They cleared the kitchen. Bathroom. Guest room. Nothing.
Then Scout stopped outside the master bedroom door.
“Burke.”
Burke came up beside him. The door stood cracked, just enough to show the edge of the bed.
Inside, a shape lay beneath the covers.
Still.
Burke’s voice dropped low. “On three.”
“One.”
Scout adjusted his grip.
“Two—”
He pushed the door wide, weapon low.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, thin and colorless. The room smelled faintly sweet—something chemical beneath clean linen.
The figure didn’t move.
A body-shaped rise beneath the blanket. One arm visible against the sheet. Hair spread across the pillow.
Scout’s pulse thudded once, hard.
“Tessa,” he said—quiet. Controlled.
Nothing.
Burke stepped closer. “Agent Quinn?”
Silence.
He reached down and pulled the blanket back.
For a split second, Scout’s brain refused the image.
Then it snapped into place.
Not Tessa.
Sara Parker lay there.
Alive.
Breathing shallowly. Skin pale but unmarked. Hair brushed. Clothes arranged with deliberate care—placed, not left.
Returned.
McHan went still. “She’s alive.”
Burke’s voice sharpened. “Drugged. Get EMS. Now. Lock this place down.”
He looked at Scout.
