The news spread like wildfire.

Within minutes, every television screen across the city was broadcasting the same headline—Norma’s sudden public interview.

Inside the restroom of a crowded shopping mall, the faint echo of the broadcast filtered through the half-open door, blending with the sound of running water and idle chatter.

"Have you seen this?" one of the cleaning staff muttered, pausing mid-swipe as he glanced toward the small television mounted in the corner. "These rich people are seriously messed up."

His colleague snorted, shaking his head. "Messed up is an understatement. First she mentally harassed her partner to the point he almost killed himself, and now this drama? Just how twisted can they be?"

They spoke casually, unaware of the silent listener standing just a few feet away.

Collin stood by the sink, his head lowered, his reflection staring back at him through the mirror.

Gone was the familiar face people feared.

In its place was a carefully crafted disguise—subtle changes, enough to let him blend in without drawing attention.

But the moment those words reached him—

His eyes shifted.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He lifted his gaze toward the television outside, the flickering light casting faint shadows across his face.

Norma’s image appeared on the screen.

Composed and controlled.

Collin’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something dark passing through them.

For a brief second, everything inside him stilled.

Then— the corner of his lips curled. Not into a smile. But something colder.

Sharper.

"Finally," he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent lights.

His fingers moved with practiced ease as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the mask he had removed earlier.

For a moment, he simply stared at it.

Then, without hesitation, he put it back on.

The transformation was instant as the man in the mirror disappeared.

And the monster returned.

Collin straightened, rolling his shoulders slightly as if shaking off the last remnants of stillness.

His mind was already moving ahead, recalculating, adjusting.

Without sparing another glance, he turned and walked toward the exit.

The cleaners continued their conversation, oblivious to the danger that had just passed them.

But as the restroom door swung shut behind him, the faint echo of his chuckle lingered in the air.

Low.

Chilling.

***

Ethan swerved the car to the side of the road with a sharp motion, tires scraping faintly against the gravel as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. His hand tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, while his phone was pressed hard against his ear.

"What do you mean Kathrine is not in any of those places?" His voice rose, edged with disbelief and something far more dangerous—panic. Every ounce of hope he had been clinging to shattered the moment Shawn told him she wasn’t at any of the locations they had pinned down.

On the other end, Shawn exhaled heavily, the sound rough, as though he was choosing his next words with extreme care.

"Ethan, listen to me carefully," he said, his tone steady but strained. "Those warehouses we identified... they’re all active industrial sites. Not abandoned, not isolated. They have constant movement—workers coming in and out, security rotations, and surveillance systems running twenty-four seven."

Ethan’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together.

"So?" he snapped, impatience bleeding through.

"So it means Collin can’t use them," Shawn replied, his voice firmer now. "Not without drawing attention. I hacked into their surveillance feeds. I went through hours of footage. There’s no unusual activity, no suspicious entry, nothing that suggests someone like him brought a captive inside."

The words struck Ethan like a physical blow.

For a second, he said nothing. His grip on the steering wheel tightened further, the leather creaking under the pressure.

"No..." he muttered, almost to himself.

It didn’t make sense.

It couldn’t.

His mind scrambled, trying to piece things together, trying to force logic into a situation that refused to make sense. The video Collin had sent—it was real. It had to be real. Every second of it was burned into Ethan’s mind like a brand.

"That video..." Ethan’s voice dropped, rough and strained. "Those containers—"

"Could be from somewhere else," Shawn interrupted quietly.

Silence followed.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Ethan could hear nothing but his own breathing and the faint hum of the car engine. The world outside seemed to fade, reduced to nothing more than a blur beyond the windshield.

His chest rose and fell, but each breath felt sharp, incomplete, like the air itself had turned against him.

For the first time since this nightmare began, uncertainty crept in.

Not the kind he could fight with anger or action.

This was different.

This was fear.

Cold. Real. Suffocating.

His foot slowly eased off the accelerator without him even realizing it, the car rolling to a near standstill as his thoughts spiraled uncontrollably.

If she wasn’t there... then where?

Where the hell was she?

Images flashed through his mind—Kathrine lying unconscious, her body limp as she was placed inside that metal container. The hollow clang of the lid. The eerie stillness. And then—

Water.

Rising.

Slow. Relentless.

Ethan’s fingers trembled slightly against the steering wheel.

No.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to think.

Panic wouldn’t help her.

Losing control wouldn’t save her.

He had to focus.

Had to remember.

After what felt like an eternity, his voice broke through the silence again.

"How do we find her?"

The question came out quieter this time, stripped of the anger that had fueled him moments ago. Raw. Fragile.

Because now, he wasn’t just chasing leads.

He was running out of time.

On the other end, Shawn didn’t answer immediately.

That silence—longer this time—made something inside Ethan’s chest sink.

Deep.

Heavy.

Shawn was thinking. Calculating. And the fact that even he didn’t have an immediate answer sent a fresh wave of dread crashing through Ethan.

Ethan swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past it. He leaned back against the seat, his mind racing as he replayed the video Collin had sent. Every second. Every detail.

Collin’s voice—cold, mocking, deliberate.

The angle of the camera.

The dim lighting.

The container.

Kathrine.

Unconscious.

And then the water.

Ethan’s eyes snapped open.

The water.

His breathing stilled.

"...Wait," he whispered, more to himself than to Shawn.

Something about it felt wrong.

Not just the act—but the setup.

The way the water filled the container... it wasn’t random. It wasn’t chaotic like dumping water in.

It was controlled.

Measured.

As if it was being pumped in.

Ethan straightened suddenly, his pulse spiking again—but this time, not from panic.

From realization.

"Shawn," he said, his voice sharper now, urgency creeping back in. "That container—it wasn’t just being filled manually. The water flow... it was too steady. Too consistent."

A pause.

Then Shawn spoke, slower this time. "You’re saying... a connected water source?"

"Yes," Ethan breathed. "A system. Pipes. Pressure control."

Which meant—

It wasn’t just any random place.

It had to be somewhere equipped.

Somewhere built for it.

Ethan’s grip tightened again, but this time there was direction in his eyes. Focus.

"We’re not looking for abandoned warehouses," he said, his voice hardening with resolve. "We’re looking for a place with industrial water access."

Another pause.

But this one felt different.

Because now—

They had something.

And Ethan wasn’t going to lose it.