My son disappeared from my parents’ estate on the morning of my bridal shower—and his fifth birthday.

David drove the rental SUV through the winding, overgrown roads of the Catskill Mountains. The sky was the color of bruised iron, threatening rain.

I held a map printed from the local library archives. Silver Pines wasn't on any modern GPS. It had been erased from public memory after the fire of '98.

“You realize we’re chasing ghosts, right?” David said softly, his eyes on the treacherous road.

“If Toby died in that fire, I need to see where it happened,” I replied, staring out the window. “And if he didn't... someone out here knows something.”

We found the ruins of Silver Pines just as the rain began to fall. Charred stone foundations jutted out of the overgrown earth like rotted teeth. Nature was reclaiming the horrors that had taken place here.

We parked and walked through the muddy ruins. There was nothing left but rusted bed frames and shattered glass.

“Over here,” David called out.

He was standing near what used to be the administrative wing. Half-buried under a collapsed brick wall was a heavy iron safe. The fire had warped the metal, popping the hinges just enough to expose the interior.

I dropped to my knees in the mud, pulling at the heavy iron door until my hands bled. It gave way with a groan.

Inside were melted hard drives and ash. But at the very bottom, insulated by a thick leather binding, was a ledger.

I pulled it out. The pages were singed, but legible. It was a list of names, dates, and corresponding buyer codes.

My eyes scanned the columns until they landed on a familiar entry: Subject 4: Toby. Age 8. Status: Extracted prior to facility termination. Buyer: C-Vanguard.