The golden light of the setting sun stretched across Brightvale's Main Street, casting long shadows over the brick buildings and storefronts. Groups of civilians strolled by the shops, their movements careful, their conversations hushed. Some hurried, eyes downcast, eager to avoid drawing attention from the Quarantine Authority patrols.

Soldiers in dark green uniforms stood at street corners, rifles slung lazily over their shoulders, watching with a disinterest that came from years of routine. Occasionally, a civilian truck or a military jeep rumbled down the pavement. A few children played near a broken fire hydrant, kicking around an old basketball, their laughter an eerie contrast to the quiet tension lingering in the air.

And in the middle of it all, tucked away in the town's famous park, beneath a flickering streetlamp, three teenagers sat on a wooden bench, talking as though the world hadn't ended around them.

Lucy Sinclair leaned back, arms crossed, her keen blue eyes scanning the street. Long blonde hair framed her face, sleek and meticulously styled. She was slim, effortlessly elegant, and dressed as though she had somewhere important to be.

Beside her, Karen Baxter lounged with her legs kicked up on the bench, grinning like she had just heard the best joke in the world. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. Her clothes were nice, well-kept—middle class, stylish but practical.

Olliver Grayson, ever the nervous one, perched at the edge of his seat, fidgeting with the collar of his sweater vest. His short brown hair, brown eyes, and plain, unassuming department store clothes stood in stark contrast to his two friends.

"I'm just saying," Karen announced, tossing her hands in the air. "If I were a secret agent working for the Resistance, I wouldn't be some shadowy figure lurking in the dark. No, sir! I'd be charming, dashing—the kind of girl who could talk her way past any soldier and still have time to sip a milkshake before curfew."

Ollie sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Golly, Karen, you do realize there is no Resistance, right?" His voice dropped as his gaze flicked to a pair of soldiers loitering near a lamppost. "If anyone heard you talking like that, we'd be in a heap of trouble."

Karen's grin didn't waver. "Oh, come now, Ollie! You gotta have some sense of adventure! What if there really was a secret organization out there? Maybe one of us is already in it and just hasn't told the others."

Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, if you're in the Resistance, Karen, they're doomed. You'd spill the whole operation over a game of hopscotch."

Karen gasped, pressing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "That, Miss Sinclair, is slander. I'd make an excellent secret agent! Why, I'd be Brightvale's most dazzling mystery woman!"

Lucy smirked. "What would your codename be? The Yapping Menace?"

"The Magnificent Miss K!" Karen declared proudly. "Has a certain pizzazz, don't you think?"

Ollie exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Jeepers, you two are gonna get us arrested one of these days."

The warm glow of the streetlights flickered on as dusk settled over Brightvale. The town never truly slept, but at this hour, it grew quieter. Shops wound down, civilians hurried home before curfew, and soldiers stood at their posts like statues.

Then came the shouting.

A commotion shattered the evening's rhythm—the unmistakable bark of orders, the desperate wail of a woman, the harsh clatter of boots on pavement.

Lucy turned her head toward the sound, Karen and Ollie following her gaze. Across the street, just past the corner of Main, the familiar neon glow of Ethan's Electronics buzzed against the twilight sky. The bright orange letters gleamed: Ethan's Electronics: Powering Your World!

But the usual hum of business was absent. Two QA officers dragged Mr. Bennett from the shop, gripping his arms like iron vices. His glasses hung crooked on his face, his hair disheveled. He wasn't fighting them. It didn't matter. They handled him like a criminal anyway.

"No! No, please! I have a family!" Bennett's voice cracked with panic. "I've done nothing wrong!"

His wife stood screaming in the doorway, fists clenched. "You can't take him! He's not sick!"

She tried to push past an officer, but he shoved her back inside the shop. A second later, Bennett was forced into the back of a waiting military truck. The engine roared to life, drowning out his final protests as the steel doors slammed shut. His wife collapsed to her knees, her sobs barely audible over the idling vehicle. A few townsfolk gathered, whispering, holding her shoulders, but no one stepped forward.

Karen was the first to break the silence. "Well. That was dreadful."

Ollie's hands gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white. "Golly, they just took him. Like, he was some sort of—" He swallowed, glancing at Lucy. "They think he's sick, don't they?"

Lucy didn't answer right away. She kept her eyes on the empty street, watching dust swirl in the truck's wake, the last evidence that Mr. Bennett had ever been there at all.

"Or he did something else to make them mad," she finally murmured.

Karen exhaled sharply. "Gee, you mean besides existing?"

Lucy shot her a look, but Karen just shrugged, arms folded. "What? I'm just saying. The Quarantine Authority doesn't need much of an excuse to snatch people off the street."

"They wouldn't take someone without a reason," Ollie insisted, but his voice betrayed his own doubt.

Lucy tilted her head. "Wouldn't they?"

Ollie didn't answer.

Karen leaned forward, a playful glint in her green eyes. "Well, Lucy, this is exactly the kind of thing our brilliant, ever-intrepid detective should be investigating!" She waved her hands dramatically, her voice taking on the cadence of a radio drama announcer.

"Tonight on The Sinclair Files—a sinister arrest, a weeping wife, and a government conspiracy! Can Lucy Sinclair crack the case before the stroke of midnight?"

Lucy let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "You read way too many pulp novels."

Karen grinned. "You love it."

Ollie sighed, rubbing his temples. "Can we please not make light of an actual man getting dragged away?"

"Aw, Ollie, if we don't laugh about it, we'll cry about it." Karen nudged him playfully. "Besides, it's not like Lucy actually plans to investigate, right?"

Lucy stood up. "Come on," she said, already heading toward her car. "Let's go home. It's getting late."

Karen blinked, then turned to Ollie with a smirk. "Oh-ho, I know that look. That's the 'this-is-a-mystery-I-can't-let-go' look."

"I don't have a look," Lucy said flatly.

Karen and Ollie exchanged a knowing glance before following her.

Lucy's car, an old two-door Studebaker, sat tucked beneath a streetlamp, its chrome glinting under the yellow glow. The car was slightly worn, yet it remained dependable as always. The trio slid into their seats, and as Lucy started the engine, Karen turned to Ollie.

"You ever wonder where they take people?"

Ollie hesitated. "... Not really."

"Sure you do," Karen pressed, buckling her seatbelt. "They say it's 'medical isolation,' but has anyone ever come back? Ever?"

Ollie swallowed. "Maybe they really are sick."

"Or maybe," Karen said, stretching out in her seat, "they're just vanishing people."

Lucy didn't say anything. She put the car into drive, her grip on the wheel tightening slightly as they pulled away from the park. She knew deep down that Karen was right. People who got taken never came back.

And if Mr. Bennett wasn't sick... then what was he guilty of?

The Studebaker's engine hummed steadily as Lucy guided it through Brightvale's dimly lit roads. Despite everything, the town looked almost... normal.

Karen sat up front, legs tucked comfortably beneath her, staring out at the town rolling by. Ollie sat in the back, fiddling with his sleeves, his brown eyes still clouded with the weight of what they'd just seen. For a while, no one said anything.

Then Karen broke the silence. "You miss your dad?"

Lucy didn't take her eyes off the road. "Yeah," she admitted. "It's been hard the last eight months."

"Golly," Karen sighed, shifting in her seat. "I mean, he was the guy around here. Nobody knew this town better than Detective Sinclair."

Lucy gave a small, tired smile. "Yeah. That's why they took him."

Karen glanced at her. "Did he ever say why exactly?"

"He was a little vague," Lucy said, turning the wheel to follow the road past an old tobacco farm. "But he told me they were taking him to some government bunker. Said they needed his skills. That it was 'to put an end to all this.'"

Karen snorted. "Well, that's reassuring."

Lucy sighed. "I know, right?"

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the tires on the pavement. Karen leaned her head against the window, exhaling softly. "I miss my mom."

Lucy's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "I know," she said quietly.

Karen didn't cry—she never cried—but there was a softness in her voice that made Lucy's heart ache.

As they reached Karen's street, Lucy slowed the car in front of a small, quaint house tucked between two larger homes. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the steps. Karen unbuckled her seatbelt and turned back toward Ollie.

"Well, don't get snatched by the feds, buddy."

Ollie rolled his eyes. "You're hilarious."

Karen grinned before opening the door and stepping out. "See ya tomorrow, sleuths!"

Lucy gave a small wave, waiting until Karen disappeared inside before driving off.