Leah Gagnon — Point of View
Leah sat in the community center’s back office, and the lights dimmed to keep the screens visible. She had pulled up the last two weeks of traffic‑camera footage from the Boundary Ridge corridor — the stretch of road closest to BR‑12. Most of it was nothing. Delivery trucks. Farm pickups. A few out‑of‑state plates. The usual.
But then she saw it. A dark SUV. Tinted windows. Moving slowly past the BR‑12 access road. Not unusual by itself. But the timestamp made her sit up straighter. The night after, they had found RR‑2. Leah rewound. Zoomed. Enhanced. The passenger door opened for a moment — just long enough for someone to step out and check something on the roadside—a man.
Leah froze the frame. He was tall. Broad‑shouldered. Wearing a black jacket with a yellow circular patch on the left side. And he walked with a limp.
Leah’s breath caught. “Maker...”
###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
Eliza entered the room at Leah’s call, Evan and Hayes close behind. “What is it?” Eliza asked.
Leah pointed at the screen. “Him.”
Eliza stepped closer. The man was half‑turned, face shadowed, but the details were unmistakable:
- the limp
- the black jacket
- the yellow sun‑like patch
- the way he kept his head down
- the way he scanned the treeline, not the road
Evan whispered, “That’s him.”
Hayes leaned in. “The patch… that’s Solstice Protection.”
Eliza nodded slowly. “Aiyana described that exact symbol.”
Leah swallowed. “He was here. Two nights ago. Checking the access road to BR‑12.”
Hayes frowned. “Checking for what?”
Eliza answered quietly. “For us.”
###
Evan Blackhorse — Point of View
Evan studied the man’s posture — tense, wary, constantly glancing over his shoulder. “He’s not acting like security,” Evan said. “He’s acting like someone who doesn’t want to be seen.”
Hayes nodded. “Or someone scared.”
Leah replayed the footage. The man knelt near the ditch, brushing aside dead grass. He checked something on the ground — a marker, a sensor, a buried line — then stood, wincing as he put weight on his left leg.
Evan’s jaw tightened. “He’s maintaining something.”
Hayes added, “Or disabling something.”
Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “Or warning someone.”
Leah paused the video again. The man looked up — just for a second — and the camera caught the edge of his face. Not enough to identify him. But enough to see the fear.
###
Carter Hayes — Point of View
Hayes felt a chill crawl up his spine. “This guy… he’s not the trafficker,” Hayes said. “He’s not moving like them. He’s not acting like them.”
Eliza nodded. “Aiyana said he feared the others.”
Leah added, “And he told her not to remember him.”
Hayes exhaled. “Which means he knows what’s happening inside BR‑12.”
Evan crossed his arms. “And he’s still alive.”
Hayes looked at the screen again. The man limped back to the SUV, glancing over his shoulder one last time before the door closed. Hayes whispered, “He’s trying to survive.”
Eliza’s voice was quiet but firm. “And he might be the only adult who ever tried to help those kids.”
###
Leah Gagnon — Point of View
Leah zoomed out, pulling up the next camera in the sequence. The SUV appeared again — but this time the man wasn’t looking at the road. He was looking directly at the camera. Not aggressively. Not threateningly. Just… looking. Like he wanted someone to see him.
Leah’s breath caught. “Eliza,” she whispered, “I think he knows we’re watching.”
Eliza stared at the screen. “No,” she whispered. “He’s hoping we are.”
###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
Eliza stepped back from the monitor, her mind already moving. “We need to find him,” she said. “Before the network does.”
Hayes nodded. “Agreed.”
Evan added, “And before BR‑12 goes dark.”
Leah saved the footage, her hands trembling slightly. The man with the limp wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was real. He was close. And he was running out of time.