The sun loomed high above Ridgecliff as a gray, tired cab hummed its way through the narrow town streets. The city had finally shed its early morning fog, but for Brendon, the haze still lingered—only now it was internal.
Robert, sitting beside him in the back seat, tapped a rhythm on the leather seat with his fingers, stealing glances at Brendon, who kept his eyes locked on the passing buildings. The silence between them was heavy, thick with words neither of them wanted to say aloud.
Finally, Robert cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "So… how was it?"
Brendon blinked. "What?"
"Lagooncrest Isle," Robert said. "Your investigation. Did it go anywhere?"
Brendon leaned back into the seat and let out a long sigh. "It was… a disappointment. No signs of Natasha anywhere."
Robert frowned. "None?"
"None," Brendon replied. "Instead, I found a cult hiding in the Duckinghum Caves. And—get this—Amelia Hudson was there."
Robert blinked. "Wait. Amelia? As in Mr. Hudson's niece?"
Brendon gave a grim nod. "Yeah. She was the one keeping two teenage boys down there. One of them was Zoe's brother, Carlos—the kid who went missing a few months back."
"Jesus," Robert muttered. "I thought she was one of the victims."
"Same here. But when I saw her there…" Brendon's voice trailed off. "She didn't seem right. She kept saying it was a misunderstanding, that she didn't kidnap anyone. But her behavior was erratic. Paranoid."
Robert shook his head slowly. "Damn. That's… that's rough."
Brendon looked out the window again, watching the townspeople bustle about their daily lives as if the world wasn't teetering on the edge.
"She was reported missing by Mr. Hudson, and now she's being taken into custody for kidnapping? That's going to hit him hard," Brendon muttered. "He's a good man. Respected."
Robert rubbed his jaw. "Did you at least talk to her more? Try to figure out why she did it?"
Brendon turned to face him now, brows narrowed. "I didn't have the luxury. I handed her over to the Lagooncrest authorities. The case's in their hands now. I did what I could."
"But you still had two days of vacation left," Robert said, more curious than accusatory. "You could've stayed longer. Dug deeper. Maybe even found Natasha."
Brendon exhaled sharply. "And let this town fall apart under international pressure? You know what kind of fire Tyson's been under. We've got a fugitive who's eluded multiple agencies, whispers of foreign involvement, and the press breathing down our necks. I made a judgment call."
Robert studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod. "You've changed."
Brendon raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"When you first came here… what, a year and a half ago? You were detached. Floating. Like this town was just another stop on the road," Robert said. "But now? You came back the second things got serious. You chose Ridgecliff."
Brendon didn't respond right away. He just looked ahead as the cab rounded a familiar corner near the town square. Ridgecliff's town hall came into view—an old but sturdy building, its stone facade bathed in a haze of sunlight and dust.
"I didn't choose Ridgecliff," Brendon said finally, voice low. "It chose me. I just didn't realize it until now."
The cab came to a halt, tires crunching gravel. The two men stepped out, the air thick with heat and tension. Robert paid the fare, and they headed up the stone steps of the town hall. The place felt oddly quiet, even though it was the middle of the day.
Inside, the receptionist nodded at them absently, too preoccupied with a phone call to pay much attention. Brendon and Robert walked down the central hallway toward the town archives room.
"I'll check with the clerk about two days ago records," Robert said. "See if there's anything about the woman's sightings. You take a look around."
Brendon gave a small nod, already drifting toward the far end of the hallway where a row of tables stood near the window. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams filtering through the curtains. A couple of outdated magazines were left on the surface, along with a cracked pen and an empty coffee cup.
But something else caught Brendon's eye.
It was subtle—barely visible from his angle. A small piece of folded paper was wedged between the table's edge and the wall. He tugged it out gently and unfolded it with care.
The handwriting was sharp, rushed.
Brendon knelt beside the old table, his fingers brushing against the edge where something thin had been wedged between the wood and the wall. It was barely visible—tucked neatly out of view, as if whoever placed it had done so with quiet intention.
He pried it loose.
A single piece of paper, folded crisply. No signs of wear, no smudges—fresh. Recent. The ink hadn't even begun to fade.
Brendon unfolded it slowly, careful not to make a sound.
The handwriting was jagged, written in haste, but precise enough to be understood.
Brendon,
If you're reading this, then I've made the right choice.
I can't talk to you openly. It's too dangerous now. They're watching—everyone.
Please don't tell anyone you found this. Not even your closest.
Call me. It's important.
—D.
Below that, a phone number was scrawled. No country code. A local line.
Brendon stared at the page, the words pressing against his brain like a dull weight.
D…
He rolled the initial around in his head, trying to match it to a name. Denise? Dana? Dahlia? Danielle?
Diane? His eyes narrowed. Darla?
Too many names.
Too many shadows.
His pulse quickened—not from fear, but from the tension of possibilities. This wasn't a prank. The writing was too deliberate. The phrasing too desperate. Whoever "D" was, they wanted this note found—but only by him.
And not a word to Robert. Not anyone.
Brendon's instincts flared. Either this was someone reaching out from within the chaos—or it was bait. A trap.
But why leave it here? At the town hall? In a place crawling with government staff and public servants? The message could've fallen into anyone's hands.
Unless…
Unless the person who left it knew Brendon would be here. Knew his routines, his habits.
Knew him.
He folded the note, slower this time, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat like it was an explosive device. A part of him burned to look at the number again—to call it, hear the voice on the other side. But he couldn't do it now. Not with Robert still nearby.
He rose, quietly dusting his fingers, and glanced toward the hallway. Robert was still talking to the clerk, buried in conversation. Good.
Brendon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Someone was reaching out.
Someone who thought he could be trusted.
Or someone who knew he was already involved far deeper than he realized.
Whatever the truth was, the note had changed everything.
He wasn't just chasing a fugitive anymore.
He was being pulled into something bigger.
And now, there was a new player on the board.
D.
But it wasn't the name that struck him.
It was the tone.
This wasn't someone trying to escape justice. This was someone trying to reveal something. A whistleblower. A confidant. Or maybe… someone playing a deeper game.
If someone was risking their safety to get a message to him, it meant one thing: they believed Brendon was the only one who could be trusted.
His thoughts churned. He didn't have much to go on—just a note and a number. But it was something.
And in Ridgecliff, something was always better than nothing.
Robert came back a minute later, a folder tucked under his arm. "Not much new on the woman. Some folks claimed to have seen someone matching her description on the east side, but no solid leads."
Brendon nodded, his expression unreadable. "We'll chase what we can."
They exited the town hall together, but Brendon's mind was already miles away.
Back in his apartment.
Back in the cold hallway of a hospital in Lagooncrest.
Back in the caves with Amelia's broken voice echoing off stone.
And now… into a call he isn't supposed to make.
Whoever "D" is, they'd made a bold move.
And Brendon is about to respond in kind.