PART I — The Boards That Should Never Have Been Lifted

I used to believe the world made a certain kind of sense—slow, predictable sense. Insurance forms, policy numbers, mileage photos, signatures on dotted lines. A world you could measure, record, file away. Before Ethan vanished, the strangest part of my life had been my divorce—messy but not extraordinary, the kind countless Americans go through every year. Then my son disappeared, and nothing made sense anymore. Not the police, not the search parties, not my prayers, not the empty bed I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for finding him under the floor of my sister’s brand-new home.

After I lifted that first board and the cold, stale air hit my face, the world I knew slipped away like a mask peeled from skin. My flashlight beam cut into the darkness, trembling with my hand. At first all I saw was grime and dust and a patch of uneven soil.

Then the shape moved.

A small body.

A face I knew better than my own.

Ethan.

He squinted against the light, his eyelids fluttering like someone waking from a nightmare into an even worse reality. His cheekbones jutted sharply, his lips cracked, his hair longer than I remembered—matted, filthy, sticking to his forehead. A metal cuff clamped around one thin wrist, the chain bolted into a support beam. His bare feet were black with dirt.

“Dad…” he whispered, voice breaking on the single syllable. “Dad…”

My throat closed. My body froze. I don’t even remember breathing.

“Daniel,” Laura whispered behind me, trembling. “Oh my God—oh my God—is that—?”

But I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t process anything except that my son—my sweet, goofy, dinosaur-obsessed boy—was alive under my sister’s living room floor.

Lily clutched my arm. Her little voice quivered. “See? Daddy, I told you…”

I didn’t know how she sensed anything. I didn’t care. I was already ripping up boards, slamming them aside, splinters slicing my palms. Laura ran to call 911, her voice panicked and uneven. Lily stood beside me, shaking but refusing to look away.

“Ethan, buddy,” I choked out as I pulled up another board, widening the opening. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His eyes filled with tears—silent, exhausted tears that streaked through the dirt on his face. His body sagged with relief and terror both.

“Dad…don’t go,” he begged.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I climbed down into the crawlspace—barely high enough to sit upright—and my shoulders brushed the beams as I shuffled toward him. The cold earth soaked through my jeans. The smell of damp soil mixed with rusted metal and sour sweat. Every instinct in me screamed—my son had been here. Not for a moment. Not by accident. For months.

Someone chained him here.

Every second I moved felt like I was wading through concrete, panic slowing my limbs. I reached him and cupped his face, my thumbs trembling against his filthy skin.

“I’ve got you,” I said. The words came out raw. “I’ve got you now.”

His chest shuddered with quiet sobs. He tried to lean into me but flinched when the cuff tugged his arm.

“I’m gonna get this off,” I said.

The chain was bolted into the beam with a large industrial screw. The metal cuff was tight, too tight—the skin beneath his wrist was red and chafed, blistered in places. Rage rose in me, burning hot and directionless. Who did this? Who brought him here? Why? And how had my sister never noticed anything beneath her own home?

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

“Daniel!” Laura called from above. “They’re here! The police are here!”

“Tell them to hurry!” I shouted back. “He’s chained!”

Ethan whimpered at the noise. I wrapped my arms around him, shielding him instinctively from everything—even the air.

“Dad,” he whispered again, almost inaudible. “Please…don’t let them take me back…”

The words froze me. “Back where?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes squeezed shut.

The first officer crouched at the opening overhead. “Sir—we’re coming down. Stay with the child.”

No shit, I thought, fighting the panic that threatened to rip me open. They climbed down carefully, flashlights sweeping the narrow space. Their eyes widened when they saw the chain, the bruises, the truth too monstrous to ignore.

One officer spoke softly. “Ethan? My name’s Officer Donnelly. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay, buddy?”

Ethan stiffened and pressed into my side. “Don’t let them take me.”

“Nobody’s taking you anywhere without me,” I said fiercely. “Nobody.”

It took bolt cutters and careful maneuvering to remove him without worsening the abrasions on his wrist. Officer Donnelly draped a blanket over Ethan’s shoulders. The boy’s eyes darted around the dim crawlspace, pupils huge, breath shaky. He clung to my shirt as though he believed I might vanish like he once had.

When the officers tried to lead him out, he wrenched away and grabbed my neck.

“No! Dad, no—please—don’t let them—”

“I’ll carry him,” I said quickly.

The officers nodded. No argument.

As I lifted Ethan into my arms—his weight startlingly light, like carrying a bundle of hollow sticks—I felt his heartbeat pounding frantically against my chest. He buried his face in my shoulder. His fingers dug into my skin.

I climbed out of the hole with him clinging to me, his small, trembling body under the harsh lights of the patrol vehicles outside. Neighbors were gathering already on the quiet suburban street, drawn by sirens and shouts.

Lily stood on the porch, hugging herself. When she saw Ethan, she let out a tiny sob. “Ethan…”

He peeked out from my shoulder, his eyes confused, disbelieving. “Lily?”

She nodded. “I heard you,” she whispered. “I heard you crying.”

Paramedics guided us toward the ambulance. Ethan refused to let go of me, so they examined him while he stayed in my lap. He recoiled from anyone who got too close. He avoided meeting the eyes of strangers. When the paramedic touched his ankle to check circulation, Ethan flinched so violently he hit his head on my chin.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I murmured, holding him steady. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

But the paramedics exchanged grim glances. The officer in charge asked Laura questions—when she’d bought the house, who renovated it, whether she knew about any access points under the floors. Her voice shook as she answered. She kept apologizing—to me, to Ethan—though she didn’t owe apologies for anything. She hadn’t chained a boy under her home.

But someone had.

Hours passed. Statements, photos, evidence tape. They sealed off the house, keeping us in the ambulance until they arranged transport to the hospital. Ethan’s grip on my shirt never loosened.

When they tried to place him on a gurney, he panicked, thrashing, eyes wild. “No! No! Not again—Dad! Dad!”

“I’m right here,” I said, climbing onto the gurney beside him. “I’m going with you.”

He clung to me with desperate strength.

The paramedic nodded quietly. “He goes with you.”

Inside the ambulance, the sirens wailed, lights strobing through the dark. Ethan pressed his face into my chest, hands clutched in the fabric of my shirt as if anchoring himself to reality. Lily sat safely with Laura in the second car behind us, though I could still see her small face framed in the back window, eyes huge and unblinking.

The hospital was a blur of hallways, questions, tests. They examined Ethan with me sitting beside him on the exam table, my hand wrapped around his. He only released my shirt when he fell asleep from exhaustion.

A doctor pulled me aside.

“Mr. Harper…we’ll run blood tests and a full evaluation, but physically, he appears malnourished and dehydrated. There are signs of prolonged restraint. Some older bruises. We need to consult pediatrics and trauma specialists. It’s going to take time.”

I nodded, but the words barely registered. My mind was stuck on something else—when Ethan had said, “Don’t let them take me back.” Back where? To whom?

And why was he here of all places?

I waited by his bedside until he stirred again. His eyes fluttered open, glassy with confusion.

“Dad?” His voice cracked. “Is this real?”

“It’s real,” I said. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

His chin trembled. Tears welled again. “You found me…”

“Yes,” I whispered, brushing a hand through his tangled hair. “Yes, I did.”

He let out a shaky, broken breath. His next words were barely audible.

“She knew you’d come.”

My heart skipped. “Who?”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the door as if afraid someone might hear. “The lady who put me there.”

A cold wave swept through me. “Ethan…who was she?”

He hugged himself, curling toward me. “She said no one would hear me. But Lily did.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in.

I knelt beside the bed, lowering my voice. “Ethan…did you know her? Did she hurt you? Do you know her name?”

He hesitated. His lips parted. His breath trembled.

“She said…” He swallowed, voice shaking with every syllable. “She said she was going to give me back. When the time was right.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Give him back?

Back to whom?

“What does that mean, buddy?” I asked gently.

Ethan’s eyes filled with terror.

“She said she was almost done with the other one.”

My blood ran cold. “The other one?”

He nodded slowly. “She said she had another kid. And when she finished…she’d bring him here too.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. I tried to push down the rising panic, but my voice cracked.

“Ethan…when was the last time you saw her? How long ago?”

He glanced nervously at the ceiling tiles, as if expecting someone to crawl out of them.

“She came yesterday.”

My stomach twisted.

Yesterday…meaning she was still out there. Nearby.

And if she had another child—

Another missing kid.

Another victim.

Another secret beneath another floor.

I stood up, heart racing, mind spinning with fear and fury. Laura lived only fifteen minutes from my home. The woman who chained my son might’ve walked through my sister’s neighborhood yesterday. Might’ve watched us. Might’ve planned to return.

I looked back at Ethan—small, fragile, trembling under hospital blankets.

Then at the doorway where police officers spoke with doctors.

A single thought pulsed through my mind:

This isn’t over. Not even close.

And whoever that woman was—

She was coming back.

PART II — The Woman Who Walked in the Walls

The hospital room was dim, lit only by a single lamp above Ethan’s bed. Machines hummed softly, monitors blinking with heart-rate patterns that felt too fragile, too slow for a boy his age. I sat in the stiff plastic chair beside him, elbows on my knees, my hands clasped so tightly my knuckles ached.

I kept replaying his words.

She came yesterday.
She was almost done with the other one.
She said she’d bring him here too.

Every syllable rattled inside my skull like loose screws in a shaking frame.

I wasn’t a detective, but even I knew what those words meant—there was another child somewhere, being held by the same woman who’d taken my son. Another kid chained up like Ethan had been. Another terrified voice calling into the dark, unheard.

Except Lily had heard Ethan.

Some part of me refused to question that. Not tonight.

The door creaked open, and Officer Donnelly stepped inside. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight, shoulders stiff beneath his uniform. He shut the door behind him, lowering his voice.

“Mr. Harper,” he said. “We need to ask Ethan a few questions.”

I stood immediately, blocking his path to the bed. “Not tonight.”

He hesitated. “Daniel… the sooner we get information, the sooner we can track down whoever did this.”

“I said not tonight.” I kept my voice low but firm. “He’s exhausted. He’s traumatized. He’s barely spoken. You’re not interrogating him at two in the morning.”

Donnelly rubbed a hand across his face, considering. For a moment I thought he’d argue. But then he sighed.

“Okay. Tomorrow morning. Early. We’ll bring a child psychologist. Just… be ready.”

He glanced at Ethan—still asleep, still curled toward the side of the bed closest to me—as if reassuring himself the kid was real.

“We’re running a full search on the property,” he added. “Forensic team’s there now. The renovation company that worked on your sister’s house—Gaitlin Construction—we’re pulling their hiring records.”

My stomach tightened. “You think the woman worked for them?”

“We don’t know,” Donnelly said carefully. “But someone had to access the crawlspace while the home was open during renovation. The timing fits.”

Maybe. But it felt too easy. Too obvious.

Donnelly continued, “We’ve issued a BOLO—female suspect, mid-twenties to mid-forties based on Ethan’s description, possibly connected to child abductions statewide. We’re reaching out to surrounding counties to cross-reference missing persons.”

“Good,” I said. “But it won’t matter if she moves the other kid.”

His jaw clenched. “We’re aware.”

He turned toward the door but paused. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad your boy’s alive. Cases like this rarely end this way.”

Alive.
Yes.

But alive wasn’t the same as safe.

After Donnelly left, the silence thickened around me. Ethan’s breathing steadied into a faint, whimpering rhythm. I reached out and smoothed his hair back, my fingers trembling. His body relaxed slightly.

He trusted touch again. That alone shattered me.

Then—on the bench across the room—Lily stirred awake. She’d refused to sleep anywhere except inside the same hospital room as her brother. She sat up, rubbing her eyes with little fists.

“Daddy… is Ethan okay now?” Her voice was small, sleepy.

I nodded slowly. “He’s safe, sweetheart.”

She slid off the bench and padded toward the bed, climbing gently onto my lap. She stared at Ethan, her expression soft but troubled. Then she laid a tiny hand on his blanket-covered foot.

“He doesn’t sound scared anymore,” she whispered.

I froze. “You… you can hear him?”

She nodded as though it were obvious. “His crying stopped. Now he’s dreaming.”

A chill ran down my spine—not fear of her, but fear of how real her words had become.

“Lily,” I said gently, “how did you hear him before? Under the floor?”

She frowned, thinking. “It’s like…I heard him in my head. Not in my ears. Like humming.”

“Like humming,” I repeated softly.

She nodded again. “Like the house was sad.”

A cold shudder crept up my arms.

Before I could ask more, a nurse entered to take Ethan’s vitals. Lily nestled against me. The monitors beeped steadily. Ethan slept on, unaware of how many shadows circled him.

I didn’t sleep at all.

Morning came too fast.

Police, doctors, social workers—an army of sympathetic faces and professional concern. Ethan clung to my arm during the questioning, shrinking whenever the psychologist leaned too close. They kept their voices soft, patient, but every question seemed to squeeze something painful out of him.

“What did the woman look like?”

Ethan hesitated, voice barely audible. “She had dark hair. Long. Like…like a curtain. I never saw her face.”

“How old? Was she tall? Short?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she hurt you?”

Silence.

Then a tiny whisper: “Not at first.”

My throat tightened.

“What was her name, Ethan?”

He shook his head. “She never said.”

“What did she say about the other child?”

His eyes brimmed with terror. “That he cried too much. And she didn’t like that. She said she was fixing him.”

“Fixing?” The psychologist’s voice sharpened slightly. “Fixing what?”

Ethan squeezed my hand until my fingers went numb. “She said she fixes kids no one wants.”

My stomach churned.

The psychologist leaned forward. “Ethan… did she ever say why she took you?”

Ethan swallowed. “She said Dad wasn’t looking anymore. She said no one was.”

My vision blurred. I didn’t cry—but the guilt swelled like a bruise under my ribs.

“Buddy,” I whispered, voice breaking. “I never stopped looking. Never.”

He looked at me then, really looked—seeing something he hadn’t let himself believe until now. His lip trembled.

“You came,” he whispered.

I pulled him into my arms as the officers and psychologist watched silently.

Yes. I came. And now I wasn’t letting him go for a second.

But the interrogation wasn’t over.

---

Afterward, a detective named Ruiz briefed me on new findings.

Short, sharp, no-nonsense. She carried herself like someone who hadn’t slept in years.

“Mr. Harper,” she began, “we’ve searched under the rest of your sister’s house. No signs of additional modifications, no other hiding places.”

“What about the chain? The restraints? Someone installed those.”

“We found tool marks consistent with a single person doing the work,” Ruiz said. “Small build, not a professional. No fingerprints.”

“What about the renovation crew?”

“Clean,” she said. “None of them have criminal records. They swear they never worked under that section of the floor.”

“So she did it after the renovation?”

Ruiz nodded. “Most likely.”

“How the hell would she get inside my sister’s house?”

Her expression turned grim. “We found something else.”

She pulled out her phone, swiped to a photo, and handed it to me.

A damaged window latch. From the downstairs bathroom. Small enough for a slender adult to squeeze through.

“Entry point,” Ruiz said. “Probably used multiple times.”

My breath caught.

“She was in the house more than once?”

“We believe so.”

The idea of a stranger climbing into my sister’s home—into the space where my son was hidden—made bile rise in my throat.

“Why her house?” I demanded. “Why there?”

Ruiz folded her arms. “Your son was taken exactly one year ago this week. Two months after your divorce. Seven months after your sister put an offer on the house.”

“You’re saying that’s connected?”

“We’re saying it’s suspicious.”

My pulse pounded. “Are you implying Laura had anything to do with—”

“No,” Ruiz cut in quickly. “Your sister is not a suspect. There’s no evidence pointing to her. But someone knew the house was empty before she moved in. Someone knew how to access the crawlspace unnoticed.”

Someone planned this.

Someone watched.

Someone waited.

Before I could ask more, my phone buzzed. A text from Laura:

CALL ME ASAP. IT’S URGENT.

My heart dropped.

I stepped into the hallway and dialed. She answered on the first ring.

“Daniel?” Her voice shook. “You need to come to my house. Right now.”

“Laura, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Lily.”

Ice shot through my veins.

“What about her?” I demanded.

“She’s acting strange. Really strange. She says she hears something again.”

My lungs seized.

“Put her on,” I said.

Laura hesitated. “Daniel… she won’t come out of the corner. She keeps saying there’s another kid under the house.”

My skin turned cold.

“She says it’s not my house,” Laura added. “She says it’s your house.”

I couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“My house?” I repeated.

“Yes.” Laura sounded near tears. “Daniel… she says: ‘He’s crying for Daddy. He’s crying from under Daddy’s house.’”

My legs nearly gave out.

A second child.
Another hiding place.
In my home.

The line buzzed in my ear as Laura waited for me to speak.

“Daniel…?” she whispered.

But all I could see was the face of my missing son and the trembling words he’d said:

She’s almost done with the other one.

I closed my eyes and whispered the only thing I could manage.

“I’m coming home.”

---

The drive from the hospital to my house felt like navigating through a nightmare in broad daylight.

Ethan stayed with the doctors under police guard. I didn’t want to leave him, but if what Lily said was true, another child was suffering—right now—maybe minutes from death, chained in darkness the way my boy had been for twelve months.

And he was in my house.

My house.

The thought clawed at my insides.

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers turned numb. Every red light felt like a lifetime. Every turn seemed slower than the last.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, Laura stood on my porch with Lily wrapped in a blanket in her arms. My daughter’s face was pale, eyes glassy and unfocused.

She pointed at my house the moment she saw me.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “he’s crying really, really loud.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “Where, sweetheart?”

She pointed downward.

“Under your floor.”

I didn’t wait. I sprinted to the door, fumbling with my keys, shoving it open so hard it slammed into the wall.

Inside, the house was silent.

Too silent.

The air felt wrong—thick, heavy, humming with a vibration I couldn’t quite hear but felt in my bones.

“Where, Lily?” I asked without turning.

She pointed toward the back hallway. “Near your bedroom.”

My bedroom.

I moved fast, adrenaline burning like fire in my veins. I reached the end of the hall, bent down, and pressed my ear to the hardwood.

Nothing.

Then—

Scraping.
A soft thud.
A faint, muffled cry.

My breath caught.

There was someone under my house.

Before panic could cripple me, I ran to the garage, grabbed my crowbar, and returned to the hallway.

I pried the first floorboard up.

Dust. Cold air. Darkness.

Laura’s voice shook behind me. “Daniel—wait for the police.”

“No,” I said, ripping up another board. “No waiting.”

Another soft cry drifted upward—a child’s cry.

A little boy.

I leaned into the opening and shined my phone’s flashlight.

My stomach dropped.

There was a space carved out beneath my own home—freshly disturbed soil, a makeshift chamber, wooden beams sawed crudely.

And at the far end of the small dug-out cavity…

A child.
A boy around six or seven.
Chained.
Filthy.
Starving.

Just like Ethan.

His voice trembled as he lifted his head toward the light.

“Help me,” he whispered. “Please…”

My vision blurred.

“What the hell—”

But before I could climb down, something moved in the shadows behind the child.

A shape.
A silhouette.
A figure crouched in the darkness.

Someone was down there.

A woman’s voice drifted up, soft and chilling.

“You’re early, Daniel.”

My blood froze.

“I wasn’t finished yet.”

PART III — The Woman in the Crawlspace

For a split second, everything inside me stopped—my pulse, my breath, my thoughts. Just that voice, drifting up from the darkness beneath my home, coating every nerve in ice.

“You’re early, Daniel.”

My name.
She knew my name.

I leaned over the opening, crowbar clenched so tight my palm ached. The flashlight beam trembled as it cut deeper into the crawlspace.

The boy chained to the beam whimpered softly, shrinking back.

Behind him, the silhouette moved with unnatural slowness—like someone uncoiling from a crouch, or like something waking up.

I couldn’t see her face.

Only long hair—dark, straight, hanging like wet curtains around her head. She kept her chin lowered, shadow erasing her features. Her body was thin, slight—almost too slight, like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

But she was there.
In my home.
Under my floor.
With another child.

My rage surged so fast it felt like a punch to the chest.

“Who the hell are you?” I shouted, voice cracking.

She chuckled—or at least made a sound close to it. A soft breathy exhale, unsettlingly calm given the circumstances.

“That doesn’t matter,” she murmured from below. “What matters is that you weren’t meant to find this one yet.”

My heart pounded.

“Move away from the kid,” I said, gripping the crowbar like a weapon. “Right now.”

“You didn’t listen last time, either.”

The words hit me like a slap.

“What?” I breathed. “What the hell does that mean?”

She tilted her head—not fully, not enough for the light to reach her face, just a subtle angling. The hair slid across her shoulders in a long, pitch-black sheet.

“Your boy didn’t want to wait,” she whispered. “He kept calling. Crying. You couldn’t hear him, but she could.”

She.

My pulse stumbled.

“Lily?” I choked out.

“Yes. That little one heard them both.”

My skin crawled.

“How do you know about my daughter?”

A soft scrape echoed under the house—the woman shifting closer. I raised the crowbar instinctively.

“You think you’re the only one who can hear them cry?” she said softly.

The boy at her feet whimpered louder. He tugged at his chain, desperate, terrified.

I forced my voice steady. “Lady, if you come any closer to that child, I swear—”

She cut me off with a quiet sigh.

“You didn’t listen the first time,” she repeated. “So I had to keep your son longer. Had to fix him longer.”

Rage flooded my chest.

“Fix him?” I roared. “You tortured him—”

“No,” she whispered sharply. “Fixing isn’t hurting. Hurting is what people do when they throw children away.”

My breath hitched.

“You took him,” I said through clenched teeth. “You stole him. You chained him up like an animal.”

“Better than what waited for him,” she replied calmly. “Better than what you did.”

My grip on the crowbar faltered.

“What I did?”

“You stopped looking,” she said.

“I never stopped—”

“You moved on.”

“I didn’t—”

“You slept in your warm bed while he slept in the dirt.”

Her voice was quiet but cutting, slicing through every weak point in my guilt.

“You forgot about him. So I kept him until he remembered how to cry for you again.”

My stomach twisted. My vision blurred at the edges.

“Shut up,” I whispered.

She took another slow crawl forward—her movement wrong, her posture wrong, as if her limbs bent at angles a normal person’s wouldn’t.

“You should be thanking me,” she murmured. “Now you have him back. But I’m not done with the other one yet.”

The boy beside her trembled violently, tears streaking down his dirty cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered to me. “Don’t let her do it again.”

“Shhh,” the woman crooned, touching the boy’s hair with long fingers. “You’ll be perfect soon. He ruined the process coming early, but that’s not your fault.”

I nearly vomited.

“I’m calling the police,” I said.

“No, you’re not.”

Her voice was so soft but so certain that for half a second my hand froze where it hovered near my pocket.

“I locked the back door when I came in,” she whispered. “I know every inch of your home. I’ve been inside more nights than you realize.”

A chill ripped up my spine.

“Else how would I know where the little one sleeps?”

Lily.

My blood turned to lightning.

I spun around. “Laura—get Lily outside. NOW!”

Laura grabbed Lily and backed away, eyes wide with terror. Lily stared down into the hole, her small face pale and trembling.

“She’s lying,” I told them. “Just go.”

But Lily shook her head slowly.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “she’s not lying.”

“What?”

Tears welled in my daughter’s eyes.

“I saw her,” Lily whispered. “In my room. Last week. She was sitting on the floor. Listening.”

My legs went weak.

The woman giggled softly, the sound drifting up like smoke.

“She’s more open than you are, Daniel. She hears everything. Feels everything. That’s why she found the boy before you did.”

I wanted to charge into the crawlspace, to rip that woman apart with my bare hands, but the opening was too small, too tight. And the boy—God, the boy—sat right between us. A wrong move and I could hurt him.

Laura’s voice shook from behind me. “Daniel, the police are on their—”

A sudden, sharp metallic sound cracked through the crawlspace.

The woman had grabbed the chain bolted into the beam and yanked it violently, dragging the child closer to her with alarming strength.

The boy screamed.

“No!” I dropped to my knees. “Let him go!”

“You can’t have this one,” she whispered. “He’s not ready.”

“Let. Him. Go.”

“You’re early,” her voice drifted up again. “But I’ll forgive you.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Then she said something that punched every ounce of air from my lungs:

“I’ll let you trade.”

“What?” I rasped.

A pause. Heavy. Intentional.

“You want this one?” she whispered softly, fingers stroking the child’s scalp. “Fine. Then I take another. One who hears better.”

My blood turned to ice.

“No,” I said. “No, you’re not—”

“I’ll take the little girl,” she said calmly. “She’ll do nicely.”

Everything inside me snapped.

I lunged toward the opening with a roar—but before I could force my way down, the woman scuttled backward into the shadows, dragging the boy with her. The chain rattled wildly.

“No!” the boy screamed. “Help! Help me!”

I slammed my crowbar against the beams helplessly. “Let him go! Do NOT touch my daughter!”

But she was gone.
Gone into the dark.
Gone deeper beneath the house through some passage I didn’t even know existed.

The child’s cries faded, muffled by dirt and wood and impossibly twisted tunnels.

“Daniel!” Laura cried, pulling Lily back. “We need to get out of the house!”

She was right.

Because the woman wasn’t running.
She wasn’t escaping.

She was moving toward another target.

She was coming for Lily.

“GET OUT!” I screamed. “GO!”

Laura grabbed Lily, sprinting out the front door. I followed, nearly tripping over my own feet. Once outside, I slammed the door shut and backed away, chest heaving, sweat pouring down my face.

Lily clung to Laura’s neck, sobbing quietly.

“She’s angry,” Lily whispered through tears. “She’s really angry.”

I knelt in front of her, cupping her trembling face. “Sweetheart, listen to me. She’s not taking you. Ever. Do you understand?”

Lily nodded weakly, though her eyes remained wide with terror.

Sirens wailed in the distance—multiple units racing toward us. I didn’t wait. As soon as the first cruiser screeched to a stop, I grabbed Officer Donnelly by the collar.

“She’s under my house,” I gasped. “There’s another kid—she dragged him away—she knows about Lily—she knows my name—”

Donnelly held me firmly. “Mr. Harper, calm down—we’re going to—”

“No!” I shouted. “You don’t understand—she’s still down there!”

Officers rushed inside with weapons drawn. Detective Ruiz barked orders, her voice sharp and commanding.

Within minutes they found the opened floor, the hole leading into the crawlspace. More officers arrived. Floodlights illuminated the exterior. They prepared to descend.

But Ruiz returned minutes later, face pale.

“She’s gone.”

My stomach twisted. “What do you mean gone?”

“There’s a tunnel,” Ruiz said. “A narrow one. Dug out with tools or… I don’t know. It leads under the foundation and extends farther than we expected. We don’t know where it ends yet.”

The world tilted.

“She took the child,” Ruiz added quietly. “There’s no sign of him.”

A sound escaped me—something between a sob and a curse.

“And Daniel…” Ruiz hesitated. “We found something else.”

My pulse thudded painfully.

She held out a small object sealed inside an evidence bag.

My heart stopped.

It was a hair ribbon.
Pink.
Tiny.

Lily’s.

I stared at it, throat closing.

“She’s been in your house before,” Ruiz said softly. “Multiple times.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“We’re going to find her,” Ruiz assured me. “But we need everything you know. Everything Ethan knows. Everything Lily has heard.”

Heard.

My daughter trembled violently in my arms as Ruiz walked away to coordinate the search.

Lily whispered into my shirt:

“Daddy… she’s not far.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered back.

Lily pointed toward the dark tree line behind our home.

“She’s waiting.”

“Where?”

Lily swallowed. “She said she wants to talk to you.”

My blood turned cold.

“Now?”

Lily nodded slowly.

“She said… she’ll give you the boy.”

My breath caught.

On the air, carried faintly from the woods—

A child crying.

PART IV — The Woods That Swallowed Sound

The trees behind my house had always seemed harmless—thin Ohio oaks and maples stretching into a modest patch of state-owned woodland. A place where deer wandered at dusk, where Lily once collected autumn leaves, where Ethan used to pretend he was exploring uncharted dinosaur territory.

But that night, under the heavy press of cold air and police floodlights strobing across the tree line, the woods felt wrong. Dense. Watching. Every branch looked like a hand reaching out from the dark.

And somewhere in that darkness…
A child was crying.

Not loud. Not panicked. Just steady—broken sobs drifting on the wind, tugging at some instinct deep in my chest.

Ruiz lifted her chin, listening. Donnelly stiffened beside her. Officers reached for flashlights and weapons.

But Lily gripped my hand before I could move.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “she doesn’t want the police.”

My heart slammed. “How do you know that?”

Lily’s voice trembled. “She told me. She said if they come, she’ll take the boy deeper. Where we can’t find him.”

Ruiz overheard, her expression tightening. “Mr. Harper—”

“She’s not bluffing,” I said. “She’s already dug tunnels under two homes. If she disappears into the woods with that child—”

“She’ll vanish,” Ruiz finished grimly. “And so will he.”

The crying echoed again, clearer this time. A boy’s voice—small, terrified, exhausted.

Donnelly looked at me. “What does she want from you?”

The question pressed on my lungs like a weight.

“She told Lily she wants to talk,” I said. “To me. Alone.”

“No way,” Ruiz snapped. “We’re not letting you walk into the woods with a child abductor. She’s unpredictable. Dangerous.”

“She has a hostage,” I said. “And she wants a meeting. If we don’t give her what she wants, he dies.”

Ruiz paused.

The crying cut through the trees again.

That sound made the decision for me.

“I’m going,” I said.

“Daniel—” Ruiz grabbed my arm. “If she’s been inside your house multiple times, she knows routines. Vulnerabilities. She could have watched you for months. You walking in alone is exactly what she wants.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” Ruiz said firmly. “We coordinate. We surround. We—”

“No,” Lily whispered.

Everyone turned.

She clung to my hand, shaking.

“She said no police at all.” Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “If she hears them… she’ll hurt the boy to make you stop.”

A cold shudder rippled through the officers.

Ruiz swore under her breath.

I knelt in front of Lily, brushing hair from her face. “Sweetheart… is she watching us right now?”

Lily’s lower lip quivered.

“She’s close,” she whispered. “But she wants you to come alone.”

Donnelly cursed softly. “This is insane.”

“She knows Lily can hear,” I said. “She’s using that.”

“Or manipulating it,” Ruiz countered. “We don’t know what she’s capable of.”

I looked into Lily’s frightened eyes. She wasn’t confused. She wasn’t guessing. She knew.

Whether it was some strange intuition or something else entirely…
She knew.

I stood and faced the officers.

“I’m walking in,” I said. “You follow at a distance. Don’t make noise. Don’t announce yourselves. If she hears you, she’ll run.”

Ruiz looked torn—officer versus human being, protocol versus compassion. But after a long, strained moment, she nodded.

“Fine. But Daniel… if she moves toward you, we intervene. I don’t care what she wants.”

I nodded, though we both knew intervention might doom the boy.

And maybe me.

I squeezed Lily’s shoulders gently. “Stay with Aunt Laura. Do NOT come after me.”

She nodded weakly. “Daddy… be careful.”

I kissed her forehead, then stepped toward the woods.

The crying grew clearer with every footstep.

The forest swallowed the world.

The temperature dropped instantly as the branches closed overhead. The beam of my flashlight cut a narrow path through leaves and shadows, the police lights behind me fading until they were swallowed entirely.

Every rustle made my heart jump. Every crunch of leaves under my boots sounded too loud.

Somewhere to my left, twigs snapped. I froze.

Nothing.

Then—another soft sob.

“Hello?” I called quietly. “I’m here.”

Silence.
Then a rustle.
Then breathing—not mine, not the boy’s. Someone else was in the darkness.

My grip tightened on the flashlight.

“Where is he?” I asked, voice cracking.

A whisper came from behind me.

“Closer than you think.”

I spun, light sweeping the shadows—

Nothing.

Branches swayed gently, though no wind stirred.

“You came alone,” the woman’s voice murmured from somewhere unseen. “Good.”

“I’m not alone,” I said. “Police are nearby.”

She laughed softly. “No, they’re not.”

My stomach twisted. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she said. “They simply chose the wrong direction.”

My heart stopped.

She’d heard them moving in the woods. She’d tracked their steps better than they tracked hers.

“Come forward,” she murmured. “Leave the light.”

“No.” I kept the flashlight aimed outward. “Show yourself.”

“You don’t want that,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

I swallowed hard. “Where is the boy?”

A faint whimper reached my ears—from the right this time. I moved that direction, slowly, flashlight swinging with my steps.

“Stop.” Her voice cut sharply.

I froze.

“Put the light down.”

“Not happening.”

“He’s scared,” she crooned. “The light hurts his eyes. He’s been underground so long… darkness is all he knows.”

A fresh sob echoed—raw, small, real.

My chest caved.

Slowly—so slowly—I knelt and placed the flashlight on the ground, angling it so it lit a wide section ahead of me.

“Now step away from it,” she said.

I obeyed, stepping three feet back.

The woods swallowed most of the light. Shadows pooled between the trees, thick and shifting.

Then something moved.

A small shape crawled into the edge of the light—a boy, filthy, trembling, dragging a chain attached to his ankle. His face streaked with dirt and tears. His wrists red and raw.

He couldn’t have been more than seven.

He saw me and flinched backward in terror, expecting pain.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m here to help you.”

He shook his head violently. “She said not to go near you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said gently. “I promise.”

A thin, pale hand appeared behind him—resting on his shoulder.

The woman stepped just barely into the edge of the light.

Not enough to fully see her face.
Just enough to see long dark hair, thin limbs, bare feet caked in mud.
Her posture unnatural—hunched, twisted, like she didn’t know how to stand straight anymore.

“Daniel,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“You ruined my work,” she whispered. “Again.”

“That’s not work,” I hissed. “That’s torture.”

“Torture?” She sounded almost offended. “No. It’s medicine.”

I shook my head. My voice cracked. “You’ve lost your mind.”

She didn’t react. She crouched lower, placing herself protectively behind the boy.

“You came early,” she said. “You always rush. That’s why things break.”

My heart hammered. “Let him go.”

“No.” Her voice sharpened. “Ethan wasn’t finished. He needed more time. More fixing. This one too.”

“What does that even mean?” I demanded. “Fixing for what?”

“For the world,” she murmured. “It chews them up. It spits them out. Children no one wants. Children left behind. I find them. I fix them. I make them quiet.”

My skin crawled.

“You think chaining a child underground is kindness?”

She hissed softly—like air escaping teeth. “They stop hurting. They stop being disappointed. They stop expecting things. They become still. Perfect.”

My stomach lurched.

“You took them from families who loved them.”

“They didn’t,” she whispered sharply. “If they did, the children wouldn’t cry so loudly.”

My breath caught.

She believed it.
She actually believed she was saving them.

“What do you want?” I said.

She tilted her head. Her hair hid her face completely now.

“I want to finish,” she whispered. “But you keep interrupting. First your boy… now this one.”

“You’re not taking another child,” I said. “Ever.”

Her voice dropped low.

“I’ll trade you.”

A spike of dread hit my chest.

“Trade… what?”

“You take this one.” She nodded toward the trembling boy. “I take your daughter.”

My hands curled into fists. “Absolutely not.”

“She hears them,” the woman hissed. “She understands them. She’s more open than the others. She’s not broken yet but she will be, soon. I can fix her before the world does.”

“You stay the hell away from her,” I growled.

She stood slowly—too slowly—and the sight made bile rise in my throat. She was impossibly thin. Too long in the limbs. Like her joints bent wrong. Like she’d spent years crawling through tunnels instead of walking in daylight.

“Bring her to me,” the woman whispered. “I’ll let this boy go.”

“No.”

“Then I keep him,” she said simply. “And I vanish. And you never see either of them again.”

Panic squeezed my lungs.

“You don’t want my daughter,” I said, voice shaking. “You want control. You want to punish parents.”

“I want to fix what you broke,” she said. “All of you.”

“This ends now.”

She tilted her head again. “You think you decide that?”

I stepped slowly between her and the faint sound of the police somewhere deeper in the trees.

“You aren’t leaving with that boy.”

She smiled.

I didn’t see her lips.
But I felt it—like a ripple in the dark.

“I already have,” she whispered.

I blinked—

And she was gone.

Just—gone.
Vanished backward into the dark, dragging the boy with her. The chain rattled once, then silence.

“No!” I lunged into the trees. “COME BACK!”

Nothing but blackness swallowed my voice.

“DAMN IT!” I screamed into the woods.

Branches snapped somewhere ahead—footsteps. I ran toward the sound, heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I tore through brambles, stumbled over roots, shoved through thorn bushes, ignoring the cuts slicing across my arms.

The crying echoed faintly.
Then faded.
Then vanished altogether.

I was running blind now, following nothing but desperation.

Suddenly a hand grabbed my arm.

“Daniel!” Ruiz hissed, yanking me back. “STOP!”

“She has him!” I shouted. “She’s getting away!”

“We know,” Ruiz said breathlessly. “We heard everything. But you can’t outrun her. She’s moving underground.”

I froze. “What?”

Donnelly jogged up beside her, pale and shaken. “We found fresh digging. A tunnel entrance just beyond the ridge.”

“She’s using the woods like a burrow,” Ruiz said. “She’s been carving this place for months. Maybe years.”

My breath shuddered. “She’s taking him deeper.”

“Yes,” Ruiz said grimly. “And we’re going after her. But Daniel—there’s something you need to see.”

“What?” I gasped.

Ruiz hesitated. “Your daughter… she said something else.”

My blood iced. “What did she say?”

Ruiz swallowed hard.

“She said the woman isn’t alone in the tunnels.”

My pulse stilled. “What?”

“She said,” Ruiz repeated slowly, “there are more voices down there. More crying. Not just the boy.”

A cold wave crashed through me.

“How many more?” I whispered.

Ruiz looked haunted.

“She said… dozens.”

My ears rang.

Dozens.

Dozens of children crying beneath the earth.
Children no one ever found.
Children someone had been “fixing” for years.

Lily’s small voice trembled behind me as Laura carried her into the clearing.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “she’s very angry now.”

I knelt, my voice barely breath.

“Where is she?”

Lily pointed deeper into the woods.
Her hand shook violently.

“She’s waiting for you…
in the dark.”

And then she added something that chilled every officer around us:

“She says if you want the children back… you have to come alone.”

PART V — Where the Tunnels Breathe

The forest seemed to hold its breath as Lily’s words settled into the cold night air.

Dozens of children.
Some alive.
Some… maybe not.

Waiting in the dark for someone who might never come.

A tremor ran down my spine—not just fear, but the crushing realization that Ethan had not been an isolated miracle. He had been one of many. And the woman who crawled beneath our homes, who whispered about “fixing” the forgotten, was not finished.

Not by a long shot.

I turned to Ruiz. “I’m going.”

Her face tightened. “Daniel, no. Absolutely not.”

“You heard her,” I said. “She wants me alone.”

“She wants leverage,” Ruiz snapped. “She wants control.”

“She wants me to follow her,” I said. “And I will.”

“That’s suicide.”

“No,” I said. “It’s a rescue mission.”

Ruiz let out a ragged breath. “You go into those tunnels alone, we may never find you again.”

Behind her, Donnelly ran a hand through his hair, pacing.

“She’s been using these woods like a damn ant colony,” he muttered. “We don’t know how deep it goes. Or how many paths there are. We need maps. Ground-penetrating—”

“We don’t have time,” I said sharply. “She’ll move the boy. She’ll move all of them. She’ll bury them deeper, somewhere you’ll never reach.”

Lily clutched Laura’s sweater, trembling.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “she said you have to hurry.”

The crying had stopped completely—vanished into a blanket of thick, unnatural silence.

Ruiz’s jaw clenched. “We follow at a distance,” she ordered. “Quiet. Slow. As far as sound allows.”

“No guns,” I added.

Ruiz blinked. “Why the hell not?”

“Because if she hears a safety click or metal brushing a branch, she’ll think you’re attacking. She’ll panic. And she’ll use the children as shields.”

Ruiz cursed, but she knew I was right.

“Fine,” she said. “No gunfire unless absolutely necessary.”

Donnelly handed me a headlamp and a compact two-way radio. “Channel seven. Whisper into it so she doesn’t hear.”

I shook my head. “I can’t take it. She’ll hear the static.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re going in blind?”

“No.” I looked at Lily.
“I have her.”

Lily stepped forward, clinging to my coat.

“I can still hear the boy,” she whispered. “Faint… like he’s under water.”

“Can you keep listening?” I asked gently.

She nodded, though fear trembled through her small body.

“I’ll tell you if he stops,” she whispered. “Or if she moves.”

Ruiz frowned. “We’re relying on a five-year-old’s intuition? Daniel—”

“She’s the only reason Ethan is alive,” I said. “So yes. We are.”

Ruiz closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “We move when you move.”

I knelt in front of Lily, lifting her chin.

“Sweetheart… whatever you hear, you tell Aunt Laura. Not me. Not the police. Keep your eyes closed. Don’t listen too hard. Just… be safe.”

Lily nodded and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Come back, Daddy.”

“I will.”
I had to.
For Ethan.
For the boy.
For the dozens below.

I squeezed her one last time and turned toward the woods.

Toward the place where sound died.

The tunnel entrance was a jagged hole carved into the hillside, half-hidden behind brush.

Fresh soil.
Hand-dug.
Wide enough for a thin adult… or a desperate father willing to crawl on hands and knees.

I crouched, heart pounding, and ducked inside.

The earth swallowed me whole.

Damp air pressed against my skin. The tunnel sloped downward sharply, forcing me to crawl. My palms slid through cold mud. Roots snagged my sleeves. The space tightened with every foot forward.

Fifty feet in, the smell hit me—mildew, rust, stale breath. And beneath it…

Something else. Something sour.

Fear.

The passage opened slightly into a larger chamber—maybe six feet across, four feet high. Enough to crouch. My headlamp flickered across gouges in the dirt walls—finger marks. Scratches. As if someone had clawed here for years.

Something shifted behind me. I whipped around—

No one.

Just earth settling.

Then:
A faint breath.
Not mine.

“Daniel…” her voice drifted through the dark. “Move faster.”

My skin crawled. “Where are you?”

Silence.
Then a child whimpered—much closer now.

I scrambled toward the sound, deeper into the earth.

The tunnels branched like veins.

Left. Right. Down.
Each path narrower than the last.

I chose by sound—soft crying, echoing irregularly, sometimes close, sometimes farther, like the tunnels distorted distance. Every few minutes I paused, holding my breath.

And I heard them.

Not just one voice.

Several.

Sobbing.
Breathing.
Whispers.
Children whispering for help.
Children whispering Daddy?
Children whispering don’t leave me.

My stomach twisted so violently I nearly vomited.

How long had these tunnels existed under my neighborhood? Under the woods? Under our lives?

A scraping sound echoed from somewhere up ahead. Metal against stone.

Chains.

“She’s close,” Lily’s faint voice came through my mind—my memory of her words guiding me like a compass. “She’s waiting.”

The passage angled downward again, narrowing so much I had to lie on my stomach and drag myself forward with my elbows. Dirt coated my arms. My chest tightened.

I wasn’t claustrophobic before this night.
But I was getting there.

Then the tunnel opened into a chamber.

And I froze.

There were three children inside.

Two girls, one boy—none older than eight. They huddled together in the far corner, wrists chained to a rusted pipe running along the dirt wall. Their faces were dirty, hollow, terrified.

The boy looked up first.

“She said you were coming,” he whispered.

The smallest girl clutched his arm. “She said you’re the one who breaks things.”

My throat tightened. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you.”

“She said you’d say that too,” the boy murmured.

My voice cracked. “Where is she?”

A soft scrape behind me.

I turned.

The woman sat in the far corner, legs folded beneath her. Her hands rested on her knees. Her hair hid her face entirely.

She had been there the whole time—sitting silently, breathing silently, like part of the wall.

“You brought the light,” she said quietly. “I told you not to.”

“I’m not turning it off.”

“It scares them,” she murmured. “They’re used to the dark.”

“No child should be used to this.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You misunderstand what I’ve built.”

Rage surged inside me. “You built a prison.”

“No,” she said softly. “A refuge.”

“They’re chained,” I hissed.

“So they don’t run,” she said simply.

“They’re starving.”

“They’re quiet,” she corrected. “They’re not hurting anymore. They’ve stopped expecting things.”

I stepped closer, fists trembling. “Let them go. Now.”

Another head tilt. “You still don’t understand…”

Her hand lifted.
For the first time, I saw her fingers—long, bony, nails cracked and dirty from years of digging. She gestured toward the children.

“They don’t want to leave.”

One girl whimpered. “I want to leave.”

The woman hissed sharply—not at me, but at the child.

The girl shrank back instantly.

My blood boiled.

“I’m taking them,” I said.

“All of them.”

She rose slowly.

Her movements were wrong—jerky, fragile, like she’d forgotten how to stand. When she fully straightened, she pressed one hand to the ceiling, steadying herself.

Her hair obscured her face completely.

“You came alone,” she whispered. “Just like I asked.”

“Yes.” My voice wavered.

She stepped closer.

Her feet made no sound in the dirt.

“Trade me,” she said. “Give me your daughter.”

“No.”

“Give me someone,” she hissed. “Give me someone you won’t miss. You didn’t miss your son.”

My breath hitched. “That’s not true.”

“You moved on.”

“I never moved on.”

“You slept,” she murmured accusingly. “You ate. You worked. You lived.”

Her voice cracked.

“You forgot him in pieces.”

Tears burned my eyes. “I never forgot.”

“You did.” Her voice broke completely. “You all do. Parents… they forget. They walk away. They get tired. They give up.”

She took another step closer.

And for the first time, she lifted her head.

I saw her face.

She wasn’t a monster.
She wasn’t twisted or deformed.

She was a woman.

Pale. Thin. Hollowed by exhaustion and delusion. Dark circles under eyes that had seen far too much. Lips cracked. Cheeks sunken.

A human being.

Broken beyond repair.

“You’re sick,” I whispered. “You need help.”

She stared at me through tangled hair, breathing too fast.

“They forget,” she whispered again. “My mother forgot me. Left me under floors. Left me in closets. Left me in dark places where no one heard me.”

My heart dropped.

“Is that why—”

“They forget,” she repeated steadily. “Parents forget. So I take them first. Before they break. Before the world breaks them.”

Her chest heaved. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks.

“No one fixes children,” she whispered. “No one saves them. No one looks for them long enough.”

“I looked,” I said fiercely. “I looked for Ethan every day.”

“But you didn’t hear him,” she said. “Your daughter did.”

My breath caught.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“She hears things,” the woman whispered. “Like I do. She opens doors others can’t. She feels them crying. She’s special.”

“She’s a child,” I snapped. “Leave her alone.”

“I want to teach her,” she murmured. “I want to show her the ones the world forgets. You can’t protect her from her gift.”

“She doesn’t have a gift,” I said through clenched teeth. “She’s traumatized.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “She’s open.”

I stepped between her and the children. “You’re not touching her.”

Her breathing grew erratic—shaky, unstable.

“You didn’t come to trade,” she said. “You came to steal.”

“I came to save them.”

She exhaled shakily. “Then we’re done.”

She spun and darted into a side tunnel so fast I lost sight of her instantly. The children screamed.

“No!” I lunged after her.

But the tunnel collapsed behind her—soil cascading down like a living thing, sealing the path. Dust exploded into the chamber.

The children coughed and whimpered.

I slammed my fists into the dirt wall. “DAMN IT!”

Footsteps echoed behind me—Ruiz and Donnelly sliding into the chamber, faces drawn with horror.

“Jesus Christ,” Donnelly whispered, seeing the children.

Ruiz knelt immediately, checking their restraints. “We need bolt cutters! Medical evac ASAP!”

Officers poured in, helping one child after another.

But not all tunnels led to freedom.

Some led deeper into the dark.

“We need to find the boy she dragged,” I gasped. “He’s still alive. I heard him.”

“Daniel,” Ruiz said gently, “this chamber alone is a miracle. These kids—”

“No!” I snapped. “She has one more! A boy earlier tonight!”

“We’ll find him,” Ruiz promised. “But we need controlled search teams. Breathing equipment. Structural support. We can’t send you deeper alone.”

I shook my head violently. “He’s not far. I can—”

The ground rumbled under my feet.

A deep, shifting vibration.

Tunnels collapsing.

The woman was burying her escape route.

Ruiz barked into her radio. “Evacuate NOW! All units OUT! The ground is unstable!”

“No!” I insisted. “I can still reach—”

Ruiz grabbed my shoulders. “If you die, she wins. You want that child saved? We need a coordinated rescue. You can’t do this alone.”

The chamber ceiling cracked overhead.

Clumps of dirt rained down.

Donnelly grabbed my arm. “MOVE!”

Officers rushed the children out first, carrying them into the main shaft. I stumbled after them, choking on dust as the tunnels groaned around us.

We emerged into the cold night air just as the entrance behind me collapsed entirely, sealing the underground world with a deafening thud.

I stared at the earth, chest heaving, heart splitting.

She was gone.
And she’d taken the last child with her.

---

Hours later, as dawn broke gray and heavy over the woods, I sat on the back bumper of an ambulance.

Ethan slept inside one of the hospital vans, sedated but safe. Lily sat beside me, leaning against my shoulder, exhausted but awake.

“They’re quiet now,” she whispered.

“Who?” I asked softly.

“The children,” she murmured. “Most of them. Not all.”

My stomach clenched. “You mean the ones we rescued?”

“No.” She shook her head. “The ones still underground.”

A hollow ache tore through my chest.

Ruiz approached, her expression grim.

“We’ll be excavating for days,” she said. “Weeks if we have to. We’ll find the tunnels. All of them.”

“And her?” I asked.

Ruiz looked away. “We don’t know if she’s alive under there. If she is… she’s deep. And she knows how to hide.”

My hands curled into fists.

“We’ll find her,” Ruiz repeated. “We won’t stop.”

But her voice lacked conviction.

She saw the truth too.

That woman hadn’t built tunnels just to hide children.
She’d built them to disappear.

Lily tugged my sleeve.

“Daddy…” she whispered, pointing toward the woods.

My blood chilled.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Lily’s voice trembled as she whispered:

“She’s not underground anymore.”

I froze.

Lily stared into the trees with wide, frightened eyes.

“She’s watching us.”

My heart hammered.

“Where?” I whispered.

Lily swallowed hard.

“She said…
she’ll bring the boy back.”

Hope flickered painfully in my chest.

“But only,” Lily whispered, “if you come alone next time.”

My stomach dropped.

Next time.

Lily’s eyes filled with tears.

“She said she’ll call for you when she’s ready.”

The woods fell silent.

Completely silent.

And a cold wind drifted through the branches—carrying with it a faint, distant sound.

A soft crying.
A child’s voice.
Echoing just out of reach.

Calling for me.

THE END