Elias
“Come on… come on… answer.”
I jabbed the redial button on the steering wheel so hard my thumb ached; my eyes fixed on the ragged ribbons of fog drifting between the pines.
"The mobile customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable or out of the coverage area. Please try again-"
“Fuck!”
My palm slammed into the dashboard hard enough to rattle the radio mount.
Redial. The same mechanical woman. The same deadline. The same digital wall refusing to let me through.
Her broken sob was still trapped inside my head, looping over and over beneath the static until my teeth hurt from clenching them.
I threw the truck into the next mountain bend, tyres whining against the wet asphalt as the suspension leaned hard into the turn.
The engine roared beneath the hood, fighting the steep climb while I punched Mason's speed dial.
He answered on the second ring.
"Mase."
"Elias."
His voice was as level as ever. Behind him I could hear the echo of the state garage air compressors, steel clanging against concrete, someone shouting measurements.
"Forensics has a partial match on the axle width. They're-"
"I'm out."
The words came out rougher than I intended.
"If Walker asks, tell him I'm following a lead off Route Nine."
Silence. Not surprising. Mase was always quiet, calculating. Mason knew my voice better than anyone.
"Derek's already in the cruiser," he said quietly.
"Where are you going?"
"Hold the station."
I ended the call before he could ask another question.
The truck kept eating miles, but the cab felt smaller with every bend.
My mind refused to stay on the road. It kept dragging me back to her porch.
The white linen dress moving in the wind.
Her voice broke through the phone. That tiny, suffocating sob.
Worst-case scenarios never arrive as thoughts. They arrive like photographs from crime scenes that haven't happened yet. What if she wasn't crying anymore when I got there? What if the front door was hanging open?
What if the house was empty. Because whoever had called had already finished?
What if someone was still inside? Waiting.
Watching. My grip tightened until the leather steering wheel creaked beneath my hands.
Walker's evidence board flashed through my mind.
Ten red pins. Ten women. Ten failures. Fuck.
Don't let there be eleven. I swallowed hard, staring through the windshield.
"Please..."
The word barely left my mouth.
"Jesus Christ..."
I pressed harder on the accelerator.
"Don't let me be too late."
I never touched the brakes. The truck hit the gravel turnout too fast, fishtailing sideways before digging in.
Mud, pine needles, and loose stone exploded beneath the tyres, peppering the old mailbox as the truck lurched to a stop.
The engine kept running. I didn't shut it off.
Didn't pull the handbrake. I threw the driver's door open and ran.
The porch steps disappeared beneath my boots three at a time.
"Seraphina!"
My shoulder slammed into the screen door so hard the frame shuddered.
Nothing.
The cottage sat unnaturally still. One kitchen window stood cracked open an inch. Warm air drifted through it carrying the scent of rosemary... toasted bread... and butter that had been left too long in the pan. My stomach dropped.
"Seraphina!"
Nothing answered me. Not a voice. Not footsteps.
Not even the creak of the old floorboards.
Silence. Not the peaceful kind either. The wrong kind.
The kind of silence that tells a detective a house has been empty for too long.
My hand found my service weapon without me thinking about it, my thumb settling against the retention strap as my eyes swept the dark hallway, every doorway, every shadow where someone could disappear.
Then my boot caught something.
A sheet of paper. It had been taped to the wire mesh of the screen door. I tore it free, ripping the page straight down the middle before I even realized what I was doing. The handwriting was unmistakably hers.
Fast. Uneven. Hurried enough that the letters leaned into each other.
Phone died.
Max is hurt.
Taking him to Blackridge Veterinary Clinic.
Please.
Every muscle in my body locked.
"Fuck..."
I was already moving. One turn. Three strides.
Down the porch. I threw myself back into the truck, slammed it into reverse, gravel exploding beneath the tyres as I spun it around and tore back down the mountain road.
Blackridge Veterinary Clinic sat just off the lower bypass, a squat concrete building that looked more like an old municipal office than somewhere people trusted with the things they loved.
I left the truck running.
The automatic doors slid open before I reached them. Cold air hit me first. Not mountain cold but artificial cold that made everything inside smelled painfully clean.
Alcohol wipes. Disinfectant. Fresh bleach. Latex gloves. Stainless steel. Every surface reflected the fluorescent lights overhead, so bright they erased every shadow in the building. No dust. No mud. No coffee. No life. My stomach twisted anyway. Fear didn't care how clean a room looked.
I spotted her immediately.
She stood near one of the preparation rooms, shoulders folded inward, dirt streaked across her dress, dried tears catching the harsh white light. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, hiding most of it, but I could still see the tremble in her jaw.
The veterinarian was speaking softly; clipboard tucked beneath one arm while he explained something she clearly wasn't hearing.
Then his hand lifted. Slowly toward her shoulder.
Seraphina flinched. Not dramatically. Just enough that her body stiffened, her breathing caught and her eyes locked onto his hand.
That was fucking enough.
I crossed the room before I realized I'd moved. My hand closed around the veterinarian's wrist. Firm not hard but just enough to stop him.
"Give her some space." My voice came out lower than I expected. Quiet and controlled. The kind of voice that made people stop talking. The veterinarian froze. His eyes flicked to the badge on my belt before meeting mine. I released him immediately.
"Sorry."
I cleared my throat.
"How's Max?"
The veterinarian adjusted his sleeve awkwardly before answering.
"He's stable, Detective."
He glanced toward the kennel.
"Someone injected him with a powerful livestock sedative. Enough to bring down an animal his size without causing obvious trauma."
I felt something inside my chest loosen.
"His heart's strong."
The doctor continued.
"Neurologically he's responding well. No permanent damage that we can see."
He offered a small smile.
"He'll sleep most of today. He'll be weak for a few days after that."
Another pause.
"But he's going to make a full recovery."
I closed my eyes for half a second. The breath I'd been holding since five-thirty finally left my lungs.
"Thank you."
"I'll get his discharge papers."
The veterinarian disappeared through the swinging door, leaving the room wrapped in fluorescent silence. Through the kennel door I could hear Max breathing. Slow, heavy but alive. A sound came from behind me small enough most people would've missed it, a muffled sob.
I turned.
Seraphina stood against the white cinderblock wall, both hands covering her mouth now as fresh tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
Her shoulders shook with every breath she tried and failed to steady.
Her head stayed bowed, dark hair spilling forward like a curtain, hiding her face from me.
Her shoulders rose and fell in small, uneven breaths, every inhale catching halfway before breaking apart.
She wouldn't look at me. She just stood there against the white cinderblock wall, trembling beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. I closed the distance between us. My boots barely made a sound against the polished floor.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
The question sounded useless the second it left my mouth. She let out a small laugh. It wasn't laughter. It was the kind of sound people make when they've cried so hard there's nothing left except air forcing its way through broken ribs.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen and red. She looked exhausted. She looked straight at me, and for the first time since she'd stepped onto my porch yesterday, there wasn't a single smile left on her face.
No teasing. No strange little comments. No fearless confidence. Just someone who looked completely worn out. Her lips parted.
"Can...can I have a hug?"
The words barely reached me. They were so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined them. My chest tightened so hard it hurt. Seraphina talked. Constantly. She narrated the world, argued with gnomes, made jokes that never landed where I expected them to. But she never asked for anything.
Not once.
I didn't answer. There wasn't anything to say.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her.
For a split second her entire body locked.
Every muscle. Every breath. She froze so completely it felt like I was holding someone carved from stone.
Like she was waiting. Waiting for the catch.
Waiting for the shove. Waiting for this to become something else.
I didn't move. I just held her. A second passed then another. The tension slowly drained out of her. Her shoulders sagged. Her forehead pressed against my chest.
Her fingers gripped the back of my shirt with surprising strength, bunching the fabric beneath her fists as though she was terrified I'd disappear if she let go. She didn't sob.
She just...
Collapsed.
Every ounce of strength she'd been carrying simply gave up. I rested my chin lightly against the top of her head. She smelled faintly of vanilla, damp earth...and like warmth.
She was shaking not from the cold but from everything. Without thinking, I lowered my head and pressed the gentlest kiss against the crown of her hair. I felt her breathing hitch. Then, after a long silence, so quietly I almost missed it...
"...So..."
Her voice was muffled against my chest.
"...this is what a hug feels like."
I closed my eyes.
And somehow... That hurt more than all the bodies I'd seen this week. More than the Sheriff blaming me for those ten women. More than that night I got the call…