In July 2013, 19-year-old Lily Brennan left her family’s strawberry farm in Milbrook County to deliver fresh berries to the farmers market wearing her favorite yellow sundress with tiny flowers. She never came home. The sheriff said she’d run off with a seasonal picker, maybe headed to California like young people do.

 Her parents found comfort believing she was chasing dreams somewhere beyond the wheat fields. Case closed after 6 months. another farm girl who wanted more than rural life could offer. But two years later, when Lily’s best friend, Emma, found that abandoned property off County Road 47, she discovered something that shattered the runaway story. Seven dresses hanging on a clothesline behind the house.

 Different sizes, different years of weathering, all from missing farm girls across three counties. The yellow one with tiny flowers was liies. What Emma found next in that root cellar would reveal that seven girls hadn’t run away to chase their dreams.

 They’d been sold like livestock by someone who’d been trusted on every farm in the county for 20 years. Emma Watts hadn’t meant to stop at the old Hendricks place. She was driving back from delivering honey to the farmers market, same route she’d taken for years, when she saw the clothes line. From the road, it was just a flash of color through the trees. But something made her foot hit the brake.

 Maybe it was the yellow. That specific shade of yellow that made her stomach clench before her brain caught up. The gravel track was overgrown. Branches scraping her truck sides. The house hadn’t been lived in since the Hendrickx family lost it to the bank in ’98. Everyone knew the story. Bad loans, worse luck. Then Carl’s wife died and he’d moved into that apartment above his repair shop in town.

 Emma parked beside the house, leaving her engine running. Two years since Lily disappeared, and she still found herself looking. Still checked every blonde girl at gas stations, still felt her heart jump at yellow dresses in store windows. The house was exactly what you’d expect: paint peeling, porch rotting, windows clouded with dirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 But the path around back was worn down to dirt. Fresh wear, not old. The clothes line stopped her cold. Seven dresses hung perfectly spaced like someone had measured the distance between each one. The first was blue gingham weathered to threads in places. The second a green shift dress. The third Oh god. Emma’s knees hit the dirt.

 The yellow sundress with tiny flowers hung motionless in the still air. She knew every flower on that fabric had helped Lily pick it out at Walmart two summers ago. It’s perfect for the farmers market, Lily had said, spinning in the dressing room mirror. Wholesome but cute. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.

 Tyler answered on the first ring. M, you okay, Tyler? Her voice came out strangled. The old Hendrick’s place off County Road 47. You need to come now. Emma, what? It’s Lily’s dress. The yellow one. It’s here. Silence. Then don’t touch anything. I’m 10 minutes out. But Emma couldn’t just sit there. She stood on weak legs, made herself look at the other dresses.

 A red jumper size small. A floral print that looked handmade. A white sundress with eyelet lace. The last one looked new, barely weathered, still had store creases in the fabric. She was photographing them when she heard something from the barn. A metallic sound like a tool dropping. Emma froze. The smart thing would be to get in her truck, wait for Tyler on the main road.

 But that yellow dress held her there. Lily had been here. Or someone who had Lily’s dress had been here. The barn door was partially open, hinges recently oiled. She could smell it. Inside, old equipment sat under tarps. But in the corner, a modern tool chest with the lid open. Papers scattered on the ground like someone had left in a hurry. Emma picked one up. Equipment maintenance log.

 Morrison Farm, September 2009. Signature at the bottom. Carl Hendris. The Morrison girl. Emma remembered her. Ashley, couple years older, disappeared right before harvest said she ran off with some college boy. Another paper, Holstead Farm, July 2003. Carl Hendris, the Holstead Girl.

 Jenna, before Emma’s time, but everyone knew the story. page after page, every farm that had lost a girl. Carl’s signature on everyone. Tyler’s truck roared up the drive. He was out before it fully stopped, running toward the clothesline. Emma watched him stop at the yellow dress, saw his hand reach out, then pull back, afraid to touch it. Tyler.

 She held out the papers. Carl Hendris. He was at every farm. Tyler’s face went white as he read. He fixed our harvester the week before Lily. He couldn’t finish. Emma’s phone rang. Sheriff Garrett. Emma. Tyler called me. Don’t let him do anything stupid. I’m 5 minutes out. But Tyler was already heading back to his truck. Tyler, no.

Garrett said to wait. Carl’s at the Brennan farm today. His voice was flat. Dangerous. Mom hired him to service the combine for next month’s harvest. Emma grabbed his arm. You can’t just He’s there right now. M with my parents drinking their coffee, looking at He stopped. They didn’t have any daughters left to look at.

 Sheriff Garrett’s cruiser pulled up. No sirens. He got out slow, but his hand was on his weapon. Took one look at the clothes line and pulled out his radio. This is Sheriff Garrett. I need all available units at the old Hendricks Place, County Road 47. and someone find Carl Hendris. Approach with caution. He’s at the Brennan farm, Tyler said. Garrett looked at him sharp.

You sure? Mom had him scheduled for today. Combined maintenance. The sheriff was already moving back to his car. You two stay here. Don’t touch anything. State police are coming. Tom. Emma held up the maintenance logs. There’s more. Garrett looked at the papers, his face getting harder with each page. Jesus. 20 years.

 He’s been doing this for 20 years. After Garrett left, Emma and Tyler stood by the clothesline in silence. The sun was getting low, making long shadows. The yellow dress moved slightly in a breeze Emma couldn’t feel. She loved that dress, Emma said quietly. I know. She wore it that last morning. Said it made her feel pretty.

 Tyler’s hands were fists at his sides. if he hurt her. Tyler. Emma touched his arm. Look at the dresses. Really? Look. He did. Seven dresses, different sizes, different ages of weathering. Seven girls, Emma said. But how many ran away over the years? How many did we just accept were gone? Tyler pulled out his phone, started searching local news archives. Morrison, 2009.

 Holstead, 2003. Baker 2005. He kept scrolling. 11 11 girls in 20 years that ran away during harvest season, but only seven dresses. They looked at each other, the same terrible thought forming. Where were the other four? Emma walked back to the barn, Tyler following. In the tool chest under the logs, she found something else.

 A small ledger, dates, initials, and numbers that looked like prices. Tyler. Her voice was barely a whisper. I think he sold them. The ledger fell from her numb fingers. Tyler picked it up, read it, his face going gray. LB July 2013. He looked up at Emma. No price listed. Unlike the others, Lily’s entry had no number next to it, just a single word in Carl’s careful handwriting.

Kept. Emma’s legs gave out. Tyler caught her. both of them sinking to the barn floor. Seven dresses on a line, four girls with prices, and Lily, who was kept. The sun set completely, leaving them in darkness with only Tyler’s phone light illuminating that single word.

 Kept, like she was a thing, like she was something you could own. She could be alive, Emma whispered. Tyler’s voice was hollow. Where would he keep someone for 2 years? They sat there in the dark barn, afraid to hope, afraid not to. Somewhere, Carl Hendris was working on the Brennan combine, probably making small talk about the weather, about harvest prospects, about how hard it must be since Lily left.

 Seven dresses moving in the night wind, four prices in a ledger, and one girl who was kept. The state police sirens finally broke the silence, but Emma and Tyler didn’t move. They sat there holding that ledger, that word kept, burning into their retinas, changing everything they thought they knew about how Lily disappeared.

 Tyler couldn’t stop staring at the photos on his phone. Seven dresses. Emma had taken pictures of each one before the state police arrived and sectioned everything off with crime scene tape. Now, 3 hours later, they sat in Emma’s kitchen with Sheriff Garrett, laptops open, building a timeline. This one. Emma pointed at the red jumper on Tyler’s screen. I know this dress.

 Ashley Corwin wore it to the county fair in 2009. She won the pie contest in this dress. Tyler pulled up the missing person’s report. Ashley Corwin, September 2009, said she ran off with some college boy she met online. The green shift dress, Emma continued, zooming in on another photo. That’s got to be Jenna Holstead. 2003. Remember, everyone said she went to Hollywood. Sheriff Garrett rubbed his face.

 I was a deputy back then. We didn’t even investigate, just assumed. The blue gingham, that’s maybe 2005, 2006. Emma was making notes. The floral one looks handmade, probably early 2000s. The white sundress with eyelet lace, maybe 2011. See girls, Tyler said quietly. Seven dresses on that line. Garrett pulled out the maintenance logs they’d found.

 Carl Hendris, every single farm. He spread the papers out. Morrison Farm, September 2009, right before Ashley disappeared. Holstead Farm, July 2003. Month before Jenna. Brennan Farm. He paused, looking at Tyler. week before Lily. All during harvest season, Emma noticed when temporary workers are common when strangers don’t stand out. Tyler’s phone buzzed.

 Unknown number. The text read, “Stop looking or she dies.” Everyone froze. Tyler screenshotted immediately before typing back, “Who is this?” Someone who knows you found the dresses. Sheriff Garrett was already on his radio trying to get a trace on the number, but Tyler kept typing. Proof of life. Show me Lily’s alive.

 Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Then a photo came through. Lily, unmistakably Lily, though thinner, holloweyed. She was holding up three fingers. Today’s date. The background was dark, maybe concrete walls. Emma gasped. Oh my god, she’s really alive. Another text. Stop looking. Stop now or she disappears forever. The number went dead. Garrett shook his head.

 The trace hadn’t been long enough. We need to talk to Dorothy Corwin, Tyler said suddenly. Ashley’s mother. She never believed Ashley ran away. Dorothy Corwin lived in a small apartment above the hardware store. When she opened the door and saw Sheriff Garrett with Tyler and Emma, her face crumpled.

 You found something about Ashley. Inside, Dorothy showed them a box she’d kept. Everyone said I was in denial, but I knew my daughter. She wouldn’t leave during harvest. She had responsibilities. She pulled out Ashley’s diary. Look at this. Week before she disappeared. The entry was dated September 8th, 2009. Mr.

 Hrix was here again to fix the combine. He’s always so helpful, Dad says. But he watches me. Not in a normal way, like he’s shopping, like he’s deciding something. It makes my skin crawl. There’s more. Dorothy said, flipping pages. August 15th. Mr. Hrix asked if I ever wanted to see the city. Said he knew people who could get a farm girl like me good work. Mom thought it was sweet.

 And here, September 1st, found Mr. H in my room. said he was checking the window unit AC, but my jewelry box was moved. Tyler’s phone buzzed again. Different number. You went to the Corwin woman. Bad choice. Every step you take, Lily pays for. Tyler showed it to Garrett. He’s watching us or has someone watching. Keep him talking, Garrett said. We’ve got better tracking now. Tyler typed.

 I just want my sister back. Then stop looking. call off the investigation. How do I know you won’t kill her anyway? A longer pause, then because I’ve kept her alive for 2 years. She’s special. Emma grabbed Tyler’s arm. That word kept same as in the ledger. Why is she special? Tyler typed. She reminds me of someone. The others were business. Lily is personal.

 Others? You found the dresses. Seven dresses. But your sister makes eight, doesn’t she? And there were more before the dresses. Girls no one even reported missing. Migrant workers, daughters, foster kids, the ones no one looks for. Sheriff Garrett was gesturing. Keep him talking. The trace was working. How many? Tyler typed.

 Does it matter? You only care about one. Stop looking and she stays alive. Keep pushing and she disappears into the same network the others did. Buyers don’t care about names. Buyers. The phone rang instead of another text. Tyler answered on speaker. You want to know about buyers? The voice was distorted. Electronic. Ashley Corwin brought 30,000. Pretty blonde farm girl. Very popular with certain clients overseas.

 The Holstead Girl was 25,000. Darker hair. Less valuable. Your sister. A pause. I had offers up to 50,000, blonde, young, that wholesome look they love. But I kept her instead. Dorothy Corwin made a sound like a wounded animal. You sold my Ashley. Who is this? The voice sharpened. Dorothy Corwin, Ashley’s mother. A long silence.

Then your daughter died in transit. Weak heart, they said. If it helps, it was quick. Dorothy collapsed. Emma caught her while Tyler kept the phone steady. You son of a Tyler snarled. I’m not the villain here, boy. I’m a businessman. Supply and demand. These girls wanted more than farm life. I gave them more. Just not what they expected.

 Where’s Lily? Safe for now, but my patience is running out. You have 24 hours to call off the investigation. Every cop, every FBI agent, everyone stops looking or she gets sold to the highest bidder. And trust me, after two years of training, she’ll bring top dollar. The line went dead. Sheriff Garrett checked with the tech team. We got a location. Tower Ping puts him northeast sector, 5 mile radius.

That’s dozens of farms, Emma said. Dorothy Corwin stood up, shaking but determined. I know every abandoned property in that area. My husband and I searched them all when Ashley disappeared. There are three with root sellers deep enough to hold someone. The Garrett place, no relation to you, Sheriff. The old Mitchell farm. And she paused.

 The Hrix family property where Carl grew up, where his wife died. Tyler’s phone buzzed one more time. Your sister says hello. She’s singing that song she always liked. The one about strawberry fields. Funny how they hold on to little things even after everything else is taken away. 24 hours. Starting now. Tyler stood up. We need to find her now.

 But Sheriff Garrett held up his hand. We do this right by the book or Carl walks on technicalities and Lily suffers for it. She’s suffering now. Tyler. Emma took his hand. Garrett’s right. We know she’s alive. We know he’s keeping her close. We know he’s watching. We have to be smart. Dorothy Corwin wiped her eyes. My Ashley is dead, but Lily isn’t.

 

 

 We’re going to get her back. Tyler looked at the photo on his phone again. Lily, alive, holding up three fingers. In the corner of the image, barely visible, was something that made his heart race. A partial sign, just a few letters. Kinsfar, Hendrick’s farm. He showed it to Emma, not Garrett. She saw it, too, nodded slightly.

 They knew where Lily was, but if Carl was watching the police, if he had sources in the department, they couldn’t trust anyone. Tyler’s phone showed the timer, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 15 seconds remaining. But Tyler wasn’t going to wait 24 hours. Not when he knew where his sister was. Not when Carl Hendris thought he had won. The pattern was clear now.

 Seven girls over 20 years. All taken during harvest. All from struggling farms where Carl was trusted, welcomed, treated like family. The perfect predator, hiding in plain sight, using his repair roots as hunting grounds, his equipment trailers as transport. But he’d kept Lily. That was his mistake.

 Because Tyler would never stop looking, never stop hunting. And now he knew where to hunt. The texts had been coming for two days, always different numbers, always knowing things only someone close would know. She still hums that song. Won’t eat meat anymore. Asked about you yesterday. Tyler kept his phone charged, volume high, waiting for each message like a lifeline.

Then this morning, everything changed. Meet me, Milbrook Diner. 200 p.m. Back corner booth. Come alone or she dies. Now Tyler sat in that back booth watching a young woman in a grocery store uniform slide into the seat across from him. Maybe 21, blonde with familiar eyes that made his stomach turn. “You’re Carl’s daughter,” Tyler said.

 Meghan Hris nodded, hands trembling as she glanced toward the door. I have maybe 10 minutes. He thinks I’m at work. Where’s Lily? Alive. Megan pulled out a phone with shaking hands. Don’t grab. Just look. The photo was recent. Lily’s hair was longer. She was thinner, holloweyed, but undeniably alive. She was sitting on a mattress in what looked like a concrete room, eating from a paper plate.

 “This was last month,” Megan whispered. “Last month? Why are you just now? Because he’s getting worse, more paranoid, more violent. Megan’s eyes filled with tears. I’ve wanted to help for so long, but I was 12 when I figured out what he was doing. He caught me looking at his photos. Said he’d sell me, too, if I told anyone. Tyler forced himself to stay calm.

Where is she? He moves her. Different properties. Never the same place more than a few days now that you found the dresses. Megan slid a piece of paper across the table. 11 names. Seven sold overseas. Three died in transit. Lily is the only one he’s kept. Tyler stared at the names. Ashley Corwin had a star next to hers. One of the three who died.

 Why did he keep her? Megan’s voice dropped to almost nothing. She looks exactly like my mother did at 19. Mom died when I was 10. Cancer. When dad saw Lily at your farm, something broken him. Or maybe something that was already broken got worse. That’s insane. He is insane, but he’s also smart. 20 years doing this and never caught.

 Megan stood abruptly. There’s something else. He has another girl now. Katie Summers, 15, grabbed 3 weeks ago from Harrison County. He’s keeping them together. 15. Jesus Christ. He keeps this one. I begged him to. Megan’s voice cracked. That’s what I told him about Lily. Begged him not to sell her. Said she could be like a sister to me.

 He actually listened. But the others. She pulled out a small notebook, pages filled with careful writing. Everything I could remember, dates, places, buyers he’s mentioned. There’s a whole network. They use harvest season shipping routes, equipment trailers with hidden compartments. Girls disappear from farms. Everyone assumes they ran away. And three states over, they’re sold to men who She stopped, unable to continue.

Tyler took the notebook. Why now? Why help now? Because he’s planning something. He’s been destroying evidence, burning papers. He knows you’re getting close. Megan leaned forward urgently. And because Lily won’t break. Two years and she still fights him. Still tries to escape. The others learn to comply, but not her. He’s getting frustrated.

 I’m scared he’ll kill her or worse, sell her anyway. He’s had offers. 50,000 for a blonde farm girl with two years of training. She spit the last word like poison. Tyler’s hands clenched into fists. Tell me where she is right now. I can’t. He’ll know it was me. But she hesitated, then pulled out another phone. Take this. It’s encrypted. I’ll text you when he goes on service calls.

 You’ll have windows of time. Small ones. That’s not enough. It’s all I have. Megan’s composure cracked. You don’t understand what he’s capable of, what he’s already done. Those three girls who died, they didn’t die in transit. They died in training. He went too far. And I had to help bury them.

 The diner seemed to spin around Tyler. You helped? I was 14, 15. What was I supposed to do? He’s my father. He’s all I have. And he said if I didn’t help, I’d be next. Tears ran down her face. I’ve been bringing Lily food for 2 years, cleaning her wounds when she fights back, lying to her that you’re still looking when he tells her you’ve given up. She knows we’re looking.

 I tell her every time I can. It’s the only thing keeping her sane. But Tyler, Megan wiped her eyes. She’s different now. Broken in ways that won’t heal. Whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse. Tyler showed her the text he’d received that morning with the video of Lily spitting at the camera. She seems pretty strong to me. Megan almost smiled.

 

 

 That’s from last week. She’d bitten him when he tried to. He was furious, but also impressed. said she was just like Linda, my mom. Fight her to the end. Your mom fought him? Different kind of fighting. She suspected.

 I think near the end when the cancer had spread to her brain, she kept saying things about the girls, about the barn. Dad said it was the morphine, but I think she knew. The encrypted phone buzzed. Megan went pale. That’s his tracker. He’s checking where I am. She stood quickly. I have to go. The phone will only receive messages. Can’t send. Too risky. When I text, he’ll have GPS coordinates and a time window. Usually 90 minutes when he’s on service calls.

 What about Katie? The 15year-old? Same place as Lily. He keeps them together now. Says they’re easier to control if they have each other to worry about. Megan moved toward the door, then stopped. Tyler, when you get her out, and you will get her out. Tell her Megan kept her promise. She’ll know what it means.

 What promise? But Megan was already gone. Tyler sat there for another 5 minutes processing everything. 11 girls over 20 years, a network of buyers, equipment trailers with hidden compartments, and Lily, still fighting after 2 years of hell. He looked at the notebook Megan had left. Pages of careful documentation, roots, dates, partial license plates, names of buyers, just first names or nicknames.

 But it was more than they’d had before. The banker, Chicago gym, the professor. Men who bought girls like cattle. One entry made him stop cold. July 2013. LB. Initial offer $30,000 from the banker. Dad refused. Offer raised to $50,000. Dad refused again. Banker angry. Dad says this one isn’t for sale ever. She’s family now. Family.

Carl Hendris had kidnapped Lily and called her family. Tyler’s regular phone rang. Sheriff Garrett. Tyler, where are you? Milbrook Diner. Why? Carl Hendris just filed a restraining order against you. says you’ve been harassing him, stalking his daughter at her work. What? That’s I know it’s  but it means he knows you’re on to him. He’s trying to get ahead of this.

 Tyler, whatever you’re planning, I’m not planning anything. Don’t lie to me, son. I know you met with someone. My deputy saw you. Tyler was silent. Was it Megan Hendrickx? I can’t. Tyler, if she’s involved, she’s complicit. She could be playing you. She’s not. She’s terrified of him. Or that’s what she wants you to think. Tyler, we need to do this right through proper channels.

 Your proper channels let him operate for 20 years. The previous administration is gone. I know. But Tom, he has connections. Someone in your department. Someone who’s been warning him. Silence on the other end. Then come to the station. Bring whatever she gave you. We’ll protect you both. Tyler looked at the encrypted phone, the notebook, the list of 11 names.

 I’ll think about it. He hung up and called Emma instead. She answered immediately. Did you meet her? Yeah. M. It’s worse than we thought. There’s another girl, 15 years old, and there’s a whole network, buyers, roots, everything. Jesus, where’s Lily? She couldn’t tell me. Not yet. But she will.

 Can we trust her? Tyler thought about Megan’s tears, her shaking hands, the way she’d said, “Tell her Megan kept her promise.” “We don’t have a choice. She’s our only way in.” The encrypted phone buzzed. A message from Megan. He knows we met. Diner has cameras. He’s going through the footage now. I’m so sorry. He’s moving them tonight. Both girls. I don’t know where. This might be my last message.

 If it is old Henderson property, Garrett Farm, or Mitchell Place, those are his three backup sites, root sellers at all of them. Find them, please. Then nothing. Tyler stood up, threw money on the table, and ran for his truck. If Carl was moving them tonight, they were running out of time. And now Megan was in danger, too. The network was bigger than they’d imagined.

 But it was also starting to crack. 20 years of careful operation and Carl Hendris was finally making mistakes. The question was whether they could find Lily and Katie before those mistakes got everyone killed. Megan’s notebook was a road map to hell.

 

 

 Tyler and Emma sat in the sheriff’s station conference room with Sheriff Garrett and two state police detectives going through each page. Megan had documented everything she could remember over the years. dates, partial conversations, license plates, phone numbers she’d seen written on scraps of paper. July 2003, Jenna H sold to Chicago Gym for $25,000. Trailer pickup at midnight. September 2009, Ashley C died in transit. Dad burned her things except the dress.

 

 May 2011, girl from Bakersfield, no name known, sold to the professor for $35,000. Detective Rivera from the state police looked sick. This is trafficking interstate. This is FBI territory. Then call them, Tyler said. We did. They’re sending a team, but Tyler, this notebook, it’s hearsay. We need concrete evidence. Emma pointed to another entry. Look at this.

 Equipment trailers modified by Jay Pollson. Pollson Welding cash only. That’s a real business in Harrison County. Sheriff Garrett was already on his phone. Judge Matthews. Tom Garrett. I need a warrant for Pollson Welding. Yes, tonight. Tyler’s encrypted phone buzzed. Everyone went silent. Megan, he didn’t buy my story. I’m locked in my room.

 He’s loading the van. Has both girls. I can hear Katie crying. Tyler typed on his regular phone, showing it to the others. Ask her where the response came quick. Don’t know, but he’s on the phone with someone. Keep hearing midnight and usual spot. There’s a buyer coming tonight. Rivera grabbed her radio. All units, Carl Hendrickx is mobile with two hostages, white van, license plate. She looked at Garrett.

KRM5847. Garrett supplied. No approach. Surveillance only. Suspect is armed and has hostages. Another message from Megan. Found old shipping manifests in his closet. Taking photos. Images started coming through. Shipping documents for farm equipment, but the weights were wrong.

 A combine header that supposedly weighed 500 lb more than standard. A corn planter with an extra 300 lb. human cargo,” Rivera said quietly. He was weighing them and adding it to the equipment weight. “More images, photos of girls, some Tyler recognized from missing posters over the years, others he didn’t. All were young, all from farm communities across three states. Each photo had information written on the back, height, weight, age, price.

” Then Megan sent something that made everyone freeze. A current photo of Carl’s phone screen taken from a distance. A text conversation visible. Package ready for transport. Two units. Premium quality. Confirmed. Midnight at location three. $75,000 for both. No special one not for sale. $100,000 for both. One only. $50,000. Take it or leave it. Fine.

 The young one then. Midnight. Tyler stood up so fast his chair fell over. He’s selling Katie tonight. Keeping Lily. Rivera was already mobilizing. We need to find location three. Garrett pulled out a map. Based on the past locations Megan mentioned and the routes we know he uses, Emma had been quiet going through the notebook.

 Wait, look at this. She showed them a page where Megan had drawn a rough map. Three X marks. She labeled them. Location one is the old drive-in theater off Route 49. Location two is the abandoned grain elevator near Milbrook. Location 3 in, she pointed. The old Bracken Ridge Supply Depot closed 5 years ago.

 Perfect for truck access isolated multiple exits. That’s 15 minutes from here, Garrett said. Rivera checked her watch. It’s 10:30. We have 90 minutes. Another message from Megan. He’s leaving. white van. Katie in back drugged. Lily fighting him. He hit her with something. Both in back now. I’m going to follow. No, Tyler said out loud, even though she couldn’t hear. Don’t follow.

 

 

 Too dangerous. He’s my father. He won’t hurt me. And someone needs to know where Lily ends up if this goes wrong. Sheriff Garrett was coordinating units. I want roadblocks here, here, and here, but not visible. Let him get to the depot. We take him there. What about the buyer? Rivera asked. We take them both. Tyler’s phone rang. Unknown number.

 He answered on speaker. You think you’re smart? Carl’s voice, calm but cold. Getting my daughter to spy on me. She’s not as clever as she thinks. I’ve known about her little rebellion for months. Where’s Lily? Safe where she belongs with family. She’s not your family, you sick. She’s more my family than yours ever was.

 You people letting her work those fields, wasting her beauty on farmwork. She was meant for better things. You mean meant to be sold? A pause. I never sold her. Never would. She’s special. Like your wife was special. The silence stretched dangerous and long. Then you have no idea what you’re talking about. Megan told us Lily looks just like Linda.

Megan doesn’t know anything. She knows you’ve been trafficking girls for 20 years. She knows about the network, the buyers, Chicago gym, the professor, the banker. Another long pause. If you know all that, then you know I’m protected. You know there are people higher up who won’t let this come to light.

 Who? Who’s protecting you? A laugh. You think I survived 20 years by myself? your precious sheriff’s department, your state police. There are people on my payroll you’d never suspect. Rivera was gesturing frantically, mouththing, keep him talking. The trace was working. Then why run? Tyler asked.

 Why move the girls tonight? Because every network needs restructuring. Sometimes the old roots are compromised. Time for new management, new methods. You’re selling Katie to someone tonight. Katie? Is that what she told you her name was? These girls lie, you know, make up soba stories, try to manipulate you. In the background of the call, Tyler could hear muffled crying.

 Then Lily’s voice, faint but clear. Tyler, Tyler, I’m a sound of impact. Silence. She never learns, Carl said conversationally. Two years and still fighting. It’s admirable. Really? Linda was the same way. Did you kill your wife, too? Cancer killed my wife. I tried to save her. Everything I’ve done has been to save her. She’s dead, Carl.

 No, she lives on in Lily in the life we’re building together. Tyler wanted to vomit. Rivera showed him her phone. They had the location. Carl was heading toward the depot. Carl, let them go. Both of them. It’s over. It’s never over. You took my daughter from me. Turned her against me. So, I’ll keep yours. Fair trade. The line went dead.

 Rivera was already moving. All units converge on Bracken Ridge depot. Approach silent. We go in at 11:45. Tyler grabbed his jacket. I’m coming. No, you’re a civilian. That’s my sister. Sheriff Garrett stepped in. Tyler rides with me. Stays in the vehicle. That’s the deal. As they raced toward the depot, Tyler’s encrypted phone buzzed one last time. Megan following a distance. He doesn’t know.

There’s a semi-truck already at the depot. Illinois plates. The buyer’s early then. I’m so sorry for everything. Tell Lily I tried. Tell her I kept my promise. The phone went dead. No more messages came through. As they approached the depot, all lights off. Tyler could see the white van parked next to a semi-truck. Two figures standing between the vehicles, Carl and another man, negotiating.

 In the back of that van were two girls, one who’d been missing for 2 years, one who’d only been gone 3 weeks. The clock on the dashboard read 11:43. In 2 minutes, they’d make their move. In 2 minutes, this would all be over, or it would all go terribly wrong. Tyler gripped the door handle, ready to run the second Garrett gave the signal.

 Somewhere in that van, Lily was waiting, still fighting, still believing he’d find her. “Hold on, Lily,” he whispered. “Just hold on.” Tyler sat in Sheriff Garrett’s cruiser, watching the depot through binoculars. Carl’s white van was parked next to a semi-truck. The buyer, a heavy set man in his 50s, was checking his watch impatiently.

 Where’s Carl? Garrett muttered. Rivera’s voice crackled over the radio. All units hold. Wait for the transaction. Tyler’s encrypted phone lit up. Megan. Dad’s at the depot. Just saw him go into the warehouse. He always checks the girls before showing them. Can you see inside? No, but he keeps them sedated for transport. Medical grade drugs.

 That’s how he moves them without anyone noticing. Tyler watched Carl emerge from the warehouse, walking toward the van. He was carrying something, a small case, probably the sedatives. “He’s preparing them for transport,” Tyler told Garrett. Rivera’s voice. “We move when he opens the van. Need visual confirmation of the girls.” Carl approached the buyer.

 Tyler could see them talking, the buyer gesturing angrily. Some disagreement about price or terms. Megan texted again. I’m in his workshop. Found something. A photo came through. Polaroids hidden in an equipment panel. Dozens of them. Girls Tyler recognized from missing posters spanning two decades. Each photo labeled with dates and prices.

 Then another photo that made Tyler’s blood freeze. Lily taken recently unconscious on a medical table. There’s more. Megan sent the safe behind the false panel. Mom’s birthday, March 15th. Everything’s in there. 20 years of evidence. Tyler made a decision. I need to get to the workshop. Not now, Garrett said. We’re about to.

 Carl was opening the van’s rear doors through the binoculars. Tyler could see inside. Katie Summers, unconscious, tied up. But just her. Where was Lily? Only one girl, Tyler said. Where’s my sister? Rivera ordered. Move in now. Police vehicles converged from three directions, lights blazing. Carl spun around, saw them coming, and ran toward the warehouse.

The buyer dropped to his knees immediately, hands up. “Don’t shoot,” Carl yelled, hands visible, but still backing toward the warehouse. “You don’t understand. There are more girls. I’ll tell you where.” “Stop moving,” Rivera commanded. “The supplier will kill them all if you take me. There are protocols.” dead man switches.

 He reached into his pocket. Multiple officers thought he was drawing a weapon. The shots were almost simultaneous. Three officers fired. Carl went down hard, blood spreading across his shirt. “No!” Tyler screamed, jumping from the cruiser. “We need him alive!” He ran to Carl, who was gasping, dying, blood bubbled from his mouth.

 “Where’s Lily?” Tyler grabbed his shoulders. “Where is she?” Carl’s eyes were already glazing. Safe. Where she belongs? Where? Where? But Carl was gone. His secrets dying with him. Tyler stood up covered in Carl’s blood. Rage and despair fighting in his chest. Katie was safe in the van. But Lily was still missing. His phone buzzed. Megan.

 Dad’s dead, isn’t he? I heard the shots from here. Yes. He didn’t tell us where Lily is. I know where she is. The Mitchell farm, second root seller behind a false wall. He showed me once when he was drunk. Said it was for his special projects. Tyler, there’s another girl there, too.

 Sarah, he’s had her for 8 months. Tyler was already running back to Garrett’s cruiser, Mitchell Farm. Now, as they raced through the night, Megan kept texting. Dad kept his special ones separate, the ones he’d never sell. I should have told someone. I should have just meet us there. Tyler texted back. The Mitchell farm looked abandoned in the darkness.

 They’d searched it before, found nothing, but Megan was already there, standing by the root cellar entrance. Down here, she said, leading them into the first chamber. Empty as before, but she pressed on a section of concrete wall and it swung inward. The smell hit first. Then they heard it. Someone crying. weak, exhausted sobs. Tyler pushed past Megan, his flashlight illuminating the hidden chamber. Two cells.

 

 

 In one, a girl he didn’t recognize. Must be Sarah, sitting in the corner, rocking and humming. In the other, Lily. She was chained to the wall, so thin he could see every bone, but alive. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, no recognition. Then, barely a whisper. Tyler, is this real? Yeah, it’s real. We’re getting you out.

 Garrett had bolt cutters breaking the chains while Tyler held his sister. She weighed nothing. Behind them, Megan was coaxing Sarah out of her cell, the girl moving like a broken doll. “Is he dead?” Lily asked as Tyler carried her up into the night air. “Yes?” Something shifted in her face. “Not relief, not joy, just acknowledgement. There are others, she whispered. Other girls, he told me about them. The ones he sold.

 Some are still alive, still trapped. We’ll find them, Tyler promised. No, you won’t. Not without him. Her voice was fading. But Megan knows things. She knows more than she told you. Tyler looked at Megan, who was helping Sarah into an ambulance. She met his eyes and nodded slightly. Yes, she knew more. The question was whether she’d finally tell it all.

 As the ambulances pulled away with both girls, Rivera approached Tyler. We found everything in Carl’s safe. Ledgers, photos, videos, 20 years of evidence. We can track the buyers, maybe find some of the girls. Tyler nodded, but he was thinking about what Lily had said. Megan knew things.

 Carl’s daughter had been his unwilling accomplice for years. How many secrets was she still keeping? At the hospital, as Lily and Sarah were rushed into treatment, Megan sat down in the waiting room and began to write. Pages and pages of names, dates, locations, everything she’d been too terrified to tell while her father lived.

 “This is everyone I remember,” she told Rivera. “Every buyer who visited, every girl I saw, every property he mentioned.” She paused. There’s someone called the supplier, dad’s partner. I don’t know who, but they’re still out there, and they know about Lily. Tyler stood by the window of room 315, watching his sister sleep, finally safe, but broken beyond recognition.

 They’d found her, saved her, but the cost was written in every scar, every bone visible through her skin, every nightmare that would haunt her forever. Carl was dead, but his network lived on, and somewhere out there, the supplier was already making new plans. The hospital smelled like bleach and exhaustion. Tyler sat in the waiting room,

 Emma beside him, watching the clock tick, past 3:00 a.m., it had been 4 hours since the ambulances brought Lily and Sarah in from the Mitchell farm. Megan emerged from the hallway, still in her grocery store uniform, now filthy from the root cellar. Her hands shook as she held two cups of coffee. “The doctors let me see them,” she said, voice hollow. “There, they’re alive.” “But Tyler, 2 years, two years of hell.” And Sarah, 8 months.

“Can I see her?” Tyler stood up. Room 315. She’s sedated. They had to. She kept fighting them. thought they were. Megan trailed off. She thought they were Carl. Through the small window, Tyler saw his sister in proper light for the first time since the rescue. So thin he could count every bone. Hair hacked short and uneven.

 Arms covered in scars both old and fresh. IVs in both arms, monitors tracking her weak heartbeat. “She looks,” Emma couldn’t finish. “Dead,” Tyler said flatly. “She looks dead.” In room 316, they could hear Sarah’s constant humming. One note, endless like a broken machine. Sheriff Garrett arrived, grim-faced. The FBI wants statements from everyone. Rivera’s setting up a command center. This is bigger than just Carl now.

 Megan sat down heavily. There’s something I need to tell you about the supplier. Everyone turned to her. Dad had a partner, someone he called the supplier. I only heard the name a few times. Always when he was drunk or angry. Said it was his insurance policy.

 Someone who could take over if anything happened to him. Who? Garrett demanded. I don’t know, but they came to the house once maybe 6 months ago. Dad made me stay in my room, but I listened through the vent. Megan’s voice dropped. It was a woman. Local accent. She knew about Lily. Said dad was getting too attached, too sloppy. Tyler’s phone buzzed. Unknown number. Carl’s dead. The girls are recovered.

 Stop now or lose everything. The supplier. He showed it to Garrett, who immediately called Rivera. Within an hour, the hospital was crawling with FBI agents. They moved Lily and Sarah to a secure wing. Guards posted at every entrance. Whoever this supplier is, Rivera said, they know our moves. Could be law enforcement. Could be someone at the hospital. We trust no one outside this room. Days passed in a blur.

 Lily drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes recognizing Tyler, sometimes screaming for help from people who weren’t there. Sarah hadn’t stopped humming. The doctors said it was a coping mechanism, her mind’s way of drowning out memories. On the third day, Lily woke fully, cleareyed for the first time. Tyler. He grabbed her hand. I’m here. Is he dead? Yes, Carl’s dead.

 The police shot him at the depot. She processed this slowly. The others? The girls he sold. Are they? We’re looking. FBI has the records from his safe. We’ll find them. No, you won’t. Her voice was certain. The supplier has them now or had them killed. Loose ends. How do you know about the supplier? Lily’s eyes went distant.

 She visited sometimes, checked on the inventory, never saw her face clearly, but her voice, teacher voice, like she was disappointed in you. A teacher or someone who sounds like one, educated, proper grammar, even when angry. Lily tried to sit up too weak. Tyler, she has lists, names of girls Carl was watching, girls he hadn’t taken yet. Rivera entered the room.

 We found seven bodies at Carl’s properties, all female, various stages of decomposition, some dating back 15 years. Lily closed her eyes. Jennifer, Monica, Bethany, Alice, three others. He never told me their names. He made me help bury Jennifer. Said it was a lesson about what happened to girls who fought too much. The room went silent. There’s more, Lily continued.

 The supplier has buyers Carl didn’t know about. International connections. Carl was small-time compared to her operation. That night, while Tyler slept in the chair beside Lily’s bed, someone entered Sarah’s room. The cameras mysteriously glitched for 3 minutes. When they came back online, there was a note on Sarah’s pillow. You saw my face. Speak and die.

Stay silent and live. the supplier. Sarah was alive but terrified, rocking back and forth, her humming now frantic. Megan found her first, tried to calm her. Sarah grabbed Megan’s hand, tapping frantically. Their code, one tap for yes, two for no. Did you see who it was? Megan asked. One tap. Yes.

 Do you know them? One tap. Yes. Will you tell us? Two taps. No. Then Sarah pointed at the note, at the word die. Rivera wanted to push, but Megan stopped her. She’s terrified, and she’s right to be. Whoever this is got past FBI security like it was nothing. Tyler stood guard over both rooms now, not trusting anyone else. But Lily seemed unsurprised by the breach.

 “She’s marking her territory,” Lily said quietly. “The supplier warning Sarah to stay quiet. She knows Sarah saw her face. I only saw shadows, but Sarah, Sarah saw everything. Then Sarah’s in danger. We all are, but Sarah most of all. Over the next few days, Sarah’s condition deteriorated. Not physically, emotionally. She stopped eating. The humming grew quieter. She was giving up.

 

“She’s dying,” Megan said bluntly to Tyler. “The fear is killing her.” That’s when Lily made a decision. Despite barely being able to walk, she insisted on being wheeled to Sarah’s room. “I saw her, too,” Lily whispered to Sarah. “The teacher, not her face, but I heard her voice. We both know who she is, don’t we?” Sarah’s humming stopped.

 She looked at Lily with desperate eyes. “But we’re not going to tell them,” Lily continued. “Not yet, because she’s watching. She’s probably here right now visiting other patients, reading to children hidden in plain sight. Sarah squeezed Lily’s hand. A moment of understanding between two survivors. “When I’m stronger,” Lily promised. “We’ll stop her together.

” That night, three of Carl’s buyers were found dead in their homes, executed. No witnesses, no evidence. The supplier is cleaning house, Rivera said, eliminating anyone who could identify her. But Megan had a different theory. What if it’s not the supplier? What if someone else is hunting them? Who? Megan didn’t answer, but that night she disappeared from her apartment. No signs of struggle. She left a note.

 Sarah knows who the supplier is, but won’t tell. I’m going to find out another way. Keep them safe. M Tyler wanted to search for her immediately, but Lily stopped him. Let her go. She knows things. Carl taught her things. Lily’s voice was distant. She’s going to do what we can’t. Which is Hunt? Tyler’s phone buzzed. Megan found something. Dad kept calendars.

 The supplier met him every third Tuesday during schoolboard meetings. It’s someone in the school system, someone who’s been there forever. I’m going through records. We’ll contact when I know more. Rivera wanted to trace the phone, bring Megan in, but Tyler deleted the message. She’s our best chance, he said. She knows Carl’s patterns better than anyone.

 In her hospital bed, Lily stared at the ceiling. “A teacher,” she whispered. “Someone who selected which girls were vulnerable, which families wouldn’t look too hard. Someone everyone trusts.” Sarah in the next room had started humming again, but now it sounded different, like she was trying to hum a name, a warning. The hunt had reversed, but the hunter was still hidden.

 And somewhere out there, Megan was following a trail only she could see, using everything Carl had taught her, but for a different purpose. The predator’s daughter had become something else, something the supplier should fear. Megan sat in the Millbrook Sheriff’s station going through yearbooks from every school in three counties.

 Lily’s single word, teacher, had triggered something in her memory. A woman who’d visited Carl late at night, someone he’d been almost afraid of. There, she said suddenly, pointing at a photo. Ms. Patricia Vance, Harrison Elementary. She retired 5 years ago. Tyler leaned over. An unremarkable woman, mid-50s in the photo, pleasant smile.

 You’re sure? She came to the house maybe six times over the years, always at night. Dad would send me to my room, but I listened. She had this voice, sweet on top, but underneath. Megan shuddered. She scared him, and nothing scared him. Sheriff Garrett ran the name. Patricia Vance, clean record, taught third grade for 30 years. model teacher, beloved by students.

 Wait, his face changed. She owns property. Lots of property. The screen filled with deeds and titles. 14 properties across three states, all rural, all isolated, all purchased with cash over the past 20 years. How does a teacher afford? Tyler started then stopped. She was using Carl’s money, laundering it through real estate.

 She was more than that, Megan said quietly. I remember now. Dad called her the banker once. Said she handled the financial side while he handled the product. Rivera pulled up tax records. She’s been filing as a farmer. Agricultural tax breaks on all properties. But look, she pointed at the screen. No crop sales, no livestock records.

 These farms aren’t producing anything. Except girls, Tyler said. They had to move carefully. No warrants yet. Not enough evidence. But that night, Megan made her choice. “I’m going to her house,” she announced. “Absolutely not,” Garrett said. “She knows me. Thinks I’m like my father. Broken, compliant. I can get inside, find evidence.

 It’s too dangerous. Sarah is dying.” Megan’s voice was flat. She’s given up, won’t eat, barely drinks. The doctors give her maybe a week and Lily. Lily screams in her sleep about other girls. Names: Amanda, Jessica, Robin. They’re out there somewhere on those properties, and every day we wait is another day of hell for them.

 Tyler wanted to argue, but couldn’t. Lily had been awake more often, but couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t be touched without screaming. Whatever she’d endured had broken something fundamental. I’ll wear a wire, Megan said. She’ll check, Rivera pointed out. Then I’ll find another way. Megan stood. She’s expecting me anyway. Dad told her I’d take over if anything happened to him.

 She’s probably wondering why I haven’t contacted her. An hour later, Megan parked outside Patricia Vance’s house. A modest ranch on the edge of town. Nothing suspicious. Garden gnomes in the yard. American flag on the porch. Perfect suburban camouflage. Patricia answered the door in a house coat, looking every bit the retired teacher. Megan, dear, I’ve been expecting you.

The house smelled like cookies in poperie. Family photos on every surface. A grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Normal. Too normal. Tea? Patricia offered, already walking to the kitchen. Megan followed, noting the locks. deadbolt on the front door. Security system panel windows with bars painted to look decorative.

I’m sorry about your father, Patricia said, pouring tea. Such a waste. He was getting sloppy though, sentimental. About Lily Brennan. Yes, keeping her was foolish. Product is product. The moment you see them as people, you’ve lost. Patricia sipped her tea. I trust you understand that. Of course. Good, because we have a problem. Your father’s death has created a supply chain issue. Buyers are getting impatient.

 How many buyers? 17 active. Three more interested, but waiting for specific types. Patricia pulled out a ledger. Matter of fact, the banker in Columbus wants another blonde. 15 to 17. The professor in Chicago needs a brunette. Must be a virgin, preferably religious background. And our Belgian contact wants twins. Megan’s stomach churned, but she kept her face neutral.

 And supply. Currently, we have six in conditioning, three ready for sale, three still in training. Patricia flipped pages. Your father was supposed to deliver the Brennan girl to Columbus last month. The banker is upset. She’s in the hospital under guard. Yes, inconvenient, but she’ll be released eventually.

 Traumatized girls often run away, disappear. No one would be surprised. What about the others? The six? Patricia smiled. Would you like to see them? I could use help with conditioning. Your father said you had a gentle touch. Megan nodded, not trusting her voice. They drove in Patricia’s car to a property 20 minutes away. An old dairy farm. Barn still standing. House dark.

Patricia unlocked the barn, flipped on lights. The stalls had been converted to cells. Six of them occupied. Girls ranging from maybe 14 to 20, all in various states of breaking. Some cowed when the lights came on. Others didn’t react at all. This one, Patricia said, stopping at the third stall, is Amanda Reeves. Took her from a truck stop in Missouri. Runaway.

 No one’s even looking. Amanda was maybe 16, red hair matted, bruises on her arms. She looked up when Patricia spoke, eyes vacant. She’s nearly ready. Another week of conditioning, and she’ll be perfect for the professor. Megan made herself look at each girl. Memorized faces, counted stalls, noted the setup.

 Her phone was recording audio from her pocket, not admissible in court, but enough to get warrants. “How long have you been doing this?” Megan asked. Oh, longer than your father. I started in the 80s. Different times then, easier. No cameras everywhere. No cell phones. I recruited Carl in 2003. He had the perfect cover. Trusted mechanic. Access to families. Patricia locked the barn again. But he got emotional. First that wife of his, then the Brennan girl.

 

 

 Emotion is weakness in this business. Back at Patricia’s house, Megan excused herself to the bathroom and texted Tyler the address. Within minutes, Sheriff Garrett had teams moving, but Patricia was smart. Had cameras hidden that Megan hadn’t seen. When Megan came out of the bathroom, Patricia was holding a gun.

 Did you think I was stupid, dear? I knew the moment you walked in, you’re not like your father at all. You’re weak, emotional. Maybe. No, maybe about it. You care about those girls just like that stupid Brennan boy cares about his sister. Patricia’s pleasant mask was gone now. I’ve been doing this for 40 years. I’m not going to prison because Carl’s daughter grew a conscience.

 The gun was steady, aimed at Megan’s chest. But Megan had learned things from Carl, too. Things about survival, about distraction. The police are already at the dairy farm, Megan said. You’re lying. Check your phone. You have cameras there, too, don’t you? Patricia glanced at her phone on the counter. Just a second, but enough.

 Megan threw the hot tea in her face grabbed for the gun. They fought. Two women grappling in a kitchen that smelled like cookies while girls rotted in cells 20 minutes away. The gun went off. Patricia stumbled back, red spreading across her house coat. Not a fatal wound, but enough. Megan kicked the gun away as Patricia fell.

 “You stupid girl!” Patricia gasped. “You don’t know what you’ve done. The network, it’s bigger than you know. International protected. They’ll come for all of you.” “Let them come. Police sirens outside.” Tyler burst through the door. Sheriff Garrett behind him. Patricia was still talking, bleeding out, but defiant. 40 years, hundreds of girls. You only found six.

 Where do you think the others are? She laughed, blood on her teeth. Gone, sold, dead, and more being taken every day. You stopped nothing. The EMTs took her away, but she died on route to the hospital. Heart attack, they said. Convenient. At the dairy farm, FBI agents brought out the six girls, all alive, all damaged. Amanda Reeves couldn’t stop crying. Another girl, Jessica Woo, hadn’t spoken in 3 months.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The youngest, Robin Martinez, was 14 and pregnant. Megan sat in the back of an ambulance being treated for minor cuts from the fight. Tyler found her there. You saved them. Six out of hundreds. Six more than yesterday. Is it enough? Tyler thought about Lily, who woke up screaming.

 About Sarah, who was dying by choice, about Katie, safe but broken, about the seven graves they’d found. “No,” he said honestly, “but it’s something.” At the hospital, they brought the six new girls in. Lily was awake when Amanda Reeves was wheeled past her room. Their eyes met through the doorways, two survivors recognizing each other. Lily raised her hand slightly. Amanda raised hers back.

 A small gesture, a tiny connection. That night, for the first time, Lily let Tyler hold her hand without flinching. “Megan saved them?” she asked. “Yeah, good. That’s good.” She was quiet for a moment. Patricia used to visit, brought me things sometimes, books, food, said it was important to keep the product healthy. She’s dead. I know.

 I felt it like a weightlifting. Lily looked at him, but there are others. The network doesn’t die with two people. We’ll find them. No, we won’t. They’ll disappear, regroup, evolve. In 5 years, 10 years, they’ll be back. Different names, same evil. She was probably right. But Tyler didn’t care about 5 years from now. He cared about today.

 Six girls saved, his sister alive. It had to be enough. In room 316, Sarah had stopped humming for the first time in 8 months. She was listening to Amanda in the next room crying. And for the first time since her rescue, Sarah spoke, just one word, horsearo and painful, through her scarred throat. Sister, 3 weeks after Patricia Vance died, the collapse began.

It started with Sarah. The girl who’d barely spoken, who’d refused to eat, suddenly became lucid during a therapy session. She wrote frantically on a notepad, filling page after page. Names, dates, locations. Everything she’d overheard during 8 months in Carl’s cells. “He thought I was broken,” she wrote. “Thought I couldn’t understand, but I heard everything.

” The FBI descended on her room with recorders and cameras. Sarah wrote for 6 hours straight, hand cramping, tears streaming. She drew maps of properties, described buyers who’d visited, listed other girls she’d seen briefly before they were moved. “There’s a man in Dayton,” she wrote. “Lawyer has three girls in his basement. Carl sold them to him in 2019.” “How do you know?” Rivera asked gently.

Sarah wrote, “He brought one to show Carl.” proof she was still alive for a repeat business. Her name was Bethany. She had a scar on her left hand shaped like a moon. By nightfall, FBI had raided the lawyer’s house. Found three girls, including Bethany Torres, missing since 2019. Alive. Traumatized beyond measure, but alive.

The lawyer talked immediately, trying to cut a deal, named six other buyers. The dominoes began falling. In room 315, Lily watched the news coverage with hollow eyes. “It’s happening,” she said to Tyler. “The network is eating itself.” “She was right. Buyers were panicking. Some trying to destroy evidence, others attempting to flee the country.

 A few, terrified of prison, took their own lives. Each arrest led to more names, more locations, more horrors uncovered. Megan was released from holding after Patricia’s death was ruled self-defense. She spent every day at the hospital helping Sarah communicate, sitting with the six rescued girls. She’d become something between a translator and a therapist, the only one who understood both sides of the horror.

Amanda wants to talk to you, she told Lily one afternoon. I can’t. She says you kept her alive. Says Carl made her watch videos of you fighting him. Said if you could survive, she could, too. Lily was quiet for a long moment. Then she got out of bed, first time in days, and walked on unsteady legs to Amanda’s room.

 Tyler watched through the doorway as the two girls sat in silence for almost an hour. Then Amanda reached out her hand. Lily took it. They didn’t speak, just held on like they were drowning, and the other was the only solid thing left. That night, Lily told Tyler something that chilled him. Carl kept recordings of all of us. He’d sell copies to buyers who couldn’t afford the real thing.

 Her voice was mechanical. There are hundreds of men out there who watched those recordings. Watched Sarah watched all of us. The FBI is tracking them down. No, you don’t understand. Some of them are cops, judges, FBI agents. Carl showed me once to prove I’d never be free. said, “Even if I escaped, they’d find me. Send me back.

 

” Tyler’s phone rang. Sheriff Garrett. We have a problem. Someone leaked Sarah’s location. There’s been a threat. Within an hour, all the girls were being moved to a secure facility. But during the transfer, everything went wrong. Two ambulances were hit by a truck that ran a red light. The driver disappeared before police arrived.

In the chaos, Robin Martinez, the pregnant 14-year-old, vanished. The security cameras mysteriously malfunctioned. No witnesses saw anything. Inside job, Rivera said grimly. Someone in law enforcement. Sarah, who’d been in the other ambulance, began writing frantically. The dispatcher.

 Carl sold his cousin to the dispatcher. He’s compromised. They arrested the dispatcher that night. found Robin in his basement, alive, but in severe distress. The stress had sent her into early labor. The baby didn’t survive. Neither did what was left of Robin’s stability. The news hit Lily hard. She stopped eating, stopped talking, just stared at the wall.

 Tyler tried everything, but she was gone, lost in whatever place her mind had created. Emma came to visit, bringing strawberries from the market. “Remember these?” she asked Lily. You were wearing your yellow dress, going to sell them. You said it was going to be your best sales day ever.

 Lily blinked, focused on Emma for the first time in days. The yellow dress. We found it at Carl’s place. Do you want Burn it? Lily, burn it. Burn everything. I don’t want any of it. But the next day, she asked Megan to get the dress, held it in her lap, running her fingers over the fabric. I was a different person in this dress, she said.

 Someone who believed the world was safe, someone who thought bad things happened to other people. You can be that person again. No, she’s gone. Carl took her. What’s left is just she trailed off. The collapse accelerated. 47 arrests in 3 days. a federal judge, two state senators, a police chief. The network Carl and Patricia had built over decades crumbled in weeks.

 But for every arrest, there were whispers of others escaping, going underground, starting over elsewhere. Dorothy Corwin came to visit, bringing news that three of the buyers had confessed to locations where they’d buried girls who hadn’t survived. Ashley Corwin was found in a field in Indiana. Her mother could finally bury her properly.

 “Does it help?” Lily asked. Knowing? Dorothy considered this. No, but it’s better than wondering. Sarah’s condition was deteriorating. The months of neglect and trauma had taken their toll on her body. Doctors said her body was shutting down, that she had maybe weeks left. She spent her remaining time writing, documenting everything she could remember. Her testimony would convict dozens even if she wasn’t there to deliver it.

 

 One night, she asked to see Lily. They sat together, two broken girls who’d survived the same monster. Sarah wrote on her pad. Was it worth it? Surviving? Lily thought for a long time. I don’t know. Ask me in a year. Sarah wrote, “I won’t be here in a year.” I know. Will you remember me? Every day. Sarah smiled.

 First time anyone had seen her smile. She wrote one more thing. We won. She passed away that night in her sleep. Peacefully, the nurses said, like she’d finally found peace. The next morning, Lily put on the yellow dress. “What are you doing?” Tyler asked, alarmed. “Sarah’s funeral. She deserves to have someone there who understands.” “Lily, you can barely walk.

” “I’m going.” She did. stood at the graveside in that yellow dress while they buried a 17-year-old girl who’d fought harder than anyone should have to. Only six people attended. Lily, Tyler, Megan, Emma, Sheriff Garrett, and an aunt who hadn’t seen Sarah since she was 10. After the service, Lily walked to Ashley Corwin’s fresh grave nearby, then to the section where they’d buried the unidentified girls found on Carl’s properties.

 Seven headstones marked unknown. We should name them, she said. We don’t know their names, Tyler pointed out. Then we give them new ones. They deserve names. So they did. Made up names for the nameless dead. Hannah, Grace, Faith, Hope, Joy, Mercy, Peace. Seven names for seven girls who’d never be identified.

 That night, the news reported that Carl’s network had generated over $50 million in 20 years, that at least 200 girls had been trafficked, that only 43 had been recovered alive. Lily turned off the TV. It’s not over. The network is destroyed. This network, this one, but there are others. There always have been, always will be. She looked at Tyler. I want to help stop them.

 Lily, you can barely take care of yourself. I know how they think, how they choose victims, how they operate. Her voice was stronger than it had been in weeks. I can help. Rivera visited the next day. The bureau wants to offer you a position consultant. Help us identify patterns, predict targets. I’m 18. I haven’t even finished high school.

 You have knowledge no one else has. Experience no one else has. Lily thought about Sarah writing until her hand cramped. About Amanda still afraid of doorways. About Robin catatonic since losing her baby. About Ashley and the seven unnamed girls in the cemetery. One condition. She said, “Megan works with me. She’s facing charges.

 

 Drop them. She saved six girls. She stopped Patricia Vance. She risked everything.” Rivera made some calls. Within an hour, Megan’s charges were dropped. But that night, everything changed again. Tyler woke to find Lily gone. Her hospital bed empty, window open. Security footage showed nothing. The cameras had been looped. Professional job.

 On her pillow was a note. The network doesn’t forget. Neither do I. If you want to see her alive, stop looking. Stop investigating. Let the past die or she will. Tyler called Rivera, Garrett, everyone. They searched everywhere, but Lily was gone, taken by remnants of the network, or maybe by a new one already forming.

 Or maybe, and this thought chilled Tyler most, she’d left on her own, gone hunting. 3 days later, he received a text from an unknown number. A photo of Lily alive, wearing that yellow dress, standing in what looked like a barn. The message read, “I’m finishing what Sarah started. Don’t look for me. When it’s done, I’ll come home.” Or, “I won’t.

 Either way, it ends.” L Tyler stared at the photo. His sister, the girl who’d picked strawberries in a yellow dress, was gone. What remained was something else, something Carl had created, something the network had forged in 2 years of hell. a hunter who knew exactly how monsters thought. And somewhere monsters were learning to fear a girl in a yellow dress.

 Tyler hadn’t slept in three days. The photo of Lily in the barn haunted him. She looked hollow, determined, dangerous. The FBI had traced the phone to a burner. Location services disabled. She’d learned from Carl how to disappear. Then Megan found something in Sarah’s final notes hidden between seemingly random observations.

Elle knows where they meet. The barn on Tilman Road First Tuesday midnight. First Tuesday was tonight. It’s a trap, Rivera said when Tyler showed her. Or Sarah was delirious. Or Lily fed her that information, Megan said quietly, knowing we’d find it after. They all looked at each other. After Sarah died, Lily had planned this.

Tyler made the decision. “I’m going.” “Absolutely not. She’s my sister. She won’t hurt me.” “She’s not your sister anymore,” Rivera said bluntly. “Whatever came back from Carl’s captivity is something else.” “But Tyler was already moving.” Megan followed. “You’re not going alone.” Sheriff Garrett tried to stop them,

 but Tyler had made up his mind. At 11 p.m., he and Megan drove toward Tilman Road. The FBI followed at a distance, ready to move in if needed. The barn was old, abandoned for decades. But fresh tire tracks led to it. Multiple vehicles recent. They parked a quarter mile away, approached on foot. Through cracks in the barn walls, they could see light, hear voices, multiple men, and one female voice. They both recognized Lily.

The network is restructuring. She was saying Carl and Patricia are gone, but the demand remains. The routes remain. The methods remain. Tyler peered through a gap. Six men sat in folding chairs. Lily stood at the front like a teacher, still wearing that yellow dress. But something was different.

 She had a presence now. Command. You all bought from Carl, she continued. You trusted him. You can trust me. One man raised his hand. You’re the Brennan girl, the one he kept. I was. Now I’m your supplier. I know where Carl kept his emergency stock. Three girls ready for sale. Tyler’s blood went cold. Emergency stock? There were more girls. Prove it. Another man said.

 Lily pulled out a phone, showed them something. The men leaned forward, interested. Where? The first man asked. First, we discussed terms. Carl was sloppy, emotional. I’m neither. Cash only. No traces, no preferences. You take what I provide. Her voice was ice. And no one touches them until full payment. Carl’s mistake was letting buyers a sample. It led to damage, evidence, problems.

 You’re 18 years old. A third man scoffed. What makes you think? Lily moved so fast Tyler almost missed it. A knife appeared in her hand, pressed to the man’s throat. I survived Carl Hendrickx for two years. I watched him work, learned his trade, his mistakes. She stepped back, knife disappearing. I’m not him. I’m better. The man rubbed his throat, shaken. Fine. Terms accepted. Good.

 The girls are Tyler couldn’t let this continue. He burst through the door. Lily, stop. Everyone froze. The six men started to scatter, but Lily held up a hand. My brother, he’s harmless. She looked at Tyler with empty eyes. Hello, Tyler. What are you doing? Continuing Carl’s work. No, no, you’re not. You’re I’m what he made me. Two years, Tyler.

Two years of learning how this works. How to break people, how to sell them, how to make them disappear. She turned to the men. This is actually perfect. Tyler can be our first demonstration. Lily. She pulled out a gun. Carl’s gun, Tyler realized, pointed it at him. You shouldn’t have come. Megan stepped out from behind Tyler. Lily, please.

 This isn’t you, Megan? Lily’s voice softened slightly. You understand? You helped him. You know how it works. I know it’s evil. Evil? Lily laughed, hollow and bitter. Evil is what happened to us. This is just business. One of the men stood up. “This is getting complicated. We’re leaving.

” “No,” Lily said, gun swinging toward him. “No one leaves until we finish our business.” That’s when Tyler noticed something. Lily’s hand holding the gun was shaking just slightly, and she kept glancing at the barn’s corners like she was looking for something or someone. “The three girls,” Tyler said slowly.

 “Where are they, Lily?” “Safe for now. Show us. Lily hesitated. First crack in her facade. You don’t have them, Megan said, understanding. This is Shut up. But the men were getting nervous now, starting to move toward the doors. FBI, nobody move. Rivera and her team burst in, weapons drawn. The six men immediately dropped, hands behind heads.

 

 

 They knew the drill, but Lily kept her gun up, swinging it between Tyler and the agents. Lily, put the gun down, Rivera said calmly. You don’t understand. This was the only way. The only way to what? Lily smiled then, sad and broken, to get them all in one place. She threw something on the ground, a recorder. It had been running the whole time.

 Six buyers, all admitting to purchasing from Carl, all agreeing to buy more. She lowered the gun. Sarah identified them in her notes. I just needed them to confess. Tyler stepped toward her. You planned this? Sarah planned it before she died. Said the only way to catch them was to become them. To make them trust me.

 Lily’s composure finally cracked. Do you know what I had to say? What I had to pretend to be? She collapsed to her knees, gun falling from her hand. Tyler caught her as she sobbed. Two years of suppressed emotion pouring out. I became him. I became Carl. Just for tonight, but I became him. The six men were arrested, loaded into FBI vehicles.

Each one had thought they were meeting Carl’s successor. Instead, they’d met their end. Rivera knelt beside Lily. The three girls. Are there really? No. Sarah heard Carl mention emergency stock once, but he was lying to a buyer. There are no more girls. We found them all. How did you know these men would come? Lily pulled out Carl’s real phone, the one everyone thought was destroyed. I messaged them as him.

 Said I’d faked my death, needed to restart operations. They all came running. That was incredibly dangerous. Everything is dangerous now. Lily looked up at Rivera. Every day I’m alive is dangerous. I know too much. I’ve seen too much. Carl made sure of that. They helped her to her feet. The yellow dress was dirty now, torn at the hem.

 She looked at it with disgust. Burn it? She told Tyler. This time really burn it. As they walked to the vehicles, Megan asked, “How did you know we’d find Sarah’s note?” “Because you’re thorough and because Sarah made me promise. said you’d need a trail to follow or Tyler would tear the state apart looking. Lily managed a weak smile. She was right.

 Sheriff Garrett was waiting by his cruiser. That was incredibly stupid and incredibly brave. Mostly stupid, Lily admitted. The ride back was silent. Tyler driving, Lily in the passenger seat, Megan in the back. The yellow dress bundled on Lily’s lap like evidence of a crime. I really was going to do it, Lily said suddenly. If you hadn’t come, I was going to sell them girls, not real ones.

But I was going to take their money, get more names, go deeper into the network. Why? Because it’s not over. These six were nobody local buyers. The real network, the international one, it’s still out there. She looked at Tyler and they know my name now. Know I survived. No, I’m talking. We’ll protect you.

 For how long? Forever? And what about the next girl? The one taken tomorrow or next week or next month? Lily stared out the window. Carl was right about one thing. There’s always demand, always supply. The network doesn’t die. It just changes management. They drove past the cemetery where Sarah was buried, where Ashley and the seven unnamed girls lay. Lily made Tyler stop.

She walked to Sarah’s grave in the darkness, knelt in the dirt. “We got them,” she whispered. “Six more. You were right. It worked.” Tyler and Megan stood back, letting her have this moment. When she returned, she’d left the yellow dress on Sarah’s grave. “She would have wanted to see them arrested.” Lily said, “This is the closest I could give her.

” Back at the hospital, Lily checked herself in for a psychiatric evaluation. Voluntary commitment. I need help, she told the doctor. I have thoughts, dark ones, about becoming like him, about how easy it would be. The fact that you recognize that is good. No, you don’t understand. Tonight, pretending to be him, part of me liked it. The power, the control after two years of having none.

 She looked at Tyler. Carl didn’t just keep me prisoner. He trained me. Whether he meant to or not, he trained me to think like him. And I’m good at it. The doctor admitted her immediately. Tyler wanted to argue, but Megan stopped him. She’s right. She needs this time to deprogram, to remember who she was before.

 What if she can’t? Then we help her become someone new. Someone who isn’t Carl’s victim or his successor, just Lily. That night, Tyler went home to his parents’ house for the first time since learning about the gambling debts. His parents were in the kitchen, aged 10 years and 2 months. “Is she okay?” his mother asked. “No, but she will be.” His father couldn’t meet his eyes.

 “Tyler, about the money? I don’t care about the money. I care that you stopped looking for her.” We never stopped. You did. After 3 months, you accepted she was gone. Tyler’s voice was flat. She knew that. Carl told her you’d given up. That was almost worse than the physical stuff. Knowing you’d stopped looking.

 He went to Lily’s room, still exactly as she’d left it that morning in 2013. The strawberry scented candle on her dresser. Photos of her and Emma at the county fair. Normal teenage girl things. On her desk was a journal. Tyler had never read it, respecting her privacy even in absence. But now he opened it.

The last entry was July 14th, 2013. The day before she disappeared. Sold 30 baskets today. New record. That creepy mechanic was at the market again. Mr. Hendris. He bought three baskets, but I don’t think he even likes strawberries. Just stands there watching. Dad says he’s harmless. Hope so.

 

 Emma thinks I should tell Sheriff Mills. But tell him what? That a guy buys strawberries. Tomorrow I’m wearing my yellow dress. It’s my lucky dress. Going to break today’s record for sure. Tyler closed the journal. Somewhere between that entry and now, that optimistic girl had been destroyed and rebuilt as something else.

 Something that could think like Carl Hendris, something that could plan the trap she’d set tonight. His phone buzzed. Lily from the hospital. Thank you for stopping me. He typed back, you stopped yourself. No, I would have gone through with it. Would have become him. You saved me. You saved yourself, Lily. You always have. A long pause. Then the doctor says I have to stay for at least 30 days, maybe more.

 

Take as long as you need. Will you visit? Every day. Another pause. Then I love you, Tyler. First time she’d said it since her rescue. I love you too, Lily. As he sat in her teenage room, surrounded by remnants of who she used to be, Tyler realized something. They’d saved Lily’s body from Carl. They’d saved her from the network.

 But the hardest rescue was still happening, saving her from what Carl had turned her into. And that might take the rest of her life. 6 months later, Lily stood in the strawberry field behind the old Brennan farm. Tyler had bought it back with money from a victim’s compensation fund. She wore jeans and a plain blue t-shirt. No more yellow dress.

 That was buried with Sarah. The strawberry plants were young, just planted. It would be a year before they produced fruit. Lily liked that. The waiting, the slow, patient growth. You sure about this? Tyler asked, watching her water the plants. Dr. Martinez says routine helps. Purpose helps. She didn’t look up.

 And I need to reclaim something. This place was ours before it was his. Megan arrived with lunch, now working as a counselor at a survivor’s shelter. She’d found her own way to atone. “How’s group?” “Hard,” Lily admitted, listening to their stories, knowing I can’t save them all.

 She’d been attending survivor meetings for 3 months, not leading them, just listening, learning how others carried their trauma. Some, like Amanda Reeves, had gone home to families who didn’t know how to help them. Others, like Robin Martinez, were in long-term facilities. Katie Summers had moved to Oregon with her aunt, trying to start over where no one knew her story.

The trials start next week, Tyler said carefully. “I know.” 43 men would stand trial over the coming year. Lily would have to testify at most of them, describe things she’d never told anyone, not even Tyler. The prosecutor said her testimony was crucial. You don’t have to. Yes, I do. She finally looked up.

 Sarah died getting those names. The least I can do is make sure they pay. Sheriff Garrett pulled up the dirt drive. He visited weekly, checking in, making sure Lily was okay, making sure she was still there. The FBI still worried about revenge attacks from network remnants. Got news, he said. Good and bad. Bad first, Lily said. Three of the buyers got plea deals, minimum sentences, two to five years. Lily nodded.

 She’d expected that. The system protected its own. The good found another girl alive in Michigan. Your testimony about Carl’s methods helped them identify the pattern. Another girl saved. That made 51 total out of over 200 suspected victims. It’s something, Megan said. It’s not enough, Lily replied. But it’s something. That afternoon, Dorothy Corwin visited.

She came by every Sunday bringing flowers for the small memorial Lily had built at the edge of the strawberry field. Seven wooden crosses for the unidentified girls. I’m moving, Dorothy said. Can’t stay here anymore. Too many ghosts. Lily understood. The whole county felt haunted now. every farm that Carl had serviced, every family that had trusted him, every girl who’ vanished.

 “Where will you go?” “Florid. My sister lives there somewhere no one knows about Ashley about any of this.” “Running doesn’t help,” Lily said quietly. “Trust me, I tried.” She was referring to the week she’d disappeared after leaving the hospital against medical advice. Tyler had found her at Carl’s workshop, sitting in the dark, trying to understand how he’d thought, how he’d chosen victims.

 She’d been making lists, drawing patterns, becoming obsessed. “I wasn’t running,” Dorothy said. “I’m trying to live. There’s a difference.” After she left, Lily worked in the field until sunset. Physical exhaustion helped with the nightmares sometimes. That night, Tyler found her reading Sarah’s notes again. Hundreds of pages, photocopied, annotated.

 “You need to stop,” he said gently. “She wrote all this while dying. Names, dates, descriptions. She saved lives with these notes.” “And it’s done. The FBI has everything.” “No, look.” Lily showed him a page. She mentioned someone called the teacher twice, but Patricia Vance is dead. So, who? Lily, stop. There’s another layer. There’s always Tyler took the notes away. The war is over.

 You won. We didn’t win. We survived. There’s a difference. She was right. Of course, the network Carl built was destroyed, but others existed. Would always exist. The demand never stopped. Neither did the supply. Dr. Martinez says, “You’re doing better,” Tyler said, changing the subject. “I’m functional.

 

 

 

 That’s not the same as better. You’re not having the thoughts anymore about becoming like him. Lily was quiet for a moment. I still have them, just less often, and I don’t listen to them now. That’s progress, is it? Yesterday at the grocery store, I saw a man watching a teenage girl, following her. My first thought wasn’t to call the police.

 It was to follow him home, find out if he had others. She looked at Tyler. That’s what Carl made me. Someone who thinks like a predator. You think like a survivor? Same thing sometimes. Tyler’s phone rang. Rivera, we need Lily tomorrow. Pretrial hearing. Defense wants to claim she’s too traumatized to be a reliable witness. Lily took the phone. I’ll be there.

 You sure you’re ready? No, but I’ll be there anyway. The next morning, Lily put on the only dress she’d kept, a simple black one Emma had bought her. Court appropriate, nothing like the yellow dress. The courthouse was packed. Media everywhere. Strawberry girl trial begins. The headlines read. They’d made her a symbol. The girl who survived, the one who brought down the network.

 Inside, she saw them. Six of the buyers from the barn that night. They looked smaller in orange jumpsuits. ordinary, not monsters, just men who decided girls were property. The defense attorney was aggressive. Ms. Brennan, you’ve been institutionalized twice since your rescue. Yes. For psychiatric issues. For trauma recovery, you held these men at gunpoint. Yes. Threatened them.

 I was conducting a citizen’s investigation. You pretended to be a trafficker yourself to expose them? Yes. So, you lied. Lily looked directly at the men in jumpsuits. I learned from the best. The prosecutor redirected, had her describe Carl’s methods, the selection process, the breaking process, the selling process. Clinical, detailed, horrible.

One of the defendants threw up. After 6 hours of testimony, Lily walked out exhausted but intact. She’d faced this again at each trial 43 times. 43 chances to put predators away. Outside, Megan was waiting. How was it? Hard. Necessary. They drove home in silence. Past the farms where girls had vanished. Past Carl’s old workshop, now demolished.

Past the cemetery where too many girls lay. At the farm, Lily found someone waiting. A teenage girl, maybe 15, with her mother. You’re Lily Brennan? The girl asked. “Yes, I something happened to me last year. A man. He kept me for 3 days before I escaped. The girl was shaking.

 The police said there wasn’t enough evidence, but I heard about you, what you did, how you survived.” Lily knelt in front of the girl. “What’s your name?” Sophia, Sophia, you survived. That’s what matters. But he’s still out there, still hunting. Lily looked at the mother, saw the desperation. The system had failed them, just like it had failed so many others. “Tell me everything,” Lily said. Tyler pulled her aside.

 “You can’t get involved. You’re barely holding yourself together. She needs help. She needs the police. The police failed her just like they failed me. Failed Sarah. Failed all of us. That night, Lily made a decision. She called Rivera. That consulting position, is it still available? Are you ready for that? No, but girls are still disappearing and I know how to find them. It’s dangerous. Everything’s dangerous for me now.

 Might as well use it. A week later, Lily sat in an FBI field office looking at missing person’s files. 15 girls in three states, all from rural communities, all during harvest season. Different predator, she said, but same pattern. Carl taught someone else. Or someone learned from the news coverage. Lily studied the photos.

 Young faces smiling, unaware of what was coming. this one. She pointed to a girl from Iowa. She’s the outlier. Older, different demographic. She wasn’t selected. She saw something she shouldn’t have. How can you know that? Because that’s what I would think if I were him. Rivera stared at her. That’s disturbing. That’s what I am now.

Disturbing, but useful. They found the Iowa girl 3 days later alive. She had indeed witnessed an abduction. Her testimony led them to a trafficking ring operating out of agricultural equipment companies. Just like Carl’s, but bigger. 14 girls saved in the first month of Lily Consulting. But the cost was high. The nightmares got worse.

 The dark thoughts louder. Every predator she helped catch reminded her of what Carl had put in her head. The knowledge, the methods, the mindset. One night, Tyler found her in the strawberry field at 3:00 a.m. digging in the dirt with her bare hands. What are you doing? Planting more? We need more. Sarah loves strawberries. I never asked, but I bet she did. All those girls probably did.

She was crying. Dirt under her nails. It’s never enough. I save one, two more disappear. I stop one predator, three more emerge. You can’t save them all. Then what’s the point? Tyler helped her up, led her inside. The point is you saved some. That has to be enough. Does it? He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. 6 months turned to a year. The trials continued. 38 convictions, five acquitt.

 

 The strawberry plants grew. Lily saved more girls. Lost more of herself. On the anniversary of her rescue, she stood at Sarah’s grave. Someone had left fresh flowers. The yellow dress she’d left there was gone, weathered away or taken by someone. I’m trying, she told the headstone. But I’m becoming something I don’t recognize. To catch them, I have to think like them.

 And every time I do, I lose a piece of who I was. Wind through the cemetery was the only answer. That night, Emma came to dinner, first time in months. She looked at Lily across the table, searching for her friend. “You still in there?” Emma asked quietly. “I don’t know anymore.

” “The girl who loves strawberry picking, who wore yellow dresses, who sang in the truck on the way to market. Is she still in there?” She died in Carl’s basement. What came back was something else? No. Emma reached across, took her hand. You came back, changed, broken maybe, but still you. Lily wanted to believe that. But when she looked in the mirror, she saw Carl’s training, Patricia’s methods, the network’s patterns.

 She saw a weapon forged by trauma. Useful but dangerous. “Some of us came home,” she said, echoing what she’d told Tyler so long ago. “But we didn’t come home the same.” That night, she made a decision. One year of hunting, one year of saving who she could, then she’d stop.

 Before she became the very thing she hunted, she had 11 months left. In those 11 months, she’d save 37 more girls. She’d identify eight trafficking rings. She’d testify at dozens more trials. But the cost would be everything that remained of Lily Brennan, the farm girl who’d loved strawberries and yellow dresses. In the end, Tyler would stand in the strawberry field watching his sister work. She’d be humming something.

 

 Not strawberry fields anymore, something sadder. And he’d know that they’d saved her body from Carl, saved others through her sacrifice, but never quite saved her soul. The strawberries would grow, sweet and red and perfect, and every basket sold would carry the weight of all the girls who never came home.

 Some wars don’t end with victory or defeat. They end with survival. And survival, Lily had learned, was its own kind of prison. She’d escaped Carl’s basement, but she’d never really left. The yellow dress was gone. But its ghost haunted every field, every missing girl, every predator’s face. Some of us came home.

 That had to be enough, even when it wasn’t.