Chapter 53
Deputy Scout Wilson — His Cabin
Scout drove home seething, knowing Raines had Tessa’s location and that the badge was the only thing keeping him from beating it out of him.
The curves and drop-offs blurred past. His hands locked on the wheel.
Go home. Shower. Close your eyes for an hour.
He’d nodded.
He’d walked out of the station with blood still hot, nerves shot—Raines hitting the wall, the flash of fear when the professor realized he wasn’t bluffing
He wasn’t proud of it.
He wasn’t sorry.
Not with Tessa out there and the clock running out.
The drive up the mountain dragged.
The worst part wasn’t the silence.
It was what his mind did with it.
If Raines was the one—and he was sitting in a cell right now waiting on a lawyer—then Tessa was alone somewhere, locked in a room.
Scout pictured it anyway. The images wouldn’t let go.
A door that didn’t open.
Tessa would be fighting to stay sharp, calm, cataloging anything she could use.
But even the toughest woman in the world still needed water. Still needed food.
Sara had said there’d been supplies. How long before the food ran out? Before panic set in? Before the cold reality hit that no one was coming fast enough?
Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the drive after dusk, headlights washing over the cabin and dying into the trees. Porch light off. Windows dark.
He killed the engine and sat for a second, forcing a slow breath.
Then he saw it.
A white envelope on the top step. Centered.
He was out of the truck before he could think twice, boots hitting the ground, flashlight and weapon both up as he cut the dark in quick, sharp sweeps.
Left. Right. Tree line. Brush. Edge of the ridge.
Nothing.
No movement. No sound.
Just wind sliding through the pines.
Someone had been on his porch.
Scout holstered and pulled gloves from his pocket. His hands were steady now.
He crouched and picked up the envelope like it might bite.
No name. No address. No stamp.
He opened it carefully.
A single sheet of paper slid out—typed, clean, centered.
Wrong man, Scout.
Try again.
You have 72 hours.
After that… I finish the story.
For a beat, he didn’t move.
Then his gaze dropped to the letters themselves.
The font wasn’t modern. Not printer-perfect. Old, with the t riding a little higher than the rest.
The Royal.
The typewriter.
He slid out the second item.
A photo.
Tessa.
Alive.
At a desk, hands on the keys. Shoulders drawn tight. Face pale with exhaustion.
Not looking at the camera.
He stared at her until the edges of the world blurred, then forced himself to look past her.
Plain cream walls. Book shelves.
He took it in fast, storing every line and shadow because it all mattered.
The letter and photo went back into the envelope. He tucked it into his jacket like a shield.
Sleep was out for tonight.
Not until she was safe.
The engine turned over and he ripped out of the drive.
As the cabin disappeared into the dark, fear settled deep inside him.
They had the wrong man.
And whoever had Tessa wasn’t panicking.
He was enjoying it.
Scout headed back toward town, mind already moving—footage, interviews, Sara’s words, every second they’d missed.
Something in there would crack this open.
When he found it—
He didn’t finish the thought.
He drove.
Deputy Scout Wilson — On the Road
The envelope sat on the passenger seat, clean and white against the dark.
Seventy-two hours.
He hit call before he could talk himself out of it.
Sara answered on the second ring. “Scout?”
“How you doing?” he asked.
A pause. Her breath came through the line—thin, controlled. “I’m getting there.”
“Good,” he said. “You need anything?”
Another beat.
Then her voice shifted—less tired, more focused. “Scout… I’m glad you called.”
“What is it,” he said softly.
“I’ve been going over that room in my head,” she said. “Over and over.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Okay.”
“There was something I didn’t explain right,” she said. “Or maybe I didn’t understand it until now.”
“Tell me.”
Sara took a breath. “That sound.”
He let her talk.
“It wasn’t constant,” she said. “Not exactly.“It wasn’t the heat either.”
His pulse ticked up. “What do you mean.”
“It would run for a long time,” Sara said slowly, like she was measuring it. “Hours. Long enough that you stop noticing it. Then it would cut off.”
“And then it would come back,” she said. “Like it cycled. Stopped… then started again.”
The road narrowed.
“A system,” he said.
“Yes.” Her voice sharpened. “That’s what it felt like. Like something built into the place. Not random.”
“Sara,” he said, low, “that matters.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I just—Scout, I know I’m not crazy. I know it was real.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re right.”
Then Sara’s voice softened. “Find her Scout”
He swallowed once. “We will.”
The line went dead.
Scout drove faster.