The walk back to Lagooncrest's residential district was quiet—at least between Brendon and Zoe.
They trudged along the gravel road, past shadowed trees and the empty hum of lamplight flickering against early nightfall. Brendon didn't speak. Not out of malice, but exhaustion. His shirt still clung to his back, torn slightly under the arm, stained at the seams with dried sweat and a whisper of blood. His mind wasn't here anymore.
Zoe walked beside him, head low, every now and then stealing glances at him as if to read what lay beneath his silence.
When they reached the Farrow household, warm lights spilled from the windows, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that clung to both of them. As Brendon approached the porch, the front door burst open before they even knocked.
"Zoe!" cried a voice, trembling with relief.
Marina Farrow, a woman of strong posture and soft features worn thin by worry, flew forward and wrapped her daughter in a tight embrace. Her hands moved over Zoe's shoulders, face, hair—like she had to physically confirm that her child was real and unhurt.
"I was so worried," Marina breathed. "You didn't leave a note. I called everyone I could. I even tried the ranger office."
"I'm sorry," Zoe mumbled, her head resting against her mother's shoulder. "I should've told you. I didn't think it would... I just didn't want to scare you."
Marina pulled back just enough to cup her daughter's face. "Honey, you're all I have left. Don't you ever do that to me again."
Zoe nodded quickly, biting back a welling tear. Marina drew her back into a hug.
Brendon stood silently at the foot of the porch, eyes lowered. After a long pause, he turned, not saying a word, and walked away into the dim evening.
---
Brendon moved like a shadow through the streets, still barefoot, his torn shirt letting in the sea breeze. He didn't head for home. He didn't even stop to clean himself up.
He made for the police station.
Something in his gut told him tonight wasn't done with him yet.
---
Meanwhile – Ridgecliff
The late afternoon sun painted the town of Ridgecliff in dusky gold as the assistant sheriff, Robert Kühl, stood on the polished stone steps of Town Hall.
His fingers rested on his utility belt, thumb tapping against the hilt of a baton he hadn't drawn in years. His eyes stayed focused—sharp, but relaxed. Years in law enforcement had trained him well: composure came first, especially in the presence of outsiders.
And today, Ridgecliff had an outsider of a very specific kind.
From the tinted-black town car parked in the driveway, a tall man in a trim grey suit stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards in dark coats. His hair was thin, and his narrow face bore the kind of practiced detachment typical of a career politician.
Lord Alaric Trenshaw, an envoy from the British Parliament, was in Ridgecliff for "diplomatic economic talks"—though Robert suspected it had more to do with the rising reports of missing persons around Lagooncrest.
Well history tells that Lagooncrest Island is sort of a political interest between two neighboring countries France and England. Both countries ever since 18th century is trying to take control over this little island. The reason is simple, control over English Channel. But to maintain diplomacy between these two countries all governments around the globe decided to give the control of Lagooncrest Isle to Wales.
Now may others think why this is convenient with current matter. Well that's because Ridgecliff town is an isolated town which shares border with Wales and England. And this town is on the last piece of land from England to Lagooncrest Isle.
Mayor Arnesto Guerio had insisted on hosting the meeting in person. "A show of cooperation," he had said. "No better way to reinforce trust than a handshake and a tour."
Robert had his doubts, especially when the mayor asked for additional presence around Town Hall today—even though Trenshaw's own men had arrived first thing in the morning and secured the perimeter.
"I trust you boys too much, Rob, especially Chief Victor Tyson," Guerio had said earlier that morning with a nervous chuckle. "It's just... these types of visits? They make me itch."
And now Robert stood here, watching the pair disappear into the double doors with a guard stationed at either side, trying not to itch himself.
---
Inside, the Town Hall conference room had been prepared with Ridgecliff's usual minimalist charm: wooden panels, iron-framed windows, and the town seal etched behind the mayor's desk. The conversation between the mayor and Lord Trenshaw was muted behind closed doors, but the room exuded that tense aura of men speaking in veiled terms.
Down below, Robert continued his silent vigil.
Then, like a whisper on the wind, a noise made his ears perk.
It was subtle. Too subtle.
The absence of something.
The front entrance guards—who had been posted like clockwork statues—were now gone.
Robert took a few steps toward the door, eyes narrowing. "Frank?" he called.
No response.
He reached for his comm device clipped to his shoulder. "Station 4, come in. I need confirmation on guards at Town Hall entrance."
Static.
Then the doors blew open.
Not with a bang—but with eerie silence. As if the hinges had been oiled by shadows.
A flash of movement—a black hood, a gloved hand, and then—
Screaming.
From inside the mayor's office, a crash echoed loud enough to shake the chandeliers.
Robert drew his sidearm instantly and charged inside.
---
When he burst into the hall, one of Trenshaw's guards was slumped against the wall, unconscious or worse, blood seeping from under his collar. The other was nowhere in sight.
The room was a mess of overturned furniture and scattered files.
The mayor was coughing, holding a bruised arm.
But Lord Trenshaw was gone.
"They took him!" the mayor gasped. "There was something—someone in black jumpsuit —they just—vanished with him!"
Robert's eyes snapped to the broken window behind the desk. A trail of scuffed floor tiles led to it, with rope marks suggesting someone had been pulled out.
Robert reports back to Chief Tyson, "Sir Lord Trenshaw is kidnapped."
"Dispatch!" Chief Tyson barked into his comm. "We have a Code Red. Kidnapping confirmed. Last seen direction—northwest window, Town Hall. I repeat, we've got a high-value target abducted!"
Robert turned to the mayor, helping him upright. "Get medical. Lock down the building. No one leaves or enters until chief gives the clearance."
Outside, cheif Tyson stepped into the street, his jaw set.
This isn't just a random act.
This is coordinated.
Connected.
---
Back in Lagooncrest
Brendon stepped up the police station steps just as the sun dipped fully beneath the horizon. Lights were on inside, but the building had that stiff, institutional quiet—like everyone was waiting for something to happen, but no one wanted to say it aloud.
He glanced at the closed doors.
His mind still whirled with questions: about the cult, about Zoe's brother, about his own transformation… and now, something else.
That old doctor he met—Vaelrick Grimm. There was something off about him. Maybe not dangerous, but strange enough to make Brendon's instincts twitch. Why was someone like that out in the woods tonight, of all nights?
Brendon stepped forward, hand on the door.
Whatever waited inside, it wouldn't be simple.
He had to find Liam. He had to report what happened.
But deep down, he already knew.
Tonight is only the beginning.