“Yeah,” he whispered. “You did it.”
Calder’s voice came again. “Sara, was there anything else you remember? Anything small?”
Sara blinked, thinking. “There was… a sound.”
Scout’s eyes narrowed.
Calder prompted gently. “What kind of sound?”
Sara frowned, searching for it. “Not loud. Just… there. Faint. Like something running somewhere.”
Scout’s gaze stayed locked on her.
She looked smaller than he’d ever seen her. Worn down to the bone.
Scout hit rewind.
Just that part.
Once.
Twice.
Faint. Something running.
Something in his chest snapped into place.
How’d I miss this?
The chair scraped hard against the floor as he shoved back from the desk.
He didn’t have everything.
But he had enough.
Scout grabbed his jacket, his radio, his keys.
He didn’t slow down.
He didn’t look back.
And God help whoever had Tessa Quinn.
55
Deputy Scout Wilson
Scout parked a block away, killed the engine, and stepped out into the cold. The mountain air bit sharp against his face, clearing his head.
He grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and slung it over one shoulder—binoculars, gloves, small flashlight, knife, radio. Scanned the neighborhood.
No movement. Christmas lights glowing softly along porch rails. A plastic reindeer tipped a little sideways in one yard.
Another manicured street in a tidy neighborhood—exactly the sort of place that let monsters blend in.
And somewhere behind one of these homes… Please. Let her be here.
Scout steadied himself and headed toward the tree line behind the houses. The embankment was steep, slick with damp leaves. He climbed anyway, boots digging in, branches snagging at his jacket.
