«She’s not gone,» the Black girl whispered, and the man’s heart lurched, disbelief giving way to a chilling truth as he dug deeper

Then you’ll stay at my house, he said. At least until we sort this out. Her eyebrows lifted.

You don’t even know me. Um, I know enough. You brought me something no one else could.

Doubt. He turned to the driver. Head to the estate.

As the car curved off the main road and into the hills, Thomas tapped a number into his phone. It rang twice before a gravelly voice answered. Reese, it’s me.

I need your help. There was a pause. You told me you were done.

I was, Thomas replied, until ten minutes ago. Now I need surveillance on Pier 14, the cannery, and everything within five blocks. Look for signs of containment, medical personnel, military contractors, anyone with an artificial arm.

Another pause. Then, what the hell did you just step in? Something I buried a year ago, Thomas said. And it’s clawing its way back.

He hung up and turned to Maya. We’ll start with your story. I want you to tell me every detail.

Nothing’s too small. Maya hesitated. Do you believe me now? I believe enough to put people on the ground, he said.

And that means something. Ugh. By the time they reached the Astatia sprawling modern home perched on the cliffs, Maya’s eyes had grown wide.

She’d never seen a driveway this long, never smelled the sea air from behind hand-carved iron gates. A housekeeper opened the door before they stepped out. Mr. Beckett.

Shall I? She’s with me, he said, gesturing to Maya. Get her something warm to wear. And food.

Hot food. Yes, sir. Uh.

Inside, the home was quiet and tastefully furnished walnut floors, old jazz playing low from unseen speakers. Maya’s shoes squeaked faintly as she stepped in. Thomas led her to the den, offered her a blanket and a seat by the fireplace.

She didn’t speak as the flames crackled to life, but the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly. Dinner came quickly grilled cheese, tomato soup, and apple slices arranged like art. Maya stared at it for a long second before picking up the sandwich.

I haven’t had real food in a long time, she said, voice barely audible. Thomas sat across from her, watching as she took careful bites. What about school? I go sometimes, when the shelters make me, he leaned forward.

What would you say if I told you? If what you saw helps me find my wife, I’d make sure you never have to sleep under a pier again, Maya paused. Looking at him carefully. You’d really do that? I don’t make promises I won’t keep.

She nodded. Then I’ll tell you everything. She did.

From the moment she saw the van pull up, to the men in black loading Elena in, to the way one of them dropped a small box that Maya still had hidden something electronic, with strange writing, Thomas listened, absorbing every word, every gesture. Later that night, as Maya slept on the leather couch wrapped in blankets, Thomas sat in his office, lights low, phone to his ear. Reese again, the voice said.

We have movement. Unregistered vehicles at the cannery. Guards.

No logos. And one man matching the prosthetic description. Thomas’s jaw tightened.

Don’t engage. Just track. I want to know where they go.

Who they report to. Understood. As he ended the call, Thomas looked back through the glass at Maya sleeping.

She hadn’t lied. He could feel it in his bones. Something dark had stolen his wife from the ocean on.

The truth had come walking into his life wearing wet shoes and an oversized hoodie. The storm wasn’t coming. It was already here.

The sun was barely up, casting a muted gray over the Beckett estate. But Thomas was already in motion. He hadn’t slept.

Instead, he had spent the night poring over maps of the harbor, blueprints of the cannery, and security footage from his private archives footage he paid to have filtered through the years for anything suspicious. None of it had shown Elena. But now, Maya’s words had turned those ghost pixels into possibilities.

In the dining room, Maya sat at the edge of a tall chair, eating scrambled eggs and toast with the kind of careful focus only hunger and suspicion can create. A fresh hoodie hung from her shoulders new, clean, still smelling faintly of detergent. She looked smaller in daylight, but no less sure….