Missy took a step backward, and the dried leaves crunched beneath her boot. The knife shifted in his grip, its glare off the blade angling toward her.
“Did you hear me?”
He didn't respond. Instead, he took a deliberate step forward, unhurried. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps that didn't seem to deliver enough oxygen to her lungs. Her mind raced through possibilities, explanations, and excuses, but she dismissed each one as quickly as they formed. The truth was as sharp and undeniable as the knife in his hand.
He wanted to hurt her.
The phone in her hand dipped, its beam momentarily illuminating his face from below. What she glimpsed there—or rather, what she didn't detect—turned her fear into terror.
There was nothing in his eyes.
No anger, no curiosity, no hesitation.
Just emptiness, as though the man she had known her entire life had never existed. She stared transfixed as his lips curved in the faintest smile, as if attempting to offer her comfort.
For some reason, his odd reaction terrified her even more.
Missy acted on impulse, hurling her cell phone at him with all the force she could muster. She didn’t wait for it to make contact. Instead, she spun around and ran as fast as she could, hoping to cut back in the darkness toward the festival.
Toward safety.
The soles of her boots pounded too hard against the forest floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to slow down and make less noise. She needed to put as much distance between them as possible. Her breathing grew labored and almost painful as she pushed herself to run faster.
Branches whipped at her face, prompting her to raise her arms for protection. Doing so threw her off balance, causing her to stumble forward. She wasn’t able to protect herself as she slammed face-first into the ground.
For a brief moment, she could only lie there, stunned. While she could still make out the cheerful sounds of the festival, she willed herself to listen for any sign that he was close by. The forceful thud of her heartbeat in her ears made such an attempt worthless. Knowing full well she couldn’t waste any time, she dug her fingernails into the soil and leaves, attempting to regain her footing.
Out of nowhere, a hand closed around her ankle.
In that moment, as she was being dragged backward across the forest floor, she understood with perfect clarity what she had become.
Not a songwriter.
Not a singer.
She wouldn’t even be known anymore as Amelia Claymont's wayward granddaughter.
She was now one of the missing.
2
Hadley Dawkins
October 2025
Thursday – 3:48pm
“Dawkins! My office. Now.”
Hadley hit the enter key, sending the final criminal report into the system with a soft, satisfying click. The timing couldn’t have been worse as a hush fell over the room for half a beat, just long enough for the chorus of whistles to begin.
“Oof. That doesn’t sound good,” Ramos muttered, the grin on his face slow and wide, exposing the infamous gap between his teeth. “I’ve got twenty that it’s about the cruiser. Hank finally ratted about the dent in the back fender.”
“Nah.” Cedric, feet propped on the edge of his desk, tilted his head in thought. He let a battered baseball roll from hand to hand, the cadence hypnotic. “Hank’s too sleep-deprived to notice his own name, let alone a dent. I’m guessing the department’s getting sued. Dawkins went full UFC on that carjacker last week, remember?”
Hadley stood and reached for her blazer. She took her time slipping her arms through the sleeves as she stepped around her desk. Her timing was perfect as she plucked the ball clean out of Cedric’s rhythm mid-air.
She held up the scuffed baseball in victory.
