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The file cut abruptly. Another replaced it before the silence could settle.

Timestamp.

Location code.

Recovered Daughter Interview—Site Nine.

A different voice this time.

Older.

Shaking harder.

“He smelled like thick smoke… cloves and smoke.” A swallow. “And rain.” Another pause. “I always knew when it was him because the others went quiet first.”

Static swallowed the rest.

I didn’t move.

The monitors hummed softly around me as another report loaded. One I discarded before. Because this hunt wasn’t the one I cared about.

Red satin ribbon in my hand… the end black with blood.

Her hand bouncing as I ran. Lifeless.

Click.

Transport manifests came to life in front of me.

Dead routes.

Missing girls.

Survivors marked unrecoverable.

South Corridor movement flagged twice before the Voss residence attack.

Voss residence.

Cold settled hard beneath my sternum.

Sons.

Daughters.

Nyssa’s warmth pulled my focus.

My fingers rested against the edge of the desk.

Still.

Controlled.

But beneath the operational rhythm, something older shifted awake.

Not grief.

Recognition.