Northern Canada — Approach
The wind cut across the clearing in sharp, icy gusts, carrying the scent of snow and old pine. Hayes moved through the drifts with deliberate steps, boots sinking into the powder with a muted crunch. The abandoned weather station loomed ahead — a squat, rusted structure half‑buried in snow, its antenna bent at an angle that suggested years of neglect.
Two RCMP officers moved with them, bundled in cold‑weather gear, rifles slung across their chests. Constable Renaud took point beside Marianne, scanning the treeline with practiced precision. Sergeant Whitford covered the rear, breath fogging in the frigid air.
Evan and Eliza flanked the group, moving with the quiet alertness of people who had spent their lives reading land and danger. Evan’s eyes tracked every indentation in the snow, every broken branch, every shift in the wind. Eliza kept her rifle angled low but ready, her gaze sweeping the treeline with a predator’s patience.
“Thermal scan still shows one heat signature inside,” Leah’s voice crackled through the comms from the operations center. “No movement.”
Hayes frowned. “Still stationary?”
“Still,” Leah confirmed. “No change in the last ninety minutes.”
Marianne muttered, “That’s not good.”
Evan’s jaw tightened. “No one sits still that long in this cold unless they’re dead… or they’re waiting.”
Eliza nodded once. “And waiting is worse.”
Hayes raised a fist, signaling the team to slow down. The snow here showed disturbances — not fresh, not recent, but marked by tracks that didn’t match the team’s approach. Smaller prints. Lighter. Uneven.
Hayes crouched, brushing his glove across the indentation. A child’s footprint.
His stomach tightened.
“Marianne,” he whispered. “Are you seeing this?”
She knelt beside him. “Yeah. Small. Maybe ten, eleven.”
Evan crouched next to her, tracing the drag marks. “He was stumbling. Losing strength.”
Eliza scanned the treeline. “And no one came after him.”
Her voice was flat, but her eyes were sharp with anger.
Constable Renaud pointed. “There’s more. Leading toward the station.”
Hayes followed the trail with his eyes — the prints staggered, then dragged, then paused near the side of the building.
“Stay sharp,” he said. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
The team moved forward, weapons raised, breaths shallow in the cold.
###
The Side of the Station
The prints ended near a snowbank pressed against the building’s outer wall. Something dark protruded from the drift — fabric, stiffened by the cold.
Marianne froze. “Hayes…”
He approached slowly, heart sinking with every step.
Evan’s breath hitched. “Oh, no…”
A compact form lay half‑buried in the snow, wrapped in a thin coat that wasn’t enough for the northern cold. The child’s face was turned slightly away, eyes closed, features soft and still.
Eliza knelt beside the boy, her gloved hand hovering just above his cheek — not touching, but close enough to feel the cold radiating from him.
“He didn’t stand a chance,” she whispered.
Evan swallowed hard. “He tried to get out. He tried.”
Hayes knelt, brushing snow gently from the boy’s hair. His gloves trembled. “Exposure,” he breathed. “Or dehydration. Or both.”
Marianne’s voice cracked. “He deserved better.”
Eliza’s jaw clenched. “They left him. They left a child.”
Evan stood abruptly, turning away, hands on his hips, breath shaking. “I swear to God, Hayes… whoever did this—”
“We’ll find them,” Hayes said quietly. “All of them.”
He removed his outer jacket and laid it gently over the boy’s body. Marianne helped, her movements steady but trembling at the edges. Eliza bowed her head. Evan wiped his eyes with the back of his glove.
“We’ll take him home,” Hayes murmured. “We’ll make sure he’s not forgotten.”
###
The Entrance
The door to the weather station was slightly ajar; snow drifted against the threshold. Hayes signaled the team into position.
“One,” he whispered. “Two.” “Three.”
They breached.
The interior was dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb. Scattered tools, overturned crates, and a tangle of cables cluttered the room.
And in the center — a chair.
Occupied.
Hale sat slumped forward, wrists bound to the armrests with zip‑ties, ankles secured to the chair legs. His head hung low, hair matted, skin pale beneath days of grime.
Eliza’s rifle snapped up instantly. “Hands where we can see them!”
Hale didn’t move.
Hayes approached cautiously. “Hale.”
No response.
He lifted Hale’s chin gently. Hale’s eyes opened — bloodshot, unfocused, but aware.
“You’re late,” Hale rasped.
Evan muttered, “Son of a bitch…”
Marianne stepped forward. “Who did this to you?”
Hale coughed. “You think I’d let you catch me?”
Hayes’ stomach twisted. “Then who—”
Hale’s lips curled into a faint, broken smile. “You’re chasing the wrong man.”
Hayes stiffened. “Bergmann?”
Hale’s eyes flickered — fear, recognition, something darker.
Then he sagged forward.
Hayes caught him before he fell.
“Get him secured,” Hayes said. “We’re taking him in.”
Eliza kept her rifle trained on the shadows. “If Bergmann was here, he’s long gone.”
Evan scanned the corners. “But he left a message.”
###
The Search
While the medic stabilized Hale, Hayes, Marianne, Evan, and Eliza swept the structure.
In a side room, Marianne found a small pile of blankets, a cracked water jug, and a child’s shoe.
Eliza’s breath caught. “He was hiding here.”
Evan knelt, touching the blanket. “He waited. He waited for someone to come.”
Hayes frowned. “And someone else came first.”
Marianne gestured toward the restraints. “Hale didn’t do that to himself.”
Eliza nodded. “And he didn’t leave a child outside to die.”
Hayes’ jaw tightened. “Bergmann’s people.”
Evan stood slowly. “Then we’re not done.”\
Evan Confronts Hale
The medic finished securing Hale to a stretcher, IV line running, oxygen mask in place. “He’s dehydrated, malnourished, and hypothermic,” she said. "This will do until we get him boarded."
The team was waiting in a holding room that was small, windowless, and cold enough that every breath fogged in the air. Hale sat strapped to the stretcher, wrists cuffed, ankles secured, IV line taped to his arm. His skin was gray with exhaustion, but his eyes were alert — too alert. Watching everything. Calculating.
Hayes stood near the door, arms crossed. Marianne leaned against the wall, jaw tight. Eliza watched from the corner, silent and still as a blade.
Evan stepped inside last.
He closed the door behind him.
The click echoed.
Hale’s gaze flicked up. “Ah,” he rasped. “The game warden.”
Evan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He walked forward slowly, boots scraping against the concrete, stopping just close enough that Hale had to tilt his head to look up at him.
“You know my job?” Evan asked quietly.
Hale smirked. “You chase deer poachers.”
Evan’s jaw flexed. “I protect my people.”
Hale rolled his eyes. “Spare me the—”
Evan grabbed the back of Hale’s stretcher and slammed it against the wall.
Not violently. Not out of control. Just enough to make Hale’s breath catch and his smirk die.
Hayes didn’t intervene. Marianne didn’t move. Eliza’s eyes sharpened, but she stayed still.
Evan leaned in, voice low and steady — the steady that made the room colder.
“You listen to me, because I’m done pretending I know who the hell you are.”
Hale swallowed.
“I’m a tribal officer,” Evan continued. “I know every rancher, every logger, every meth cook, every asshole who dumps trash on sovereign land. But you?” He shook his head.
“You’re not from here. You’re not of here. And you sure as hell don’t belong here.”
Hale’s lips twitched. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“No,” Evan said. “I don’t. Because you and your friends keep throwing around names like we’re supposed to know them. Hale, Kline, Bergmann.” He leaned closer. “So you’re going to explain it. Slowly. Like I’m five.”
Hale’s eyes flickered — fear, irritation, something darker.
Evan didn’t give him room to speak.
“You left a child in the snow,” he said, voice cracking just once. “A boy. Ten, maybe eleven. He tried to run. He tried to live. And you left him.”
Hale’s jaw tightened.
Evan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I carried him. I carried the boy out of the cold. And I will carry that weight for the rest of my life.”
Hale looked away.
Evan grabbed his chin and forced him to look back.
“You don’t get to look away.”
Hale’s breath hitched.
"We're going to find out who Bergmann is," Evan stated. “You’re going to tell us what he’s doing. You’re going to tell us why he took Chet. Why he built Fourteen. Why he’s still out there.”
Hale’s voice was barely audible. “You don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand,” Evan snapped. “Because I’m done burying kids. I’m done finding bodies in snowbanks. And I’m done letting men like you hide behind science and money and whatever the hell you think makes you untouchable.”
Hale’s eyes darted to Hayes, to Marianne, to Eliza — looking for help, for rescue, for anything.
No one moved.
Evan leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.
“You’re going to talk,” he whispered. “Not because you want to. Not because you fear prison. But because you fear the people you work for.”
Hale’s breath trembled.
Evan straightened slowly.
“And you should be,” he said. “Because we’re coming for them next.”
He stepped back.
Hayes finally spoke. “Start talking, Hale.”
Hale closed his eyes.
And for the first time since they’d found him in the snow, he looked afraid.
###
Extraction
The medic re-secured all the straps on Hale's gurney and put the IV on a pole near Hale's head. “He will need to keep this line open if we have issues during the flight.”
Hayes nodded. “Get him on the transport.”
Sergeant Whitford approached. “We’ll take the boy. He’s ours to bring home.”
Evan stepped forward. “We’ll help carry him.”
Eliza placed a hand on his shoulder — steady, grounding. “We all will.”
Marianne lifted the boy gently. The team fell silent. Even the wind seemed to quiet down.\
Transport Plane — Departure
The engines hummed as the plane lifted off. Hale lay strapped to a medical stretcher. The boy lay in a separate compartment, covered respectfully.
Hayes sat heavily in the jump seat. Marianne sat across from him. Evan and Eliza sat nearby, silent, grief etched into their faces.
“We were too late,” Marianne whispered.
Hayes nodded. “For him, yes.”
Evan stared at the floor. “But not for the next one.”
Eliza’s eyes hardened. “And not for Bergmann.”
Hayes looked at Hale — pale, bound, barely conscious.
“He’ll talk,” Hayes said.
Marianne asked, “Why?”
Hayes looked at the boy’s covered form.
“Because he knows what happens when he doesn’t.”
###
Operations Center — Leah Gagnon
Leah watched the telemetry update on the screen.
HALE — SECURED. DECEASED MINOR — RECOVERED.
Her breath caught. She closed her eyes, steadying herself.
Someone lost a child, and they found a monster. One name growing larger on the board:
BERGMANN
Because whoever had been here before them…
They were still out there.