Cora’s stomach churned as Mrs. Roberts opened the door, her face pale and drawn.
“Cora,” she said quickly, “do you... do you know where Callie is?”
The question hit Cora like a punch to the gut. “No.” She swallowed hard, shaking her head.
“Have you called the police?”
“We thought about it,” Mr. Roberts said, appearing in the doorway, his face lined with worry. “But it hasn’t been 24 hours yet, and they’ll just say she’s a teenager who decided to blow off some steam. They won’t take it seriously.”
Cora glanced toward the staircase that led to Callie’s room, a thought forming in the back of her mind. “Would it be okay if I went upstairs? Maybe I could find something that’ll give us an idea of where she went.”
Mrs. Roberts hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line, but finally she nodded. “Anything that can help.”
Upstairs, Callie’s room felt frozen in time, messy but familiar. On the nightstand, Cora found Callie’s favorite bracelet—the one she never left the house without. The sight of it made her chest tighten.
“She didn’t take this,” Cora said when she came back downstairs. “Something’s wrong. I’m going to look for her.”
The woods behind Callie’s house were silent, the fading sunlight casting eerie shadows through the trees. Cora searched the ground for any clue, her flashlight slicing through the gloom.
She froze when she spotted something near the base of a tree—a necklace.
The bloodied necklace dangled from Cora’s fingers, the dark stain stark against the metal in the harsh glare of her flashlight. It was Callie’s—she’d recognize the charm anywhere.
And Callie never took this necklace off—she'd worn it since eighth grade.
Her phone was already in her hand as she dialed Milo’s number. It barely rang before his voice came through, sharp and alert.
“Cora? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Callie,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “She’s gone, Milo. I found her necklace... and there’s blood on it.”
There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of movement. “Where are you?”
“The woods behind her house. Near the trail that leads to the cliffs,” she said quickly. “I think... I think something happened to her here.”
“I’m on my way,” Milo said. “Don’t go in alone.”
When Milo arrived, his headlights cut through the dense darkness of the woods. He stepped out of his car, a flashlight in one hand and a crowbar in the other.
Milo took one look at the bloodied necklace and his face went pale.
"This could be a trap," he warned. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, joining her where she stood at the edge of the trail.
“She’s my best friend, Milo,” Cora said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. “I have to find her.”
He nodded, his hand brushing her shoulder briefly. “Then let’s go.”
The woods told a story of violence. Broken branches pointed the way like arrows. Scuffed earth showed signs of dragging, of struggle.
Cora's flashlight beam caught more evidence with each step—a torn piece of fabric that matched Callie's jacket, footprints pressed deep into mud.
"Look." Milo pointed through a gap in the trees. Smoke rose in a thin line against the gray sky.
They found the campsite in a natural clearing. The fire pit still smoldered, sending up weak tendrils of smoke. Empty food wrappers and water bottles littered the ground. Someone had been here recently—very recently.
"Cora." Milo held up a familiar friendship bracelet, its colored threads dirty but unmistakable. "Isn’t it Callie's?"
A crude map lay partially buried under leaves. Cora pulled it out, revealing rough sketches of the lighthouse and surrounding cliffs. As she unfolded it, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
Her hands trembled as she picked it up. The seven-lined symbol she'd seen in Jaden's journal, in the shed, in the lighthouse, stared back at her. Below it, words written in sharp, urgent strokes: "To restore the balance, the seventh must fall."
"The lighthouse," Cora whispered. "They're going to kill her at the lighthouse."
They ran. The morning fog clung to them like ghostly fingers as they raced up the cliff path. The lighthouse stood silent, its white walls gray in the weak light.
Inside, their footsteps echoed on stone floors. Empty rooms greeted them, thick with dust and secrets.
"There has to be something," Cora muttered, running her hands along the walls. "Some clue..."
Her foot caught on a corner of the carpet. The rug shifted, revealing wooden planks beneath—and the outline of a trapdoor.
"Help me," she gasped.
Together, they lifted the heavy door. Stone steps descended into darkness. The beam of Cora's flashlight revealed a small room below, its air thick with dust and the metallic scent of blood.
Ceremonial objects filled the space. Black robes hung from hooks like sleeping bats. Candles formed a circle on the floor, their wax dripped in patterns that matched the symbols from Jaden's journal. Chalk lines formed intricate designs on the stone floor.
"Cora." Milo's voice was tight. He held up a smashed phone, its screen spiderwebbed with cracks.
"That's Callie's." Cora grabbed it, fingers trembling as she tried to turn it on. The screen flickered weakly to life.
One file remained accessible—a voice recording from the previous night. Cora pressed play.
Callie's voice emerged, broken and frightened:
"I didn't know what they'd do... I'm sorry, Cora. Do not trust—""h-he's...he's even worse than them. He's from the higher-up."
Footsteps creaked on the floor above. Before they could move, the trapdoor slammed shut with a final, echoing boom. Darkness swallowed them whole.
A voice called down, cold and amused:
"You should have stopped while you had the chance."