Page 102 of Without a Trace

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SCARLETT:

Beef is his love language. Respect it.

LENA:

Are you safe?

I hesitated.

SCARLETT:

I don’t know.

But I think I’m where I’m supposed to be.

…also there’s an outdoor shower and I feel rich.

SLOANE:

We’re putting that on your headstone.

LENA:

Be safe. We love you.

SCARLETT:

Love you more. Tell Hemingway I said to raise hell.

I put the phone down on the pillow beside me.

And for a minute, I let myself breathe like I wasn’t being hunted.

Like I wasn’t in love with two men I didn’t understand. Like maybe—just maybe—I could still find my way home.

But the silence pressed too loud.The kind that crawled under your skin and made you question everything.

I reached for the phone again.

Hesitated.

Then typed it out in the search bar anyway.The Hollow Order.

My thumb hovered. Then hit search.

At first—nothing.Just a few scattered mentions. An old newspaper clipping from decades ago. A blurry photo of men in black with their faces turned away. The words ancient allegiance, ritualistic, unconfirmed sightings.

I clicked deeper.A Reddit thread. Deleted.A broken link.An archived forum post that said they don’t exist on paper. Only in blood.

My breath caught. My heart stuttered.

I wasn’t looking for proof anymore.I was looking for what they didn’t want me to see.

And I was going to find it.

Even if it killed me.

Scarlett

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