Morning came quietly to Hollow Creek.
The storm had passed, leaving a low fog that clung to the street like breath on glass.
Emily stood by the window, watching the pale sky lighten behind the trees. The letter from her father lay open on the desk. She had read the same line for an hour.
*The truth was never buried, only postponed.*
The words looked different in daylight—less mysterious, more accusing.
She turned as Grace entered, hair still damp, camera slung across her chest.
“You didn’t sleep,” Grace said.
“Neither did you.”
“I had files to back up.”
“I had ghosts to entertain.”
Grace dropped her bag on the floor. “You’re still going to the mill?”
“Yes.”
“Even after last night?”
“Especially after last night.”
Grace frowned. “Collins will be there. He called a meeting with the redevelopment team at nine. The press might show.”
“Good. Let them hear something honest for once.”
“You can’t fight him in his own house.”
“Then I’ll open the windows and let the rain in.”
Grace sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“I learned from you.”
They shared a small smile that didn’t last.
Grace switched on her laptop. “Before you charge into a storm, I need to show you something.”
Emily walked over. On the screen were frames from the protest video—cropped, enhanced, slowed.
“There,” Grace said, pointing to a figure on the mill’s roof. “That’s not a worker. That’s someone with a telephoto lens.”
“I saw that light.”
“Right, but look closer.”
Grace zoomed in. The badge on the figure’s jacket caught the sun, a hexagon like the one they’d seen before.
“City contractor?” Emily asked.
“Same emblem, different color. It’s red now, not blue.”
“What does that mean?”
“That they’re not documenting the site—they’re monitoring it.”
Emily folded her arms. “Spying.”
“Watching. Listening. Maybe both.”
Thunder no longer filled the sky, but the silence it left was heavier.
Grace closed the laptop. “That’s my warning. Whatever you find there today, assume you’re not alone.”
“I never am.”
“I’m serious, Em. You don’t know who’s behind this.”
“Neither do they. That’s what scares them.”
Grace looked at her. “You sound like your father.”
“I hope not. He trusted too many people.”
“And you?”
“I trust the rain. It tells the truth eventually.”
She picked up the letter, folded it neatly, and slipped it into her coat pocket.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Grace hesitated, then followed. “You’re going to make my morning chaotic.”
“That’s the only kind worth filming.”
Outside, the fog began to lift. The town smelled of wet stone and coffee.
Cars passed slowly, headlights dim in the mist.
The world looked clean, but Emily knew better—storms never washed everything away; they only rearranged what was left.
They turned onto the road toward the mill.
As they passed the square, a notice board caught Grace’s eye.
She stopped, camera rising.
“Look at this,” she said.
A new poster had been pinned to the board, the ink still damp.
*Phase Two — Riverside Redevelopment Project. Commencement Pending Approval.*
Emily’s hands tightened. “Phase two.”
“They’re moving faster than we thought.”
“Or they’re trying to bury something before we dig it up.”
Grace filmed the poster, zooming in on the official seal at the bottom.
“City Planning Department, signed by Collins himself.”
Emily exhaled slowly. “He doesn’t even hide anymore.”
Grace lowered the camera. “This is my warning number two.”
“I’ll take it.”
They walked on, the road bending toward the lake.
The mill appeared through the fog—dark roof, broken windows, a place still breathing the night’s storm.
Emily stopped at the fence. “If anything happens, get it on record.”
Grace nodded. “Always.”
Emily pushed the gate. It groaned open.
The sound echoed across the water like a promise being broken again.
The air inside the mill was damp and cold, heavy with the smell of oil and mold.
Grace switched on her light. The beam cut through the dust, slicing the dark into thin, trembling ribbons.
“Careful,” Emily said. “The floor’s still wet.”
Grace nodded, stepping carefully over a puddle that reflected the ceiling like a warped mirror.
The silence felt wrong—too still for a building that had been alive with echo just the night before.
Emily moved to the main office. Papers lay scattered on the floor, some stuck together by rain. She knelt, pulling one free.
The heading read *Riverside Acquisition Agreement—Amendment B.*
She frowned. “Not redevelopment. Acquisition.”
Grace crouched beside her. “Different project?”
“Or the same one under a new name.”
The letters at the bottom caught her eye—two signatures, one faint and one bold.
The first: *Arthur Rhodes.*
The second: *Collins.*
But below both was a third signature, written in different ink.
*Consultant Oversight: Rose Parker.*
Emily’s breath caught. “Your mother.”
Grace blinked. “No. That’s impossible. She never worked for him.”
“She did once. Maybe she didn’t know it.”
Grace lifted her camera. “I’m getting this on record.”
The flash lit the room for an instant, turning dust into sparks.
A sound followed—the slow creak of metal shifting.
Emily looked up. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah.”
They both froze.
A shadow passed across the far doorway.
Grace whispered, “Someone’s here.”
Emily straightened, heart hammering. “Back to the wall.”
The light flickered. The air thickened with the smell of wet rust.
Footsteps echoed from the hall.
Grace steadied the camera. “If it’s him, we’re getting proof.”
“Stay behind me.”
A figure stepped into the doorway. The red badge gleamed in the beam.
“City inspection,” the man said. His voice was flat, official. “Restricted access.”
Emily didn’t move. “We’re consultants under the heritage permit.”
“Permit revoked this morning.”
Grace whispered, “That’s not possible.”
The man took another step forward. “Turn off the camera.”
“No.”
He reached for her wrist. Emily moved first, stepping between them.
“You’re trespassing,” he said.
“This is public record property.”
“Not anymore.”
Emily’s pulse beat hard in her throat. “Who sent you?”
“You should go.”
Grace raised the camera higher. “Say it again.”
“I said leave.”
He turned, hand going to the radio on his shoulder. “Security Alpha, report—”
Emily grabbed the paper from the desk. “Run.”
They bolted through the side corridor. The sound of boots followed.
Grace’s camera swung against her side, light bouncing wildly across the walls.
“This way!” Emily shouted.
They burst through a maintenance door into the loading bay. The fog outside had thickened again, swallowing sound.
Grace slammed the door shut. “He’s calling someone.”
Emily clutched the papers. “Then we need to find Liam.”
“He’ll kill you if he knows you’re back here.”
“Not if we show him this.”
The mill lights flickered to life, one by one, as if someone had restored the power from outside.
Grace looked up. “They just turned it on.”
“Why now?”
“To make us visible.”
They ran along the narrow catwalk toward the exit. The air buzzed with static.
From the far side of the yard, headlights appeared—two cars pulling up fast.
Grace raised the camera again, hands shaking. “We’re being boxed in.”
“Not if we move first.”
Emily slid down the rail and hit the ground hard. She ran for the fence, papers pressed to her chest.
Grace followed, breath catching.
Behind them, the red badge man shouted something into his radio.
The gate loomed ahead. Emily reached for the latch.
A voice called her name. “Emily!”
She froze. It wasn’t the man—it was Liam.
He sprinted from the fog, hair damp, coat half-buttoned, eyes burning with disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“Finding proof.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
He glanced at the cars pulling closer. “We need to move—now.”
Grace reached the fence beside them. “They’re coming around the back.”
Emily shoved the papers into Liam’s hands. “If I don’t make it out—”
“Don’t finish that.”
“Promise me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
The engines roared.
Liam grabbed her wrist. “This way!”
They ran toward the lake path, Grace behind them, camera still recording.
The fog swallowed their shapes, leaving only the red glow of the badge fading into the mist behind them.
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