The day was growing warmer when Brendon returned to Zoe's home. The sun hovered high in the clear Lagooncrest sky, casting its shimmering reflections on the distant ocean. The coastal air was light but sharp with the brine of the sea.
Brendon walked up the familiar porch steps and knocked twice before opening the door. He was still carrying the satchel that contained his notepad, the miniature camera he used at the police station, and a small bottle of water he hadn't touched.
The door creaked as it opened, and he stepped inside.
"Hello?" he called, glancing around the quiet living room.
From the kitchen, Marina appeared, her apron still on, a soft smile on her face. "Oh, Brendon. You're back."
"Yeah," he replied, glancing over her shoulder, "Is Zoe around?"
Marina wiped her hands with a towel and shook her head. "She left a while ago. Said she was going to look for a job. She's determined, that one."
Brendon nodded, unsurprised. Zoe had always seemed the kind to never sit idle—not when her brother's life hung in the balance. He respected that. Needed that energy around him.
But what Marina said next caught him off guard.
"Can I ask you something?" she said softly, her tone shifting.
He turned fully toward her. "Of course."
She met his eyes, a strange glint of vulnerability behind hers. "Do you really think there's a chance? That Carlos is still alive?"
Brendon blinked. The question had come out of nowhere, slicing through the air like a blade. He had expected worry, yes. Fatigue, maybe. But this… this resignation, it didn't sit right.
"Why would you ask that?" he said, brow furrowed. "Aren't you… hopeful?"
Marina sighed and looked down at her clasped hands. "You don't know this island like we do. There's… history here. Dark history."
Brendon stood still, listening, intrigued but wary.
"People don't talk about it much," she continued, "but this place—Lagooncrest Isle—it has a pattern. Over the years, too many teenagers have vanished. Mostly around their eighteenth birthdays. And each time, there's never a clue. Never a witness. Just gone."
Brendon's throat tightened.
"I know it sounds crazy," Marina added quickly. "But… there's an old tale. A local folklore. About a witch that used to live in the northern woods, near Duckinghum Caves. People say she steals away the youth, takes them for some kind of ritual—something to preserve her power. It's just a story, I know. But after Carlos… and now Zoe digging deeper, I worry."
She looked up at him, her voice trembling slightly. "What if it's not just superstition? What if there's truth buried in all that nonsense? And what if Zoe—"
Brendon held up a hand gently, cutting her off with calm eyes.
"I understand," he said. "But I promise you—Zoe will be safe. I won't let anything happen to her."
Marina gave a slow nod, her expression not entirely relieved, but grateful nonetheless.
"Thank you," she said. "You're a good man."
Brendon offered a tight smile and moved toward the stairs. "I'll be upstairs for a bit. Just need to sort through a few things."
---
Upstairs in Zoe's Room
The room still smelled faintly of vanilla candles and ocean breeze. The walls were adorned with Polaroid photos—memories of better times. Her small desk was neatly arranged, papers stacked, a framed picture of her and Carlos as children placed front and center.
Brendon sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled out his phone.
He opened the gallery, swiping through the images he had taken in Liam's office earlier that day. Dozens of case files—faces, names, dates, and notes—all packed into photographs and waiting to be decoded.
He scrolled through slowly, his eyes scanning every detail. Most of the missing were teens. Some tourists, yes—but the majority were local. And one disturbing trend was impossible to miss.
"Eighteen," he muttered. "Why always around eighteen?"
Brendon tapped a photo to zoom in. A boy named Julian Martin. Went missing three days after his eighteenth birthday. Next—Selena Hughes. Disappeared two days before hers. Then Leo Ramos—on the day itself.
This wasn't random. It couldn't be.
Still, something gnawed at Brendon. Why hadn't anyone made these connections before? Did no one want to see the pattern?
He moved further down the list and paused.
A handwritten note caught his eye—barely visible at the bottom of one case file:
"Subject was last seen heading toward Duckinghum Caves."
His pulse quickened. He tapped forward through several other photos. Another note:
"Friend mentioned a plan to hike through Duckinghum with others."
And again:
"Sighted near northern entrance of Duckinghum trail."
Brendon sat upright.
That's it. That's the missing link.
He grabbed his phone and called Zoe.
---
At the Café – Minutes Earlier
The café was small but cozy, nestled on a quiet street not far from the beach. Zoe had landed the job with ease after a short conversation with the owner. Her first shift was nearly over. Her apron felt stiff and awkward, and her feet ached slightly from standing most of the morning, but she felt a little better just keeping herself busy.
As she wiped down the last table, she noticed a car parked across the street. At first, she didn't think much of it. But then her eyes locked onto the figure inside.
Her heart stopped.
Carlos.
She dropped the rag and stumbled toward the window, eyes wide in disbelief. It was him. His face. The same sharp jawline, the same curly hair—he looked a little older, perhaps thinner, but it was him.
"Carlos?!" she gasped.
She burst through the front door of the café, nearly tripping over the entrance mat.
The car was still there—parked by the curb. Her eyes scanned the sidewalk. No one was in the driver's seat anymore.
"Carlos!" she called again, her voice cracking.
She sprinted toward the vehicle, but by the time she reached it, the driver's door was wide open—and no one was inside.
Gone.
She turned around in circles, panic rising in her chest. How could he have vanished so fast? There was nowhere to run, no alleyway, no cover. And yet—he was gone.
Just like that.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Still catching her breath, she answered without checking the screen. "Hello?"
But it wasn't Brendon's voice that greeted her.
Instead, a harsh, unfamiliar voice hissed through the speaker.
"Stay out of our way."
The call ended instantly.
Zoe stood frozen, phone still pressed to her ear, her mind spinning in a cyclone of confusion and dread.
---
Back in Zoe's Room
Brendon stared at the screen in disbelief. The call had connected, but Zoe hadn't answered. Someone else had. And the voice—low, gravelly, chilling—had delivered only a single message.
"Stay out of our way."
He stood up quickly and stormed downstairs, heading straight for the front door.
Marina peeked out from the kitchen. "Everything alright?"
"I have to find Zoe," he said, already slipping on his coat. "Now."