Two long days had crawled by before the punishment was lifted. The moment the lock clicked and the door creaked open, Emma stormed toward her bedroom—only to stop cold in the doorway. Her breath caught. Her chest tightened. The lavender walls she had painted herself, the posters that mirrored her dreams, the DIY décor painstakingly assembled during countless restless nights—all of it was gone. The room had been gutted. The walls were now a bland, sterile beige. Shelves sat empty, and the cozy bedspread had been replaced by a generic factory-clean sheet. “What the hell?” Her voice cracked as she stepped inside. “Mum!” Her scream cut through the silence like a blade. “You can’t just erase everything! This is my room!” Across the hall, Aiden stood at the threshold of his own room, just as stunned. “Where’s all my stuff?” he muttered, stepping in. His sneakers thudded softly against the bare floorboards. The clutter of childhood—comics, action figures, half-assembled model kits—had va

Emma stood at the edge of the mall's parking lot, her breathing quick and shallow. Her gaze swept over the few pedestrians trickling out of the entrance. She honed in on an elderly woman locking her car. With purpose in every step, Emma approached, her voice strained with urgency. “Ma’am, please—have you seen a black Chevrolet SUV come through here earlier? A few hours ago?” The woman froze, her wrinkled hands pausing mid-motion. Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion as they sized up Emma. “I just arrived not long ago. Haven’t seen anything like that. You might want to ask the clerk inside.” Emma gave a tight nod. “Thank you.” She spun around and strode into the mall’s modest interior, Aiden trailing close behind her. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as they made their way to the front desk. The woman behind the counter was hunched over a ledger, her pen scratching slowly across the paper. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Emma said, her voice steadier now, though the tension in her sho

The morning was crisp when the cops arrived at Beacon High School, their presence as unavoidable as the stares of curious students. Agent Thomas and Officer Jones moved through the halls with a sense of purpose, escorted by the principal, Mrs. Daniels, who appeared as composed as ever. She guided them to her office, her heels clicking on the polished floor. As they entered, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation, the smell of fresh ink and old paper lingering in the corners. “Good day, ma’am. I’m Agent Thomas, and this is my partner, Officer Jones. We’re from the NYPD’s 19th precinct. How are you today?” Agent Thomas asked, his tone professional yet gentle, as if to reassure her. Principal Daniels didn’t flinch, offering a tight but polite smile. She sat behind her desk, glancing at the piles of papers as though to make sure she had control of the room. “I’m well, thank you. I assume you’re here about the missing children. I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously.” Her voice

The truck rumbled past the final checkpoint at the border between Arizona and Sonora. Ethan Farrell, a man with dead eyes and steady hands, calmly handed over his ID and permit to the customs officer. His face showed nothing. He had done this before. Many times. “Open the dump body,” the officer ordered. Ethan complied without hesitation. The metallic groan of the hydraulic system cut through the desert air as the dump bed rose. The officers climbed in and combed through it like dogs on a scent. But they found nothing—no drugs, no weapons, no body. Not yet. “You're clear,” they finally said. Ethan offered a cold smile and drove on. 8:32 p.m. The truck rolled into Nogales. Gustavo had been waiting—impatient, twitchy, chain-smoking with his boot pressed against the bumper of his car. When the vehicle stopped, he tossed his cigarette and approached with an uneven gait, the glint of a blade tucked inside his boot. “You Ethan? Ethan Farrell?” Gustavo asked, glancing at the note scrib

"Sara, are you set? Come on, let's go or we’ll be late for classes," Olivia called from outside the door. She had stopped by Sara's house as usual to walk to school together. "Sara? Why aren’t you answering me? We’re gonna be late," Olivia shouted again, knocking on the door but receiving no response. She paused and glanced at her phone: 8:47 AM. They still had a 30-minute walk to campus, and with time ticking away, she began to wonder if she should leave without her friend. But then, on second thought, she tried the doorknob. It turned easily, the door swinging wide open. As she poked her head in, she froze. A scream, louder than anything she’d ever known, erupted from her chest. On the floor, Sara lay in a pool of crimson, her neck brutally slit. Blood pooled around her, soaking into the carpet beneath her body. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at nothing, her mouth slightly open, as if trying to speak one last word. Olivia's breath caught in her throat, and her body went cold