The sea breeze had long disappeared, replaced by the cold, damp breath of the earth. Every step deeper into the Duckinghum Caves felt like crossing an invisible line into another world. Shadows danced along the jagged rock walls as Brendon's flashlight beam cut through the darkness like a sword. Beside him, Liam walked with hesitant, quiet steps, his breath tight and shallow.
Brendon moved with calm determination, the flicker of the flame from his half-burned cigarette fading as he pressed on. His mind was racing—not from fear, but from adrenaline. His instincts were sharp, his senses attuned. The missing teens. The strange symbol on the villa tiles. And now, the caves.
It is all connected.
Behind him, Liam nervously whispered, "You really think this is where they're being kept?"
Brendon didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stopped and exhaled, letting the cold cave air wrap around him like smoke.
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
Liam shivered and glanced back toward the cave entrance, already swallowed by darkness. "This place gives me the creeps. Locals say it's cursed. Haunted, even."
Brendon cracked a dry smile. "Yeah? Ghosts don't scare me, Liam. People do."
They continued forward, the only sound their footsteps and the occasional drip of water echoing from the rock ceiling above. Suddenly—
A sound.
Soft. Barely audible.
A humming.
Brendon froze. Liam stopped dead in his tracks.
"You hear that?" Liam whispered, voice trembling.
Brendon didn't speak. He raised a hand for silence, motioning Liam to kill his flashlight. Darkness swallowed them. But the humming remained—gentle, almost… childlike.
They followed it, moving carefully, their bodies pressed close to the cold stone walls. The sound guided them like a siren's call, deeper into the cave until they came to a bend.
Brendon stopped and held his arm out in front of Liam.
Just around the bend was a soft blue light.
He motioned to Liam—wait here. Then pointed at himself—I'll go. He finished with a gesture—if something happens, call Vinn. Get backup.
Liam gave a pale nod, clutching his phone like a lifeline.
Brendon turned the corner.
Beyond the bend, a large cavern opened up. Jagged stone columns rose from the ground like broken teeth. And there—sitting near a small lantern that barely glowed—was a young woman, humming to herself. Her back was turned to him, her long black hair tangled but clean, her shoulders wrapped in a shawl. Her movements were delicate, precise.
But what drew Brendon's attention most were the two bodies lying in the corner—unconscious but breathing. One of them had faint, scaly patches across his skin and short antlers—a hybrid.
Carlos. It has to be. Zoe's description of her brother is matching to this boy.
Brendon's jaw tightened. His muscles tensed. Slowly, silently, he moved forward, hand slipping into his coat to pull out the cuffs. He crept up behind her, step by step, every movement measured. He was a breath away.
Suddenly—she turned.
Her eyes widened. Brendon's did too.
"Amelia?"
He barely had time to react before she gasped and scrambled backward, knocking the lantern aside. Its dim light rolled and flickered.
She stumbled over her own feet as Brendon grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her.
"No— wait— please— you've got this all wrong—!"
"Save it," Brendon snapped, snapping the cuffs on. "You're not supposed to be here. You were marked as missing. Robert and I searched for you. Your uncle filed the case himself."
She writhed against his grip, but she wasn't strong enough to fight back.
"I'm not kidnapping anyone! I'm helping them! You don't understand!"
"I've heard that before."
"Just look at them!" she pleaded, her eyes desperate. "They were going to die in that place. I saved them! I fed them, took care of them. I'm not part of any cult!"
Before Brendon could question further, footsteps echoed behind them.
Liam, followed by flashlights—Marshall Vinn and a team of officers burst into the chamber.
"Drop her, Brendon!" Vinn shouted.
"She's in cuffs!" Brendon yelled back. "And she didn't resist beyond a few words."
Vinn approached quickly, his heavy bear frame towering over them, his owl-like eyes scanning the scene. He knelt by the two unconscious boys and checked for vitals. "Alive."
He looked at Brendon, his voice low but intense. "I was wrong about you."
Brendon didn't say anything.
Vinn stood, looking around the chamber, taking in the details. "You're still technically on vacation, but I'm not stupid. You were right. Something's rotten here."
Brendon gave him a tired glance. "Told you."
Vinn smirked. "Welcome back, Wolf."
---
The Next Morning
The hospital in Lagooncrest Isle smelled like disinfectant and warm blankets. Monitors beeped gently in the background as sunlight streamed through the window blinds.
Zoe sat at the side of the hospital bed, holding the cold, thin hand of her brother, Carlos. He was gaunt, skin stretched tight over his cheekbones, his antlers smaller than they should have been. But his eyes were open.
"Zoe…?" he rasped.
Tears poured down her cheeks. "Yeah. It's me. I'm here."
In the other bed, the second boy—David, another missing youth—lay resting, his body also showing signs of starvation but slowly stabilizing.
Their mother, Marina, stood at the doorway, a trembling hand covering her mouth. She didn't rush to Carlos. She didn't scream or collapse. She just stared at him, as if unsure whether it was real.
Brendon stood behind her.
She turned to him. Her lips quivered.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Brendon nodded. "He's strong. He'll recover."
She stepped forward and—unexpectedly—hugged him. A warm, motherly embrace that Brendon didn't return, but didn't pull away from either.
"You brought my son back," she said. "That means more than anything."
Across the room, Zoe smiled at Brendon through her tears.
That night felt like it had lasted a year.
---
Later, at their small house, Marina prepared a humble lunch. Stew. Rice. Warm bread. She insisted Brendon stay for one last meal.
He sat across the table, the steam from the stew rising between them. Zoe was quieter than usual, but not somber. Just reflective.
"You really have to go?" she asked.
Brendon finished his bite and nodded. "Ridgecliff needs me."
"But there's still so much happening here."
He tapped his phone, showing the countdown.
"Three days. That was my window. And in that time, we got Carlos back. That's a win."
Marina smiled faintly. "Still, it wouldn't hurt if you stayed. You'd be safe here."
Brendon grinned, half-mocking. "Since when have I ever been safe?"
The TV in the corner was still on—muted. A news banner scrolled across the screen:
> LORD ALARIC TRENSHAW RETURNS TO LONDON AMID INVESTIGATION KIDNAPPING IN RIDGECLIFF SPARKS GLOBAL CONCERNS
Brendon's eyes lingered on it.
"I hope they are coping up with it."
---
That Afternoon
The dockside was quiet.
A seagull cried overhead as the boat to England sat at the pier, engine idling. A few passengers boarded, tourists mostly. Brendon stood there in his trench coat, bag slung over his shoulder.
Zoe and Marina came to see him off.
"I'll be okay," Carlos had said, still recovering in bed.
"You better write if something happens," Zoe said.
Brendon gave a sideways glance. "You don't even know my number."
She reached into her pocket and handed him a napkin. His number, scribbled in blue ink.
"Now I do."
He let out a chuckle and pocketed it. "You're a sharp one."
"Stay safe, Brendon."
He offered a rare smile. "You too, Zoe."
The boat's horn echoed across the bay.
Brendon stepped aboard.
The wind picked up. The sea rolled.
As the vessel pulled away from the island, Brendon leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette, the flame glowing against the soft blue sky.
The Isle of Lagooncrest shrank in the distance, but the weight of what he'd found remained heavy in his pocket—notes, photos, strange leads. He knows this isn't over.
Ridgecliff awaits.