Hayes sat in her office, legs crossed on the edge of her desk, eyes fixed on the photograph in her hands.

  It was the one she’d taken from the underground library; a faded, dusty image of the Blackwoods.

  Eight people. Four seated, four standing behind them.

  The faces of the back row were mostly blurred by time, but one was still visible, and it made her stomach twist.

  Down at the general board, Cannon was staring at the evidence spread out across the precinct wall; four locations, all visited, all empty.

  Not a trace of Dean, not a single clue, except for his badge at one place.

  Hayes picked up another photo; the one from the central library that everyone had access to.

  Only four people were in that image; The father, the mother, the son, the daughter.

  Perfectly posed, stiff, like some museum display.

  She traced the edges of the image with her finger. Someone had deliberately removed the other four. She stood, carrying both images, and walked out to the board.

  “Cannon,” she said, with her voice low. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  He turned. “You found something better than this mess?” He gestured to the board. “Because I’ve been staring at this for hours, and it’s not making sense.”

  She held up the normal library photo. “Look at this. What do you see?”

  “The founders,” he said, frowning. “The Blackwoods. I… I don’t get what you’re trying to show me, Hayes.”

  “Exactly. You see four people, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So,” she said, producing the other photo, “what do you see now?”

  Cannon took it, eyes widening. “Whoa… where did you get this?”

  “In the underground archives,” she said. “I bumped into a shelf by accident, and a secret passage opened. Most of the books were too old to read, the pages were faded. But this one stuck out. This photo… it wasn’t meant to be found.”

  Cannon studied it. “Someone went to great lengths to hide this. How do we know it’s real?”

  “I ran it by IT. Sarah verified it. Three separate times. It’s authentic. The other? Fabricated. Or at least… sanitized.”

  “So… a conspiracy?” Cannon said slowly. “The town's hiding something?”

  “Seems like it,” Hayes replied, voice low. “But we have to be careful. If anyone sees this…”

  “I know,” he said, cutting her off. “Keep it between us. Understood.”

  Cannon glanced at the photos again. “The four seated… they look… terrified. Or is it just the way they posed?”

  Hayes shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t make sense of it.”

  “Well,” Cannon said, sighing, “how about you put that big brain to work on something we can actually control?” He gestured toward the board. “Dean’s out there somewhere. We need him.”

  They walked toward the board together. Hayes studied the four locations marked—places they’d already searched. Then, something clicked. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Wait,” she said, almost to herself. “Something’s not right. I think I’ve got it.”

  She pulled up a map, spreading it across the table.

  She grabbed a red marker.

  Her hand didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t leave the map.

  On the desk between them lay the four locations Sarah had pulled from the drive.

  Top left: The Cathedral.

  Top right: The Water Treatment Plant.

  Bottom left: The Central Library.

  Bottom right: The Brighton Warehouse.

  Hayes circled each one slowly.

  Then she drew a line from the Cathedral to the Plant. Down to the Warehouse. Across to the Library. And back up.

  The shape was clean.

  Cannon leaned closer. “That’s a perimeter,” he said. “They’re covering the corners.”

  “No,” Hayes said. Her voice was quiet now.

  “They’re hiding the middle.”

  She picked up a ruler and drew two diagonal lines. Corner to corner.

  The point where they crossed sat dead center.

  She tapped it once.

  “The Clock Tower.”

  Cannon frowned. “That’s not possible. We pass that place every day. It’s a landmark. Tourists take photos out front. It’s been empty since the sixties.”

  Hayes capped the marker and stood, already reaching for her coat.

  “Exactly,” she said. “It’s visible. It’s ignored. It’s safe because everyone thinks it is.”

  She looked at him.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Kyle didn’t give us an address. He gave us the math.”

  Cannon’s jaw tightened.

  “He wanted to see if we’d find the center.”

  He turned to hayes,

  “Well then,” he added “let's not keep Dean waiting.”

  The police cars skidded to a stop at the base of the Clock Tower.

  Hayes and Cannon jumped out first, barking orders as the rest of the team fanned out behind them.

  Inside, the tower smelled of rust and old stone.

  Their footsteps echoed as they climbed the narrow, spiraling staircase, flashlights cutting through the shadows. Every floor they passed was empty, with dust motes dancing in the beams of light.

  When they reached the very top, the chamber opened into a small, circular room.

  In the center sat a single object: a metal chair bolted to the ground, its chains dangling as if waiting for someone to sit.

  “Is… that it?” Cannon whispered, voice barely carrying over the echo.

  Hayes lowered her weapon and stepped closer, her gloved hands hovering above the cold metal.

  The room was too clean, too still. Nothing else. No signs of struggle. No clues. Just the chair.

  Minutes later, the forensic team arrived, combing the room meticulously. Fingers traced the edges, UV lights swept the walls and floor.

  Then one of them called out.

  “Detective, over here. I found something.”

  On the chair, tucked between the bolts, a single strand of hair had been overlooked. Carefully, it was placed in an evidence bag. Cannon looked at Hayes.

  “Get this to DNA,” he said. “We need to know whose it is.”

  Hayes nodded, slipping the bag into her coat pocket. She turned to leave the tower when her phone buzzed.

  An unknown number.

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then answered.

  “Detective Hayes,” a voice said calmly on the other end.

  “Kyle,” she said, recognition sharpening her tone.

  “I trust the investigation is proceeding… as expected?” His voice was measured, almost amused.

  Hayes swallowed.

  “Pretty bold of you, considering every lead you gave us so far has yielded nothing concrete.”

  Kyle’s laughter was quiet, cold.

  “Ah, but detective, you forget my locations were only suggestions. Not guarantees. I would hate for you to mistake guidance for certainty.”

  Hayes clenched her jaw.

  “I trust you'll keep me informed,” he said before the line went dead.

  She lowered her phone slowly as Kyle’s voice faded.

  “Who was that?”

  Cannon asked, eyeing her curiously.

  “Kyle,” she said flatly. “I don’t know how he got this number, but… that’s not important right now.”

  Her mind drifted back to the chair, the chains, the hair strand still in its evidence bag.

  “And the hair?” Cannon prompted.

  “The forensics team said they’ll have it secured and tested soon,” she replied. “We’ll know whose it is in a few minutes.”

  Cannon shook his head.

  “You’re really going to dig into this Blackwood... conspiracy theory, huh?”

  “Yes,” Hayes said, determination hardening her tone. “There’s something here. Something hidden. We can’t just ignore it.”

  He exhaled, leaning back against the car. “Alright… but let’s hope it’s worth the headache.”

  The drive back to the precinct was quiet, each of them lost in thought. The city’s lights blurred past, reflecting in the windows like fleeting clues.

  Hours later, the report came in. Hayes tore it open, her gloved hands shaking slightly.

  “Dean…” she whispered, eyes widening. “It’s his hair. He was there. He… he was there.”

  Cannon leaned over her shoulder, stunned. “Then… if he’s not there now… where is he?”

  Hayes didn’t answer.

  She just stared at the report, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together, but the picture it formed was darker, and far from complete.

  On the other side of town, Jackson’s plane descended toward GrayHaven, the city bathed in the fiery hues of sunset.

  As the wheels touched the tarmac, a sleek car was already waiting. The driver opened the rear door, and Jackson slid inside. The city blurred past as the vehicle carried him toward the mansion.

  Back at the estate, Kyle’s phone rang. He picked it up with a measured calm.

  “It’s been a while,” he said. “I began to wonder if he’d gotten to you.”

  “My lord… he’s no longer here,” the voice on the other end whispered.

  Kyle’s brow furrowed. “No longer here? What do you mean?”

  “I… I don’t know. He vanished. I can’t find him.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Not long. Just… not long,” came the uncertain reply.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “I can only guess…”

  A gunshot cut through the line.

  Kyle froze. Another. Then another.

  Then Silence.

  “Ruben? Are you there?”

  Kyle’s voice was calm but laced with steel.

  A woman’s voice came through instead. “Ah… I’ve been meaning to do that all week. You've been a real pain.”

  Kyle’s hand tightened around the phone. “And you are?”

  “Just a little present from Mr. Jackson,” the voice said. “By the way… he says hi.”

  The line went dead.

  Kyle stared at the silent device, expression unreadable.

  Meanwhile, Jackson’s car rolled up to the mansion.

  The estate was quieter than usual. He paused at the door, letting it swing open slowly, as if testing the air inside before taking a single step.

  The first step was met with a blur. Kyle lunged. Jackson’s hand met his brother’s strike. He caught his hand mid-swing with precision.

  “I see the game you’re playing,” Kyle said.

  “Is that any way to greet a brother returning from a long journey?” Jackson replied smoothly, his gaze cool.

  From the staircase, Isaac descended, arms folded.

  “So… you’ve been busy, I see. Are you ready for that chat? Or planning to run off again this time?”

  Jackson smirked.

  “If you wanted an audience, you should have just asked.”

  He walked into the dining area, poured a glass of his favorite scotch, and settled into a chair, legs crossed.

  Jessica appeared from the other room, pausing for a brief, curious glance at the three brothers.

  Jackson’s sharp eyes met hers.

  “You wanted to talk, right? Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

  He lifted the glass slightly, swirling the amber liquid, the room silent around him.

  Back at the precinct, the quiet was abruptly broken.

  Sarah burst into the lab, her voice urgent.

  “I found something! There’s… there’s something you need to see!”

  Hayes looked up.

  “What?”

  Sarah didn’t answer immediately. She unfolded a large sheet of paper and laid it across the table.

  A map.

  An officer sighed the moment he saw it. The disappointment was immediate.

  “Sarah… we already have a map.”

  Hayes narrowed her eyes. “Is that…”

  “Yes,” Sarah cut in. “The map from the flash drive.”

  Cannon folded his arms. “And what good is that supposed to do?”

  “At first glance,” Sarah said, forcing calm into her voice, “it looks like any normal map of GrayHaven. Right?”

  She paused.

  “Wrong.”

  A few skeptical looks followed.

  “I know I sound crazy,” she continued, “but look closer. It’s updated.”

  She placed their original city map beside the salvaged one.

  Hayes leaned in, tracing the landmarks Sarah pointed out.

  Top left: the Old Cathedral.

  Top right: the plant.

  Mid–bottom left: the warehouse.

  Far bottom right: the library.

  Hayes retraced the lines again, slower this time.

  “What used to form a square,” Sarah said quietly, “doesn’t anymore.”

  The shape had shifted. The angles were wrong.

  It was a parallelogram

  Cannon exhaled slowly. “So… does X still mark the spot?”

  Hayes picked up a marker. “Let’s find out.”

  She drew the diagonal lines across the updated map, the same way they had on the old one.

  The X formed cleanly, but the crossing point landed somewhere else entirely.

  Hayes froze.

  Her breath caught when she checked the location. The one place they’d never searched.

  “…The Docks,” she said.

  At the Grayhaven mansion, Jackson stood by the window, the city lights glowing beneath him. His phone rested against his ear.

  “They’ve found Dean, my lord,” the voice on the other end said. “His location has been revealed.”

  “Impressive,” Jackson replied calmly. “Where?”

  “The Docks, my lord.”

  “Hmm.”

  “The Order will be with him,” the voice continued. “That means the creature may show as well. A good opportunity to kill two birds with one swoop.”

  Jackson smiled faintly.

  “I agree. Thank you, Elena. You’ve done well.”

  “It’s my pleasure, my lord. Do take care.”

  The call ended. Jackson lowered the phone, his eyes never leaving the night sky.

  Somewhere beneath the Docks, Dean stirred.

  His vision blurred as consciousness crept back in. His arms were bound to a chair, restraints tight enough to bite into his skin.

  The room was cold. Dean's eyes glanced through what it could; Cables, machines, instruments. Too many. Too deliberate.

  This wasn’t a holding room. It was a workspace.

  Dean’s breath hitched as the reality settled in.

  This wasn’t an escape. It was an experiment.

  And very possibly… his last stand.