TAKEN WITHOUT A TRACE.

CHAPTER FIVE:THE FIRST BETRAYAL.

Maya couldn’t shake the image of the girl on her phone screen. Every second the clock ticked closer to 1:15, her stomach knotted tighter.

She sat in Clara Hughes’s office, the video feed replaying on her laptop. Clara paced like a caged tiger, while Ethan leaned against the wall, arms folded, calm on the outside but sharp-eyed, absorbing every detail.

“We’ve traced the IP address,” Clara said finally, slamming a folder on the desk. “But it’s bouncing through so many reroutes we’re hitting walls. Whoever this is knows how to cover their tracks.”

Maya rubbed her temples. “Then we’re wasting time. He gave us a clue. ‘One trace left.’ We need to figure out what it means.”

“Or it’s another trick,” Clara countered. “He’s been leading you around since day one.”

“Not me,” Maya shot back. “Us. He’s been watching all of us.”

The tension in the room was a live wire. Clara and Maya locked eyes, both too stubborn to look away. Ethan finally cut in.

“Look. He doesn’t waste words. If he says there’s one trace left, then there is. We just need to figure out what it is before time runs out.”

Maya nodded, determination flaring. “Start with the tower. He staged everything there. Maybe he left something behind.”

Clara frowned but grabbed her keys. “Fine. But we do this carefully.”

The drive to the clock tower was thick with silence. Maya stared out the window, her thoughts racing back to Elena. Every breadcrumb The Shadow left twisted the knife deeper, reminding her of the sister she had lost.

When they arrived, the tower was as empty as before. But this time, Maya forced herself to study every corner. The chair. The ropes. The wet paint on the wall.

Then she saw it—half-hidden beneath the debris at the base of the wall. A torn scrap of paper. She knelt, heart hammering, and brushed the dust away.

It was a page from an old journal. On it, one sentence was underlined in dark ink:

“The house with blue shutters keeps its secrets well.”

Maya’s breath hitched. She knew that house. Everyone in Willowbrook did. It belonged to her godmother, Margaret Lane—her late mother’s closest friend.

Clara took the paper from her, scanning it. “You recognize this?”

Maya hesitated. “Yeah. It’s… it’s personal.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “Personal how?”

Before Maya could answer, Ethan stepped closer, voice firm. “Doesn’t matter how. What matters is whether this is our lead.”

“It does matter,” Clara snapped. “Because if the abductor is pointing us toward someone close to Torres, then we need to know everything.”

Maya’s stomach churned. Margaret had helped raise her after her parents died. She was family. The thought of her being tied to this was impossible… and yet, the clue pointed straight at her.

They drove across town to Margaret’s house. The blue shutters looked innocent in the night, framed by a neat garden and a white picket fence. But Maya’s heart thudded painfully as she climbed out of the truck.

“Stay behind me,” Ethan murmured again.

Maya ignored him, pushing the gate open. “This is Margaret’s home. She’s harmless.”

But when they reached the door, it was already ajar.

Ethan drew his weapon, Clara signaling him forward. Maya’s breath caught as they stepped inside. The air was thick, heavy with the faint tang of bleach. Too clean.

The living room was pristine, but something felt wrong. On the table sat a teacup, steam still rising as if someone had been there moments ago.

“Maya…” Ethan’s voice was low. “Don’t touch anything.”

She moved to the mantel where family photos lined the shelf. Her parents. Elena. Herself as a child—smiling in Margaret’s arms.

And tucked behind the frame, hidden just enough to be overlooked, was another Polaroid.

Maya’s blood turned to ice as she pulled it free.

It was the missing girl—again. Bound. Terrified. This time with a newspaper headline visible behind her: WILLOWBROOK WOMAN TIED TO KIDNAPPING RING?

Scrawled beneath the image, in the same jagged handwriting:

“Family betrays first.”

Maya’s hands trembled. Her vision blurred. “No… no, this isn’t possible. Margaret wouldn’t—”

Clara’s face hardened. “Maya, where is she now?”

“I—I don’t know. She’s been out of town. Visiting cousins. At least that’s what she told me.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Then she lied.”

Maya staggered back, clutching the photo. The one person who had been her anchor since Elena disappeared—the woman she had trusted like a second mother—was now tangled in this nightmare.

And as the truth sank in, her phone buzzed once more.

This time, the message was short.

“One more betrayal, and she dies.”

The screen flickered. Then went black.

The abductor implicates someone from Maya’s inner circle—her godmother Margaret—shattering her trust and pulling her deeper into betrayal and doubt.