A neighbor's sprinkler system hissed three houses down. Somewhere a dog barked. The sounds were too normal. Too peaceful.
Ghost moved up the walk with his weapon drawn, every nerve firing. He hit the door with his shoulder, pushing it wide as he swept inside. "Rachel!"
The living room opened up in front of him, couch, coffee table, the bookshelf Rachel had reorganized last week. Everything in its place. No overturned furniture. No broken lamps. No signs of struggle.
The quiet was absolute. No hum of the refrigerator cycling. No creak of floorboards. Just silence so complete it made his ears ring.
Behind him, truck doors slammed. Brick and Reaper were already coming through, weapons up, moving with the controlled efficiency Ghost had drilled into them over years.
"Clear the kitchen," Ghost ordered, his voice coming out clipped and hard. He was already moving deeper into the house, his boots silent on the hardwood despite his pulse hammering in his throat.
Rachel's water glass sat on the windowsill, still half full. Condensation had pooled beneath it, leaving a ring on the wood. A throw blanket lay draped over the arm of the couch where she'd left it this morning.
Everything looked lived-in. Normal. Safe.
Except Rachel wasn't here.
"Kitchen's clear!" Brick called from behind him.
Ghost moved down the hallway toward the bedroom, his breathing too loud in his own ears. The door stood open. He swept inside, clearing the corners automatically even though some part of him already knew what he'd find.
The bed was unmade from this morning. His shirt on the chair. Her phone charger on the nightstand, the cord coiled neatly the way she always left it. Everything exactly where it should be if Rachel had just stepped out for a minute.
Which meant whatever happened didn't happen here.
Ghost moved back into the hallway, his boots hitting the hardwood harder than necessary. "Brick. Security feed. Pull it up now."
Brick was already moving toward the living room. "On it."
Ghost followed. Reaper had his laptop out on the coffee table before Ghost reached him, fingers flying across the keyboard to access the Ring camera system.
"When did you last hear from her?" Reaper asked, not looking up from the screen.
"Two hours ago." Ghost stood behind him, arms crossed tight across his chest to keep his hands from shaking. "Text message. Said she was working through files."
The laptop screen filled with a grid of camera angles. Front door. Driveway. Side yard. Reaper clicked on the front porch camera and started scrubbing backward through the timeline.
2:47 PM. There.
The image shifted from empty porch to sudden movement.
Rachel burst through the front door at a dead run, barefoot, wearing one of his T-shirts and jean shorts. No hesitation. No looking back. She flew down the porch steps and across the street.
Ghost's chest constricted. "What the hell—"
"Wait." Brick leaned in closer, squinting at the screen. "There. On the sidewalk."
Reaper zoomed in. An elderly woman, Mrs. Chen from down the street, was on the ground, clearly hurt. Rachel dropped to her knees beside her, checking for injuries, helping her sit up.
"She saw someone fall," Torch said quietly from Ghost's right. "Went to help."
They watched Rachel support Mrs. Chen's weight, guiding the older woman slowly toward her house two doors down. Kind. Careful. Exactly what Rachel would do without a second thought.
Ghost's hands curled into fists. His nails bit into his palms.
On screen, Rachel got Mrs. Chen inside. Spent maybe thirty seconds at the door, probably making sure she was okay, getting her settled, then stepped back onto the porch and turned toward Ghost’s house.
That's when the van appeared.
