The hike up the road felt longer than it should've. The crash, the fog, the silence pressing in on them — it all stretched time like taffy. Each step squished in damp earth, Lane occasionally muttering under his breath, weapon still drawn even though neither of them had seen a sign of life since the figure vanished. Finally, the house came into view.
Two-story, nestled in a thicket of overgrown trees. Porch light still flickering like someone forgot to change the bulb. But the place felt… wrong. Too still. Too empty. Too quiet. Holt approached first, boots creaking up the wooden steps.
He knocked. No answer.
Lane tried the handle. Unlocked. Inside was dim and heavy with dust. Dishes were left in the sink. TV still glowing with a paused frame from some forgotten movie. Jackets on the coat rack. Shoes by the door.
"Looks like he just stepped out," Lane muttered, trying to make light of it, but his voice betrayed a tension. Holt wandered deeper. Every room was just as ordinary. No blood. No sign of forced entry. No overturned furniture or shattered glass. Just absence. They checked the backyard.
The basement. Even the attic. Nothing. It was only once they stepped back outside, breath fogging in the air, that the weight of it really hit. Lane leaned against the porch rail, running a hand down his face.
"That's three this month. First the teens. Now a grown man. All just… gone." Holt didn't respond. He stared off into the woods, jaw set tight. He wasn't the type to show fear, but he did show frustration, maybe. Feat Or something deeper. After a long silence, he finally muttered,
"Whatever's happening here… it's escalating." Lane looked at him, brow furrowed. "You really think these are all connected?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Holt said, turning back toward the road. "Come on. Let's get back to town."
Two armed guards stood firmly outside. Inside, the air felt heavier. Simon sat up on the edge of the hospital bed, his hands clenched between his knees, staring at the cracked glass. Cass was standing at the corner of the room, talking low with another Foundation agent. Simon could hear little.
"…definitely interacted with the environment…"
"…not visible on camera feeds…"
"…if it's tethered to him, that changes protocol."
Cass turned back and dismissed the agent. Then he walked over, resting a hand on the bed rail. "Simon," he said calmly,
"you're not in trouble. But this thing — whatever it is — it's attached to you. And that makes you very important right now."
Simon nodded slowly. "What is it?" "We don't know. Not yet," Cass admitted. "But the damage it left behind — it's physical. And it's smart enough to stay just out of sight."
Simon looked up. "Then why are you keeping me here?"
Cass looked him dead in the eyes. "Because it hasn't hurt you. Yet. And we want to keep it that way. Moving you might provoke it. Or worse — let it loose."
Simon went quiet. His pulse thumped in his ears Cass's phone buzzed. He picked it up, listened for a few seconds, then frowned.
"…Understood." He ended the call.
"What now?" Simon asked, tense.
"They're not moving you," Cass said. "But they want you relocated to a secure floor in this building. Lower levels. We have shielding. Reinforcements. You'll be monitored 24/7."
"I'm not a prisoner, right?"
"No," Cass said. "But whatever's following you is treating you like its territory. And we don't know what it'll do if anyone gets too close."
Simon stood, uneasily. Cass gave him a nod. "Come on. We'll take the elevator. Quietly."