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C laire awoke to the sound of silence — oppressive and unnatural.

No birds. No wind. Just the faint creak of a timber somewhere above her. The cabin was drafty, and her body ached from lying on the hard wooden floor. She tried to sit up, but her arms trembled, weak from hunger and cold.

Her breath fogged in the dim morning light that filtered through the cracks in the planks nailed across the inside of the windows. She pulled her knees tighter against her chest, trying to conserve warmth. Days — how many? — had blurred into one long, freezing wait.

At first, she’d shouted for help. Pounded on the walls.

Now, she listened.

Two voices. One deep, one sharper. Men arguing outside. And footsteps — more than one person, maybe two or three.

One set of boots stomped close to the door and paused. Then, silence.

Claire held her breath. She’d tried to count the men early on, but they didn’t talk much around her.

They spoke only to ask questions she couldn’t answer. The same questions over and over in thick accents she’d never heard. Not an Alaska Native dialect or even Slavic.

Where’s the money ?

Where’re the drugs ?

“I don’t know what you want from me!” she screamed before they came in again. They hadn’t hurt her… yet, but they’d threatened several times. So far, all they’d done is deprive her of food, water, and more pressing, warmth.

“Make her talk!” someone commanded in a harsh whisper.

“Maybe she doesn’t know,” said a quieter voice.

Shoes clacked against the wood floor, then a strong scent crept under the door. The noxious scent was familiar but out of place in this cabin that had only smelled of male sweat, mold, and woodsmoke.

Claire inhaled deeply.

Not an odor. Perfume.

The sharp, musky scent definitely didn’t belong here.

Charlie perfume.

Lala’s perfume .

Claire’s stomach turned. Had these men taken Lala, too?

Lala hadn’t been home when Claire returned from school.

She’d been in the barn when she heard Lala’s Blazer. When the wood chips cracked behind her, she’d yelled at Lala not to sneak up on her.

But it hadn’t been Lala.

Someone strong had grabbed her from behind while she was feeding the animals, then yanked a rough cloth sack over her head.

Claire inhaled again.

If the men had taken Lala, too, Claire would have heard her. No way would Lala not scream her head off — the way Claire had until she realized it was no use.

Had the men grabbed Lala’s bomber jacket from the house? If so, why?

Or… a scarier thought hit Claire head-on. Was Lala here… of her own accord?

Claire clenched her fists. Someone would come for her. Adam would come. She had to believe that.

When he did, she would make them all pay.

The bad guys wore masks, so she couldn’t identify them, but she would remember… Every voice. Every scent.

Especially Lala’s.