As the driver sped away, Emily stood motionless for a moment, her boots firmly planted on the cracked pavement, facing the battered police station. The sound of the car's engine faded into the distance, leaving behind a heavy, unsettling silence that seemed to press down on her. She shifted her duffel bag higher on her shoulder and double-checked the address on her phone.
Same address. Same crumbling, graffiti-scarred building.
For a moment, she entertained the possibility that this was some kind of mistake. Maybe she had been given the wrong location, or maybe there was another police station nearby that actually looked functional. She glanced around, hoping to find someone who could clarify the situation.
A man walking by caught her eye—a gruff, weathered-looking figure with a scruffy beard and deep lines etched into his face. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, and his eyes were guarded, suspicious.
"Excuse me," Emily called out, jogging a few steps toward him. "Is this the Ash Wood Police Station?"
The man gave her a brief, almost pitying look. He nodded curtly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah, that's it," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But you're wasting your time, Officer. Law don't mean nothin' in Ash Wood."
Before Emily could ask for clarification, the man turned and walked away without another word, his hunched shoulders disappearing into the maze of side streets.
Emily stood rooted to the spot, her mind churning. His words echoed in her ears, unsettling and cryptic. Law doesn't mean anything in Ash Wood.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss the unease clawing at her stomach. Maybe he was just a local troublemaker, bitter from a few run-ins with the police. Still, she couldn't ignore the warning glint she had seen in his eyes.
Instinctively, she pulled out her phone again, wanting to call the Sergeant and double-check everything. But when she glanced at the screen, her stomach dropped. No signal. She frowned, moving a few steps to the left and raising the phone higher, but the screen stubbornly displayed "No Service."
A small pit of worry bloomed in her chest.
Out of habit, she tried Liam's number next. Even just hearing his voice would calm her down.
But again—no connection.
It was as if Ash Wood existed in a pocket of dead space, cut off from the rest of the world.
Emily lowered her phone slowly, her fingers tightening around it. She was isolated, no backup, no immediate way to call for help. She was truly on her own.
For a long moment, she just stood there, weighing her options. She could wait, call for a cab, go back to her own city and report a mistake—but that wasn't who she was.
She hadn't worked so hard, fought so many battles, just to run away at the first sign of discomfort.
With a steadying breath, Emily hoisted her bag again and walked toward the decrepit station. The door creaked on its hinges as she pushed it open, the sound loud in the eerie silence.
The interior was worse than the outside.
Dim lighting flickered from cracked, stained ceiling panels. The air smelled thickly of mold, dust, and something metallic underneath—something that made the back of her throat itch. Faded posters curled on the walls, and the few pieces of furniture she could see were either broken or missing entirely. A battered reception desk sat unattended, covered in a layer of grime.
Emily hesitated on the threshold, feeling an almost physical wall of tension in the atmosphere. The place didn't feel abandoned exactly, but it didn't feel welcoming either. It was as if the building itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what she would do.
The heels of her boots clicked against the grimy tile as she made her way slowly down the hallway. Her hand stayed near her hip, fingers brushing the holster of her sidearm. She didn't draw it—yet—but every instinct told her to be ready.
The further she went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. Dust motes floated in the stale air, highlighted by the weak, flickering lights. The shadows seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them, and several times she caught herself spinning around, heart hammering, certain she had seen something out of the corner of her eye.
She told herself it was just nerves, that she was exhausted from the journey and imagining things.
But the goosebumps crawling up her arms told a different story.
When she finally reached what appeared to be the squad room, Emily stopped cold.
It was larger than she had expected, but instead of the bustling activity she was used to—officers writing reports, phones ringing, people shouting orders—the room was deathly still. Several desks sat in disarray, papers scattered across them, chairs overturned. A broken coffee machine leaked a slow, steady stream of dark liquid onto the floor, forming a sticky pool.
In the corner, a battered bulletin board sagged under the weight of faded wanted posters and notes scrawled in frantic handwriting.
One word caught Emily's eye immediately.
MISSING.
Dozens of faces stared out at her from tattered photographs—some menacing, others heartbreaking in their innocence. Emily moved closer, scanning the dates.
They stretched back years.
No wonder the Sergeant said they needed help, she thought grimly. This place is a disaster.
Just as she was starting to assess her next move, a voice shattered the silence.
"Welcome to Ash Wood, Officer," it drawled mockingly, each word dripping with sarcasm and disdain. "We've been waiting for you."
Emily whirled around, hand flying to her weapon, her pulse roaring in her ears.
But the hallway behind her was empty.
The voice echoed strangely, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, bouncing off the crumbling walls.
"Show yourself!" she barked, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
Only silence answered her challenge.
Emily's breathing was quick and shallow. She scanned every dark corner, every open doorframe, her senses on high alert.
Had someone followed her in? Had they been watching her ever since she arrived?
The thought of walking back outside, back into the lawless city she had glimpsed, made her hesitate.
She had a choice—leave now and abandon the assignment before it even began, or press on and prove that she wasn't someone who ran from shadows.
Emily straightened her spine, forced her breathing to slow.
You didn't get here by being a coward, she reminded herself. You're better than that. You're stronger.
Adjusting the strap of her bag, she squared her shoulders and began moving again, each step deliberate and steady.
If Ash Wood thought it could scare her off so easily, it was about to learn it had seriously underestimated her.
She was Emily Carter.
She had faced worse than crumbling walls and unseen threats.
She had survived loss, grief, betrayal.
And she would survive Ash Wood too.