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Dane sighs quietly as he realizes Joe and his dad still aren't in a mood to share... or Joe really doesn't know anything. He'd been hoping. For a second, he considers pushing the issue, but if he keeps pressing, he's going to sound like a whiny kid, so he settles into silence instead, watching the passing buildings, people, and vehicles through the window. It feels like a long shot, but as they roll through town, his eyes keep drifting down side streets and alleys anyway, searching for any sign of the vehicle from the footage.

Dane sighs quietly as he realizes Joe and his dad still aren't in a mood to share... or Joe really doesn't know anything. He'd been hoping. For a second, he considers pushing the issue, but if he keeps pressing, he's going to sound like a whiny kid, so he settles into silence instead, watching the passing buildings, people, and vehicles through the window. It feels like a long shot, but as they roll through town, his eyes keep drifting down side streets and alleys anyway, searching for any sign of the vehicle from the footage. Yet, no dice.

They finally roll to a stop in front of a small, weary‑looking house crouched beneath a pair of overgrown crab apple trees. Squished frozen crab apples polka dot the yard through a faint haze of snow. A battered brown sedan sits in the driveway, its paint sun‑faded and peeling in long curls like old bark. George and Joe climb out first, boots crunching on gravel and snow, then gesture for Dane to follow.

Up close, the place looks even more tired. The front steps are cracked through the middle, sagging just enough to make you wonder which one will give out first. The black iron railing wobbles when Joe tests it, flakes of rust and chipped paint dusting his palm. The front door is an old wooden slab with a mail slot and an iron knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Its mane is worn smooth by decades of use. Joe lifts the knocker and slams it three times. The sound echoes through the house like someone hitting a pipe with a wrench.

“I got it!” a female calls from inside.

The door swings open to reveal a young brunette, maybe Dane’s age, maybe a year older. Her smile appears automatically, either by habit or politeness, but it collapses the instant she registers the sheriff’s badge and Joe’s deputy patch. Her eyes flick to Dane, taking in his plain clothes, his uncertain posture. Confusion creases her brow. She turns her head slightly but keeps her gaze locked on the three. “Uh… Mom? I think it’s for you.”

As she pulls the door mostly shut, Dane catches a glimpse inside. The living room carpet is threadbare, worn down to the backing in places. A sagging couch sits under a crooked family photo. The air is thick with the smell of meatloaf, which is overcooked, drowning in ketchup that’s too sharp, too vinegary. Frank had taught him the difference between good ketchup glaze and whatever this was. This was the “ran out of sugar halfway through” version.

The clatter of dishes stops abruptly. Footsteps approach. The door opens again, this time revealing a taller, thinner woman, who looks like an older, rough‑edged mirror of the girl. Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, and her eyes are sharp enough to cut rope. “Hello,” she says, voice polite but wary. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

Then she spots Dane. Her expression shifts to possible recognition; or maybe irritation and a flash of something protective. “Did Amber pick another fight?”

Dane blinks, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, no, ma'am, not as far as I know." he says quickly, glancing toward his dad and the sheriff almost as soon as the words are out. "I'm just with them." He shifts his weight, suddenly very aware of how out of place he looks standing on the porch while the adults do the real talking.

Dane blinks, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, no, ma'am, not as far as I know." he says quickly, glancing toward his dad and the sheriff almost as soon as the words are out. "I'm just with them." He shifts his weight, suddenly very aware of how out of place he looks standing on the porch while the adults do the real talking.

Joe lifts a photograph so she can see it, yet Dane can’t make out the image from behind him. “Have you seen this girl at any point in the last few months?”

Dane watches his father more than the woman. George studies her face with that quiet, practiced scrutiny that he uses when he’s already half‑sure of the answer. The woman stares at the picture longer than she needs to, then finally says, “No,” a little too quickly. She leans back into the house and calls, “Amber! Come here!”

George gives Joe the slightest shake of his head; barely a gesture, but enough to say she doesn't know anything. A moment later, the younger girl appears, hovering close to her mother like she’s expecting to be scolded. “What is it?”

Her mother points at the photo. “Have you seen her in the past few months?”

Amber leans forward, squinting at the picture. “Yeah, that’s Violet. But no one’s seen her in months. Why?”

Joe keeps his tone even. “Ma’am, we’re just following up on some leads. Your vehicle was spotted in the neighborhood around the time she was last seen. Would you mind if we came inside and had a look around?”

“Um… I suppose so,” she says, uncertain but not refusing. “We drive through that neighborhood every day, though. Amber, you stay out here.”

She steps aside to let Joe and George in. As they disappear behind the door, Amber slips out onto the porch, the door clicking shut behind her. She’s wearing oversized bunny slippers, the kind that look like they’ve survived too many wash cycles. She lowers herself onto the top step beside Dane, arms wrapped around herself, hands trembling just enough for him to notice.

Dane lowers himself onto the step beside her, leaving a little space between them, and stares out across the street. Without looking at Amber, he speaks softly. "You want to talk about it? Violet's my friend. I want to keep her safe." He waits in silence, letting her decide whether she trusts him enough to answer.

Dane lowers himself onto the step beside her, leaving a little space between them, and stares out across the street. Without looking at Amber, he speaks softly. "You want to talk about it? Violet's my friend. I want to keep her safe." He waits in silence, letting her decide whether she trusts him enough to answer.

"I've never seen you before." She dryly says, without looking at him, "You in trouble too?"

At least he got her talking. If she keeps talking, maybe she'll open up more.

"Nah. I'm up from Fort Hammer doing a side job." .oO Not a lie, just... not the whole truth. Oo. "And that's a fair question. You don't know me, and I'm sitting on your steps with two lawmen inside your house. I probably wouldn't trust me either. My name's Dane. Deputy Stryker," he adds, gesturing over his shoulder, "the old guy, he's my dad. I just came along while they try to track down Vi."

He lets that sit for a second before continuing, quieter this time. "Between you and me, I don't want the wrong people finding her. I just want to know she's safe wherever she is."

At least he got her talking. If she keeps talking, maybe she'll open up more.

"Nah. I'm up from Fort Hammer doing a side job." oO(Not a lie, just... not the whole truth)Oo "And that's a fair question. You don't know me, and I'm sitting on your steps with two lawmen inside your house. I probably wouldn't trust me either. My name's Dane. Deputy Stryker," he adds, gesturing over his shoulder, "the old guy, he's my dad. I just came along while they try to track down Vi." He lets that sit for a second before continuing, quieter this time. "Between you and me, I don't want the wrong people finding her. I just want to know she's safe wherever she is."

She begins audibly crying, letting her raven hair obscure her face, "They said... they'd kill me if I talk," she manages through terrified sobs.

Dane isn’t sure how to deal with a crying girl. oO(Should I pat her on the arm or something?)Oo he wonders. Rather than do anything, he just sits there for a second before saying, “How about we start with something simple—one sob for yes, two for no?” He jokes, awkwardly trying to lighten the mood. More seriously, he continues, “Is Violet in danger from the people who threatened you, or did it seem like she was going with them willingly?”

Dane isn’t sure how to deal with a crying girl. oO(Should I pat her on the arm or something?)Oo he wonders. Rather than do anything, he just sits there for a second before saying, “How about we start with something simple. One sob for yes, two for no?” He jokes, awkwardly trying to lighten the mood. More seriously, he continues, “Is Violet in danger from the people who threatened you, or did it seem like she was going with them willingly?”

She slides her hair back behind her ear. She's rather pretty as she half smiles, "She's in trouble, These two guys in a white van. They noticed that I saw them grab her and they almost took me. But they let me go," Her hand begins trembling again, "They do like floor repairs or something. I don't even know why they took her."