Grace stands, brushing sand off her hands, her expression grave. "It wasn’t just her scent," she says. "I followed her tracks too. They go right to the edge of the cliff."
Nicole gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "The cliff? Are you saying she—"
"We don’t know yet," Grace interrupts gently but firmly. "There’s something else. Come see."
We follow Grace up a winding trail to the cliffs, the sound of the crashing waves below growing louder with each step. Nicole stumbled once, but I catch her arm and steady her without a word. At the top, the group gathered near the edge, where the ground was uneven and littered with scuff marks.
"There," Grace says, pointing to a disturbed patch of dirt and grass. "You can see the signs of a struggle. Something happened here."
I kneel down
