“No signal. It’s off, or it’s been destroyed.”
The words hit like a slow punch. I try to stay rational, but it’s slipping. Control, hope, logic. All of it unraveling. I lean against the hood of the car, hands braced, eyes on nothing.
She’s gone.
And not in the way where you tell yourself maybe she lost track of time or stopped for tea. Not the kind of gone you can fix with a phone call or a search party.
This is the other kind.
The kind you feel in your gut before it even finishes happening.
Andhe’sdone that.
Grayson paces. I don’t stop him. We’ve run out of places, out of leads. My mother, just gone.
Silence settles. Heavy. Cold.
Then my phone buzzes.
I yank it from my pocket like it might bite me.
A new message. Not from Sabine.
A number with no name.
I like the way you work, Little Soldier, so I’ll give you a clue. Try west, not east.
My stomach turns.
He’s watching us.
Still.
And now he’s helping?
No. Not helping. Leading. Keeping the game alive.
I show Grayson the message. He reads it, jaw clenched, then tosses the phone back.
“West,” he mutters. “Not east. That’s the direction he vanished the first time.”
“Industrial fringe,” I say.
He nods.
“Then that’s where we go.”
We don’t speak after that. There’s no time.
And by the time we’re in the car, the adrenaline is already catching fire again. Grayson throws it into gear and the tires screech as we tear out of the lot.
We kill the headlights a block out and approach on foot, cutting through the edge of the industrial fringe.
Everything out here feels gutted and half-forgotten. Rows of crumbling warehouses, chain-link fences sagging under rust, whole buildings hollowed out by time and weather. Streetlights flicker dimly or not at all.
We move through it like ghosts.
Eventually, we find it.
