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She doesn't believe me. She's right.

The strange thermal readings from yesterday's fire kept replaying in my head. Then the dispatch reports. Missing people. Communication failures. Environmental disturbances. None of it fit.

And I hate puzzles with missing pieces.

Molly carries a stack of folders to the conference table.

"I narrowed everything down."

"Everything?"

She nods.

"Everything that doesn't make sense."

"That must have taken a while."

"You have no idea."

She slides the top folder toward me.

"Morrow Valentine."

I open it. A school photograph stares back. 15. Dark hair. Green-gray eyes. Average height. Honor roll student. No disciplinary record. No juvenile history. By every measurable standard, Morrow Valentine is an ordinary teenager.

Which immediately makes him extraordinary. Ordinary people don't end up in files like this.

"What happened?" I ask.

Molly sits across from me.

"Officially?"

"I asked you, didn't I?"

She nods.

"Officially, Timothy and Rebecca Valentine were reported missing forty-eight hours ago after failing to return from dinner."

"And unofficially?"

"They vanished."

I flip another page.

"No vehicle recovery."

"No."

"Financial activity?"

"Stopped."

"Phones?"

"Left in the house."

"Security cameras?"