Service dog desperately barks to woman… But when police revealed the shocking truth, it was far too late…

They turned on me, the ones I trained with. They want the echo veil files buried forever. They think she’s just a child, but she’s the insurance policy.

They’ll never find the locket in time. If she’s pregnant, it will resurface. That’s how I designed it.

Clara covered her mouth. He knew. He planned this.

Alyssa read more. Clara, if you ever see this, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you in person, but I protected the truth. You are the last Vaughn, and they’ll come for you now.

Trust no badge. Not even the ones that smile. Especially not them.

The rest was smeared, illegible. Max stood beside the skeleton and let out a quiet whine, ears drooping slightly. Then he turned to Clara, walked over, and gently rested his head on her belly.

She burst into tears. It wasn’t the type of cry that begged for help. It was the kind that came when decades of lies finally cracked, and the truth poured out like floodwater.

Back at their motel that night, Clara sat on the bed, the notebook in her lap. I always thought I was ordinary. I wanted to be ordinary.

School counselor. Suburban life. I even liked minivans.

She laughed weakly. But I’m not ordinary, am I? No, Alyssa said, sitting beside her. You’re the daughter of an agent who predicted everything.

Who used his dying breath to hide a secret inside you, and keep it safe for decades. Whatever Echovale is, someone still wants it buried. Clara looked down at her belly.

And now my baby’s a target too? Alyssa’s jaw tightened. Not on my watch. From the corner, Max let out a low chuff.

Agreement. And if anyone did come for them, they’d have to get through Max first. The Echovale file wasn’t supposed to exist.

That’s what the CIA officer said in the voicemail left on Alyssa’s burner phone at 3.13 AM. The voice was distorted, but calm. Collected.

Too calm. If you’re hearing this, then you’ve found Fort Wyndham. Walk away.

Echovale was never authorized, never real, and never to be mentioned again. Ask the wrong questions and people disappear. You don’t want to be one of them.

The message self-erased five seconds after playback. Alyssa stared at the dark screen, fingers trembling slightly. Max was asleep in the corner, snoring gently.

But when Alyssa shifted, he opened one eye, lifted his head. Always alert. Always watching.

They were already being monitored. No doubt. In the next room, Clara was trying to rest.

But Alyssa could hear the occasional creak of the bed. The restless pacing. Whatever sleep she managed was shallow and splintered.

They were being hunted. And the clock was ticking. By morning, Clara had found something else in the notebook.

A single line in her father’s scrawl. Check the pine floor under 17 Markham Street. Use the old key.

Alyssa looked up the address. It was real. A cabin in upstate New York, listed under a shell company dissolved in 1995.

Clara didn’t recognize it. They packed up and hit the road. Max rode in the back, eyes trained on the horizon.

He didn’t sleep once. The cabin was modest. Two stories, faded red paint, overgrown grass.

The front door stuck when Alyssa shoved it open. Inside, the air was thick with dust. The smell of pine and time-worn secrets…