Back at headquarters, the evidence room buzzed with quiet tension. Officers passed around printed copies of the phone call transcript, satellite images of Lagooncrest Isle, and notes from the British envoy case. Chief Tyson, Judith, and Robert walked straight through the main hallway, heads turning as they passed.
Inside the briefing room, Tyson locked the door behind them. He flicked on the projector. A hazy image of the island filled the screen—Lagooncrest Isle. Forested, isolated, and legally a gray area due to disputed ownership between three municipalities.
Robert stepped forward, plugging in a USB. "These are Brendon's compiled files. He forwarded everything to me before his line went dead."
The screen flickered. Photos appeared.
Teenage faces. All missing. All from different towns and cities. Some local. Some from overseas. Boys and girls. All were eighteen. All disappeared on their birthday—or within days after.
"This one's Zoe's brother," Robert said, pointing to a pale boy with messy brown hair. "Went missing eight months ago. Turned eighteen that week. Report was buried. Zoe's the one who found the pattern—every one of them vanished right around their birthday."
Judith's brow furrowed. "That's ritualistic. Or at least symbolic. Why Lagooncrest?"
"Because it's outside anyone's proper jurisdiction," Tyson said grimly. "It's the perfect hole in the map. Local authorities are underpaid. Coast guards barely pass by once a week. It's a blind spot."
Robert clicked again. The screen shifted to a marked map of the island, highlighting an area on the eastern coast.
"Here—Duckinghum Caves. It's the only recurring location tied to all the missing teens. Satellite records, vacation photos, even transit logs. All of them were seen nearby before they vanished."
"Duckinghum Caves…" Judith whispered. "It's underground. Remote. Not easy to access unless you know the terrain."
"Brendon believed it's being used," Robert said, pulling up another note. "Possibly for smuggling. But more than that—he thought it's a staging ground. A place where the abducted are taken first."
Judith scanned the screen, her voice lowering. "You think Amelia stumbled upon it? Or was part of it?"
"Maybe," Robert replied. "But the weird part is what Brendon wrote at the end."
He zoomed in on a scrawled note. Brendon's handwriting was sharp, hurried:
> "She didn't act alone. But she didn't act freely either. Something controls them—coerces them. I've seen it in their eyes. Fear. But not of being caught—of what will happen if they speak."
Judith read it twice. "Then we're dealing with something deeper than trafficking or abduction. This is systemic. Someone's targeting people turning eighteen—maybe for a reason."
Tyson was quiet for a long moment. The low hum of the projector filled the silence, casting flickering shadows across the faces on the screen—missing teens, smiling once, now only memories paused in time. He leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of the table, eyes still on the photograph of Zoe's brother.
Then, slowly, he spoke. "The woman. The one who contacted Brendon. The one who broke into your house, Robert. And now, she claims she's the one who took the envoy."
Robert nodded, jaw tight. "She was in my room, Chief. Quiet as a shadow. She could've ended me then and there. But she didn't. She said just enough to make me doubt everything."
"She knows too much," Tyson muttered, his voice rough with restrained anger. "She's always one step ahead. Always leaving a trail—but never too much. That's not a pawn. That's a player. And if she's not calling the shots, she knows who is."
Judith's hands curled into fists on the table. Her voice was low, deliberate. "And if she has Brendon…"
Robert cut in quickly. "She could've hurt him already. Or me. But she didn't. Maybe she's not what we think she is."
Tyson turned his attention back to Robert. "Still, we don't play games with ghosts. You said someone named Natasha called Brendon the day Amelia went missing. Claimed she is kidnapped too. That's how this started, right?"
Robert gave a slow nod. "Yeah. But even then, Brendon thought it felt off. Like she wanted to be traced—but not too easily. That name… Natasha? It might be a name. It might be a distraction. It might be both."
Tyson's expression darkened. "Then it's a mask. And people who wear masks always have something to hide."
Robert took a step back from the table, rubbing his face. "I think she wants to be found, Chief. But not by just anyone. Maybe only by Brendon. Or maybe by us—when we're ready."
The room fell into a still, sharp silence. Only the crackle of the old air-conditioning unit buzzed softly above them.
Judith pushed back from her chair and stood, her silhouette sharp against the projector's glow. Her voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
"Then we go to Lagooncrest. We find Brendon. We find the truth. We pull this whole damn network out by its roots, and we don't leave until every shadow has been dragged into the light."
Robert straightened. There was a shift in the room, a silent agreement passing between them.
Chief Tyson stood as well, slower, older in motion but no less resolute. He reached for the projector remote and killed the light. The room plunged into dimness, only the soft amber glow of the hallway leaking through the frosted glass window.
"I'll get the clearance," he said. "But it won't be official. This stays off the books. No press. No local authorities. We land quiet. We dig deeper. We don't make noise until it's time to roar."
He looked between them—Judith, eyes bright with fury and determination; Robert, still tense but committed. Then he gave a single nod.
"We leave tomorrow. At first light. Pack light. Weapons, survival gear, no more than essentials. Lagooncrest is remote. You've seen the maps—once we get there, it's all on foot. Duckinghum Caves will be hell to navigate if Brendon's notes are right."
Judith nodded. "Understood."
Tyson reached for his coat, slinging it over his shoulder. "One more thing—once we set foot on that island, we don't trust anyone we didn't come with. No signals. No updates. Radio silence until we have something concrete."
Robert raised a brow. "You think we'll be watched?"
Tyson's face was grim. "We've been watched. For weeks, maybe longer. If this woman—this 'Natasha'—wanted to rattle our cages, she's already done it. But now we take the fight to her doorstep."
They began to gather their things in silence. Each of them now bore the weight of something larger than a case. A conspiracy that preyed on the young. A ghost calling herself Natasha. A friend who might still be alive—or already broken.
And as the three officers stood amid the map of a vanishing trail, somewhere far away, a woman in a black coat watched the waves crash against the shore of Lagooncrest. In her hand, a photograph. Brendon. Jumping from the cliff. Alive. But not yet free.