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Mace looked over my shoulder.

“Is that her?”

The photograph showed a woman in her late twenties.

Dark hair.

Large eyes.

The same eyes as the child in Emily’s photograph.

“Yes.”

My breath caught.

“We found her.”

Sheriff Tate closed his eyes.

After eighteen years, the missing child from Cabin Nine had a name.

A life.

A face.

Collins leaned closer to the screen.

“She works with abused children.”

Doris wiped her eyes.

“Of course she does.”

Mace stared at the photograph.

“Does she know Emily died?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she know the Keeper is still looking for her?”

My relief vanished.

I checked the profile again.

Her office address was public.

So was the clinic.

The Keeper didn’t need our files anymore.

He only needed her name.

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

Everyone froze.