Helena glances at me. I nod slightly. She can handle this.
"I don't know the timeline," Helena says carefully. "The investigation is ongoing. But you don't have to do anything before you're ready. And when the time comes, you'll have support."
What if I can't remember everything?
"Then you remember what you can. Trauma affects memory. Nobody expects perfect recall."
Traci absorbs this and writes one more line.Thank you for not lying to me.
"I won't. Ever." Helena's voice carries conviction. "Even when the truth is hard, you deserve to hear it."
After the exam, Helena asks me to wait. Traci heads to the waiting room without concern. The routine's familiar enough now that separation doesn't trigger immediate anxiety.
Helena closes the exam room door. Her expression shifts from medical professional to something harder.
"We need to talk," she says.
"About Traci?"
"About the man who's been asking around town." She crosses to her computer, pulls up video footage. "Sadie Callahan owns the café down the street. She's got security cameras outside. Zeke got the footage from her after she called him. The same man who came to my clinic was there asking about Traci."
She turns the screen. Grainy footage shows business casual approaching Sadie outside the café entrance. Can't hear audio but the body language tells the story. He's fishing for information. Sadie's shutting him down hard.
I lean closer, studying the footage. Not the content of the conversation—that's obvious. The man himself.
Posture's controlled. Shoulders back, weight balanced. Moves like someone with training. Former military maybe. Or law enforcement. Keeps his hands visible, non-threatening, but there's discipline in the stance. Briefcase in left hand. Right hand free. Tactical habit.
He gestures while talking to Sadie. Smooth movements. No fidgeting. No nervous tells. Professional.
"Run it back," I say.
Helena rewinds. I watch his approach. I count his steps, measure the distance he maintains from Sadie—just outside arm's reach. Close enough to seem friendly. Far enough to react if needed.
"Freeze it there."
She stops the footage mid-gesture. His face comes clear. Older. Forties at least. Clean-shaven. Hair cut short, military style. Eyes scanning even while he's focused on Sadie. Checking surroundings. Threat assessment running parallel to conversation.
"This isn't some low-level enforcer. Moves like former military or federal. Someone with real training."
"She called Zeke immediately," Helena says. "Zeke's been checking with other business owners—same man's been hitting multiple places. Asking if anyone's seen a teenage girl matching Traci's description."
"What story is he using?"
"Victim services doing wellness checks. Same lie he tried on me." Helena closes the footage. "Zeke ran it past the feds. There are no wellness checks scheduled. This man isn't legitimate federal."
I suspected as much. Network operative canvassing town, willing to show his face repeatedly. Either desperate or confident enough to believe they can extract before law enforcement responds.
"When was this?"
"Couple days back." Helena's watching me carefully. "He's not being subtle. That worries me."
"It should worry you. It means they're either desperate to confirm her location or confident they can move on her before we're ready. Why did it take two days to tell me?"
“I wanted to be sure I wasn’t raising any false alarms?—”
I rewind the footage again. The man leaves. Same measured movement. Same situational awareness. But there's something else. Right before he turns away from Sadie, his eyes track around. Quick glance. Systematic.
"Not false alarms. Watch this," I say. Helena leans closer. I point to the screen as his gaze moves. "Could be nothing. Could be assessing the buildings. Counting windows. Exits. Someone with training doing reconnaissance."
