Damien's office was a maze of papers, screens, and open case files. The name "Mother Vee" echoed throughout every conversation, every report. The woman was a ghost. No address, no known origin, only the testimonies of the broken girls she'd once used and discarded like trash. Child trafficking. Prostitution. Runaway girls pulled off the streets and tossed into nightmares. But where was she?
"We've got her name listed in at least six countries," Damien said, staring at a corkboard filled with blurry images and dotted maps. "But no confirmed location. She keeps moving. Changes appearance, even aliases. One survivor said she wears wigs."
Amara hovered nearby, scrolling through a database on one of the monitors. Damien didn't realize, she's already helping them scan informations. Like she's
