Noah Reed collapsed at the exact moment three hundred people rose to applaud the woman who claimed she had saved him from starvation.

Claire cut her engine fifty yards from the main entrance of the cannery. She sat in the darkness, listening to the heavy rain pounding against the roof of her sedan.

Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly her joints ached. On the seat beside her lay her phone, displaying a map with no cellular service signal, and Noah’s red journal.

She knew entering the building was dangerous, but waiting for the police—who were still miles away, if they were coming at all—meant giving Mara time to hide whatever was happening inside.

Claire grabbed a heavy metal flashlight from her glove compartment, slid the red journal into her coat pocket, and stepped out into the rain.

The air at Blackwood Cove was thick with salt mist and the sharp scent of decaying seaweed. The wind roared off the ocean, causing the rusted sheet-metal walls of the cannery to groan and flex like a dying giant.

Claire approached the side entrance, where a heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open slowly, the rusty hinges giving a low, painful squeal.

"Noah?" she whispered into the darkness, her flashlight beam cutting through the shadows.

The floor was slippery with damp wood rot and sea spray. Massive, disused fish-processing equipment—conveyor belts, rusted iron hoppers, and hanging metal hooks—loomed on either side like torture implements from another era.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the rear of the building, followed by the sound of scuffling feet.

Claire sprinted toward the noise, her flashlight beam swinging wildly across the room.

"Noah!"

She rounded a large iron furnace and froze.

Noah was lying on the concrete floor, his hands still bound with zip-ties, struggling against a heavy wooden crate that had been tipped over across his legs.

"Miss Monroe!" Noah gasped, his eyes wide with horror. "It’s a trap! Get out!"

Before Claire could turn around, a shadowy figure stepped out from behind the furnace.

A sharp, heavy blow struck Claire across the shoulder, sending her crashing to the concrete floor. Her flashlight tumbled from her grip, rolling across the room and casting a long, blinding beam toward the back wall.

Pain shot up Claire’s arm, but she scrambled to her feet, turning to face her attacker.

It was Mara. She was holding a heavy iron spanner, her face completely void of emotion, her posture as rigid and controlled as ever.

Behind her, Evelyn stood near the open doorway of the lower basement, holding a heavy roll of duct tape, her pristine white coat now stained with grease and rain.

"You should have stayed in your classroom, Miss Monroe," Mara said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, yet carrying easily over the roar of the storm outside. "Teachers shouldn't meddle in private domestic affairs."

Claire backed away slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on Mara while shielding Noah with her body. "Where is Oliver, Mara? Where is the seventh child?"

Evelyn gasped, dropping the roll of tape. She looked frantically at Mara. "She knows! Mara, I told you she knew!"

"Quiet, Evelyn!" Mara snapped, her eyes never leaving Claire. "She knows nothing. She has a notebook written by a traumatized boy. It holds no weight in court."

"It’s not just a notebook," Claire said, her voice steadying despite the throbbing pain in her shoulder. "I searched the public records on my way here. Oliver Reed was registered as an adopted child in 2022. Then his name vanished from your tax filings. No death certificate. No adoption dissolution. He just disappeared. Where is he?"

Mara didn't answer. She took a step forward, raising the iron spanner.

"You’re very clever, Miss Monroe," Mara said softly. "But clever people die every day in terrible accidents. An old, abandoned cannery... unstable floors... a tragic fall into the sea during a coastal storm. The media will cover your memorial service with great solemnity."

Mara lunged forward, swinging the spanner down toward Claire’s head.

Claire ducked to the side, the iron tool whistling past her ear and smashing into the concrete with a shower of sparks. She grabbed a nearby metal tray from a worktable and slammed it into Mara’s face.

Mara stumbled back, blood springing from her nose, but her expression didn't change—it only grew colder, more calculated.

"Evelyn! Grab the boy!" Mara barked.

Evelyn rushed forward, grabbing Noah by his collar and dragging him toward the open basement door. Noah kicked and screamed, biting down hard on Evelyn’s arm. Evelyn shrieked in pain, letting go for a fraction of a second.

"Caleb!" Noah screamed at the shadows above. "NOW!"

From the dark rafters fifteen feet above, a massive iron pulley attached to an old rope came swinging down like a pendulum.

Caleb had released the rusted hoist mechanism from the upper catwalk.

The heavy iron pulley struck Mara full in the chest, sending her flying backward into a stack of empty wooden fish crates, which collapsed over her in a loud cascade of splintering wood.

"Run!" Caleb yelled, sliding down a support beam to the floor.

Claire grabbed Noah, pulling him to his feet, while Caleb pulled a small utility knife from his pocket and sliced through the zip-ties binding Noah’s wrists.

"The front doors are locked!" Caleb yelled to Claire. "She has the keys! We have to go through the loading bay!"

"No!" Noah cried out, pointing toward the open basement door. "The records! Oliver’s ledger is down there! If we leave without it, they’ll burn everything!"

Claire looked at the dark stairwell leading down into the flooding sub-basement, then back at Mara, who was already pushing the heavy wooden crates off herself, her face twisted in demonic fury.