Just before dawn, the phone jolted him awake, vibrating hard against the nightstand.
“Wilson.”
Static hissed—then Dispatch’s voice came through, tight and frayed.
“Deputy Parker’s cruiser. Highway 73. Engine’s still running.”
Scout sat up fast, already reaching for his jeans.
“Put her on.”
Silence.
“Dispatch,” he snapped. “Put Parker on the line.”
The reply came thin, shaky.
“Scout… she’s not here. The cruiser’s empty. Engine’s still idling, but she’s gone.”
Panic slammed into his chest.
“You call the Sheriff yet?”
“No. You first.”
“Call him now.”
He ended the call and stared at the screen.
One missed call.
Parker — 2:47 a.m.
The red notification burned like an accusation.
Whatever she’d needed?—
He hadn’t been there. Not for Sara.
Not when it counted.
He never let her calls go unanswered.
“Damn it, Sara.”
He grabbed his keys.
The thought—Why didn’t I?—never finished forming.
He was already out the door.
Sheriff Burke Scott
Before dawn on Highway 73, Burke’s truck rolled to a stop.
Scout crouched beside the open cruiser door.
Coffee had spilled into the frozen dirt. A flashlight lay on its side, beam still burning—pinned on the trees as if she’d set it there and vanished.
