in your career."

He shrugs, not entirely convinced that it's as straightforward as that. "I guess. And maybe all of this is just a result of understanding Tyson too well. Our minds are probably far more alike than not; he set this up perfectly to play me. It could be as simple as my predicting where Kate and Amy went because it's the route I would have taken. I don't know anymore."

It's clear that Ryan wants to push him further, but Esposito returns and slams a folder onto the desk. "Gates wants us to update the board with our new information, but she said if nothing clicks immediately, we should go home and come back fresh in the morning."

"She's not wrong."

For the first time in his years with the team, Castle legitimately wants to hurt Ryan. It's not fair, but the feeling is visceral and it takes all his control to keep his voice even. "Then I guess we'll have to make sure something clicks."

In an attempt to make peace or right wrongs or just move away from Castle's anger, Ryan hurries to flip the Susan Watts murder board so that he's got a blank slate. Then he begins to add everything they've found or learned in the past few hours. The leaf and the sticks were located at different points in their search, but are probably connected to each other. They've all agreed that they look like the type of thing found in a million parks, reserves, and campgrounds; without anything else, they are less than helpful.

Someone has made copies of all four book dedications, so Ryan fastens them to the board. Castle needs to re-read them all, make sense of the words Tyson chose, but he'll wait until the rest of the information is there for them to study. A small MTA map gets posted next, the escape path traced with a highlighter, and then Ryan writes a careful list of each stop alongside it. There's a quick note made about the traffic cams and the homeless man, but then the cap clicks over the top of the dry erase marker and all three men take a deep breath.

He steps forward then, intent on finding something that will stop him from going back to the loft alone. Starting with the dedications, he intentionally skips over the third one, working under the assumption that it served its purpose when it directed them to the Huguenot stop; his instinct has served him well today, so he won't ignore it now. It's just a matter of dissecting the rest of them.

I'm not sure I can write it any other way.

Tyson's writing as him, right? So, he's apologizing – to Kate? – for not being able to figure out where she is before 3XK kills her? For not being able to rewrite the ending of Tyson's story?

Your past has never defined you, though its influence is undeniable. Remember it well, and let it guide you forward.

What is significant about her past, other than her mother's murder? Or is that it? Her focus on justice for victims? He shakes his head and moves on.

You once said "…if you don't believe in even the possibility of magic you'll never ever find it." Believe now.

It was so long ago, but he remembers it clearly, the murder of Vivien Marchand, the psychic medium. Kate was skeptical of all of it, everything frivolous and fun and full of wonder, and she'd finally confronted him to ask why it mattered to him that she believe. So, he'd told her.

He'd told her.

He'd told her.

But the dedication reads, "You once said."

Fuck. The dedication wasn't written to Kate, it was written to him. His eyes go wide as he scans the others, because if the last one wasn't written to Kate, were any of them?

To my heart, mind, and soul,

To the one who rejoices in the smiles of others,

To the one I can always count on,

To one of my favorite fighters of crime,

They're intentionally vague and the wording is a bit odd, but suddenly he knows he's been looking at them all wrong. And not only are they written to him, they seem to have been written by him. Jerry Tyson has been in his life for a long damn time and he figures he's been spied on for far too much of it, but they hadn't even met when the psychic was killed so he couldn't have overheard that particular quote. He briefly considers the idea that Kate might have created them, but she's been on the run with Amy Barrett all night and couldn't have typed these up. It makes no sense, but he's strangely sure he's the author.

He's panicking and his legs are increasingly unsteady, but he forces himself to stay calm just enough to study the board for another minute. The message about his past and the reminder to remember it well. The leaf and the sticks. And Ryan's bold block letters noting the intersection of Huguenot and Woodrow.

Tears are in his eyes and he roughly rakes his hands through his hair as too many memories come flooding back, but he turns to the detectives. "We're not going home tonight. I know where they've got her."