They were mother and son inside that car they found both dea…See more

buried in the muddy ditch, its windshield streaked with water and grime. The mother’s head rested limply against the passenger window, while the boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, slumped in the driver’s seat.

“Jesus,” muttered Officer Ramirez, shaking his head. “Looks like they’ve been here a while.”

Elise didn’t respond immediately. She crouched beside the door, her gloved fingers brushing the raindrops that slid down the window. Something about the scene didn’t sit right with her. There were no signs of a struggle, no shattered glass, no skid marks that would suggest an accident. It was too neat, too deliberate.

“What do we know?” she asked, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Names match the registration,” Ramirez said. “Lydia and Jacob Turner. Mother and son. Called in as missing by the neighbor yesterday. No known enemies, nothing obvious. Neighbors say Lydia was a schoolteacher, Jacob a quiet kid, liked reading comics and playing chess. Ordinary lives, you know?”

Elise nodded slowly. Ordinary. That was often the mask danger wore. She glanced at the boy’s face again, and something caught her eye: a faint, bluish tinge around his lips. The mother, too, had the same pallor, as though sleep had taken them both a little too deeply, a little too permanently.

Her gut tightened. This wasn’t an accident.