The air inside Duckinghum Caves was heavier than Brendon remembered.
Each step echoed against damp stone, swallowed soon after by the weight of silence. The further he walked, the more the outside world seemed to disappear—no wind, no waves, no forest noises. Just the soft splash of his boots across the cold, shallow water and the slow dripping from jagged stalactites above.
He had returned to the chamber.
That awful, terrible place.
The place where he had found Amelia, crouched over two trembling children, their eyes wide with terror, her own face pale but resolved. He could still remember her voice—low and hushed as she whispered, "I'm just trying to help them."
Now, in the hollow silence of the cave, her voice replayed in his head like a ghost's lament.
Brendon's footsteps slowed as he entered the large, circular chamber. The ceiling loomed high above, the stone slick with condensation. Shadows stretched unnaturally far under the faint light of his red-filtered flashlight, and every crevice in the walls looked deep enough to swallow him whole. He glanced around the space—old crates, damp blankets, a rusted lamp base. The signs of temporary life were all still here, but aged now, forgotten.
And something else filled the space too—eeriness.
Not the kind that came from monsters or myths, but something stranger. Something colder. The sort of cold you didn't feel on your skin, but in your bones. It was the presence of memories left unfinished.
"The last time…" Brendon muttered aloud, scanning the area. "What did I miss?"
He knelt where the children had huddled. His gloved hand hovered over the darkened floor, eyes narrowing.
"What was Amelia trying to tell me? 'I'm just trying to help them.' Was that only a justification? Or that was a clue? A signal?"
He rose and swept his light toward the far corner of the room—toward a narrow crevice between two cracked stones. Something glinted faintly in the shadows. His ears twitched.
Brendon crossed the room quickly, crouched down, and reached into the gap.
His hand closed around something soft—paper.
It was a pile, damp and crumpled. The edges were curled and torn. Most would've dismissed them as trash. But Brendon's nose caught something unusual the moment he lifted them to the light.
Lemon.
And vinegar.
Faint, but unmistakable.
A spark of realization lit in his eyes.
"Invisible ink," he murmured. "She left something for me."
He stood, carefully separating the pages. They were soaked through, nearly unusable. But he didn't panic. He reached into his side pouch, pulling out a cloth and some bandage wraps from his field kit, well all his things are gone during that jump at the ocean. But has gathered, to be precise he stole things while he was at that ship, without anyone knowing that. He thinks. "Well my skills from past are quite handy."
He wrapped the pages together and began gently patting them dry near the old lamp, which he lit with a spark from his survival flint. The flame glowed low and yellow, casting trembling shadows across the walls.
Brendon worked in silence.
After some time, the papers began to stiffen.
Words didn't show—yet.
He held one page closer and sniffed again. The same acidity lingered. Lemon and vinegar, the base for an old trick—used by spies, smugglers, and, apparently, fugitives with something to prove.
"I hope you really did leave something for me, Amelia," Brendon whispered.
The flame flickered in response, almost like a nod.
Once the pages were dry enough, Brendon folded them neatly and slipped them into a plastic sleeve inside his vest pocket. Safe from the moisture. Safe from destruction.
"I'll need UV light to see it, though," he said.
He glanced around the chamber one last time. There were no more crates to search, no loose stones to pry. This was all she had left him—a whisper across ink and acid, written in the dark for someone who would know how to read it.
He turned to leave, heart pounding—not from fear, but purpose.
This wasn't over.
---
Meanwhile… Ridgecliff – Office of the Assistant Mayor
The lights in the municipal building had dimmed for the evening. Most of the staff had gone home, the echo of shoes and heels replaced by the occasional rustle of paper. But in the upper office overlooking Ridgecliff's main avenue, a single room remained lit.
Devina Foxington sat behind a heavy desk carved from chestnut wood. The fox-anthro, just twenty-seven, had only recently taken the title of Assistant Mayor. Her reputation is fast-growing—smart, calculated, and uncompromising. Tonight, however, a headache is building between her temples.
"I don't understand, Chief Tyson," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're saying one of our top officers—Brendon—has been off the grid for several days? And you're only now telling me?"
Chief Tyson stood on the opposite side of the desk, hands behind his back, expression neutral but eyes burdened. The ox-anthro looked older than usual tonight, the silver streaks in his mane more prominent under the fluorescent lighting.
"I only found out two days ago," Tyson said. "Robert kept it quiet. He claims Brendon made him promise not to escalate unless he was truly gone. Brendon's been investigating the disappearance cases… during his vacation, at Lagooncrest Isle."
"Vacation?" Devina repeated, eyebrows lifting. "And no one thought to inform the Mayor's office that a ranking officer was acting off-duty on an open case in another district?"
"He didn't tell me either, ma'am. Not at first. But I believe Robert. And now Brendon's silent."
Devina leaned back in her chair, tail swishing once behind her. Her orange fur caught the light as she narrowed her gaze at the chief.
"Mayor Guerio is in France. He left me with a full docket and precise instructions. And now this? You want permission for an unofficial operation on foreign territory, one that could—no, will—escalate if it's traced back to Ridgecliff?"
"I know the stakes, ma'am," Tyson said firmly. "But I also know Brendon. He can be reckless at times, his methods are.... just say... I don't like them. But if he's not contacting us, something's gone terribly wrong."
She sighed, fingers laced together on her desk.
"If we move, it may be interpreted as a hostile action. Wales's council is already tense. There have been rumors. Protests all around country. Accusations of corruption. We make the wrong move now, and it could trigger an inquiry—or worse, a jurisdictional standoff."
Tyson took a step forward, eyes locked on hers.
"I wouldn't come here without thinking this through. But even though I don't want to admit it… I can't afford to lose someone as good as a officer like him. We need him. And if we don't act, we might be too late."
Devina's face hardened. Her jaw clenched. She stared at him for several moments, then stood and walked to the window, her back to the chief.
Night had settled over Ridgecliff, the streets quiet beneath a soft glow of streetlamps.
"When I took this job," she said quietly, "I promised to fight for the safety of our citizens. But I also swore to protect Ridgecliff's reputation. The last thing I want is to end up in front of a council inquiry, defending a rogue operation that went south."
Tyson didn't answer right away. Then—
"He's not just any officer. He's Brendon. I've watched him during that murder case. He's thorough, smart, and moral to the core. But if he's in danger, then there's a real threat out there. And not just to him."
Devina turned back to him. Her amber eyes searched his.
"Then what exactly do you want from me?"
Tyson stepped forward. "Clearance for me and two others to make a discreet landing at Lagooncrest. Unmarked. No badges. We'll move as civilians and keep the mission off-record. I'll submit an internal report to you personally. If anything goes wrong, you can claim plausible deniability. But give us the chance to find him—and bring this threat into the light."
Silence again.
Devina stared at the ceiling, then let out a low breath.
"…This could end my career."
"But it could save lives," Tyson added.
She closed her eyes. Thought. Then walked back to the desk and opened a drawer.
She pulled out a file and a blank clearance form.
"You have forty-eight hours," she said finally. "If I don't hear from you by then, I'm launching a full inquiry and calling it off. Understood?"
Tyson nodded, his expression solemn. "Understood."
"And Tyson?" she said, just as he turned to leave.
He paused.
"When I first met him I doubted Brendon but he eventually proved his worth to all of us," Devina said, quieter now. "I just hope the island hasn't consumed him like Amelia Hudson."
Tyson gave her a faint, tired smile. "I know that bastard. He will survive until we reach."