The next day Morganta was at work, but it didn’t feel like a normal workday. It felt like an ending she was walking through in real time. The kind of day where everything is still technically functioning—people answering phones, printers running, footsteps down hallways—but emotionally it’s already finished.
She had messaged HR the night before.
No long explanation. No dramatic resignation speech. Just a simple request to leave.
They accepted it.
Allowed her one final day at Martins Detective Agency.
That alone said a lot about how things worked there. No fuss. No surprise. Just paperwork and acceptance.
So she came in that morning knowing it would be the last time she ever did.
The office looked the same as always, which somehow made it worse. Same dull lighting. Same faint smell of coffee that had been reheated too many times. Same low hum of conversations that never fully carried across the room.
But Morganta noticed everything differently.
People she usually walked past without thinking suddenly felt important. A colleague laughing at something on their phone. Someone arguing softly over a case file. The receptionist tapping keys with the same rhythm she always used.
All of it felt like something she was stepping away from rather than walking through.
She spent the morning saying goodbye in small ways.
Not big emotional speeches. Just brief conversations at desks, a few “take care” comments, a couple of awkward smiles that didn’t quite know how to behave.
Most people were surprised, but not shocked. That was the strangest part. Like they had all sensed she didn’t fully belong there anymore.
At her desk, she packed slowly.
Drawers first. Pens. Old case notes. A stapler she didn’t even remember bringing in. Then personal things. A mug she never really liked but used anyway. A few folded documents she probably should’ve thrown out months ago.
At the bottom of a drawer was a photo.
She paused when she saw it.
It was her friend—Sarah—taken years ago before everything changed. The photo was slightly faded at the edges, like time had been softening it without asking permission. Sarah was laughing in it, head tilted slightly, sunlight catching her face in a way that made everything look lighter than it actually was.
Morganta didn’t say anything when she picked it up.
She just held it for a second longer than she needed to, then placed it carefully into her bag.
No ceremony. No comment. Just keeping it with her like she always had.
By the time she finished packing, her office looked emptier than it should have.
Not completely bare. Just… missing something.
She didn’t look back when she left.
Her car was already loaded when she got outside. Boxes in the back seat. Bag in the passenger seat. Engine already feeling like it was waiting for her to decide what came next.
She set the GPS for Fraser.
That was the only plan she had now.
Meet Lexus.
Move forward.
Whatever that meant.
The drive out of Kingsport felt longer than it should have. Not because of distance, but because of awareness. Morganta found herself noticing things she normally filtered out without thinking. Road signs. Tree lines. The way the sky looked slightly too open in certain stretches.
And then there was the highway.
The Dawson route.
She didn’t need the GPS for that part anymore. She recognised it.
That thought alone made her grip the wheel a little tighter.
Fraser appeared gradually. Not a big town. More like a place that existed because the road passed through it rather than because it wanted to exist on its own. Quiet buildings. Sparse movement. A sense that most people didn’t stay longer than they needed to.
And right at the entrance—
Lexus was already there.
Sitting on the “Welcome to Fraser” sign like it was a bench designed specifically for that purpose. One leg hanging loosely, the other bent up slightly. He looked completely relaxed, which somehow made the whole situation feel even stranger.
Like he didn’t fully belong in tension the way other people did.
Morganta parked nearby.
She sat in the car for half a second before getting out, just adjusting to the idea that this was real. Then she stepped out, grabbed her notebook from the passenger seat, and immediately started writing while still walking.
Names first.
Possible witnesses.
Locations.
Patterns.
She didn’t look up until she reached him.
When she did, she realised he was already watching her.
Lexus stood up as she approached and jumped down from the sign with an easy movement, like gravity wasn’t something he thought about too much.
They shook hands.
His grip was firm, but not forceful. Controlled. Calm.
He was taller than she expected—around six foot three. Brown curly hair that didn’t look styled so much as naturally cooperative. A face that gave the impression of someone who was tired of chaos but had learned how to exist around it anyway.
Morganta broke the moment with a small attempt at humour. “So… Lexus Grant. And you don’t even drive a Lexus?”
It didn’t land the way she wanted.
He glanced toward the road and nodded slightly. “Ford, actually.”
A pause.
Then a faint smile from him anyway, like he understood what she was trying to do even if it didn’t quite work.
“Close enough,” she muttered, flipping open her notebook again.
He didn’t push the awkwardness. Just let it pass naturally.
Instead, he pulled out his phone.
“I’ve got a few locations mapped already,” he said, turning the screen toward her. “Places tied to the Dawson route. Stops they could’ve made. Points where signal drops happened. That kind of thing.”
Morganta glanced at the list. It was organised in a way she immediately respected.
“You’ve been on this a while,” she said.
“Long time,” Lexus replied. “Since the day it happened.”
That made her look up properly.
He didn’t look dramatic about it. Just certain.
Then he added, almost casually, “I knew John Dawson.”
That paused her.
“Worked with him,” Lexus continued. “Back when he was still a sergeant.”
Morganta filed that away immediately. Connection changed everything in cases like this.
Lexus leaned back slightly against the sign. “I never bought the official story.”
“Which is?” she asked.
“That he did it. That he drove off and ended everything.”
Morganta didn’t respond right away. She’d read the same theory. Everyone had.
Lexus shook his head slightly. “Doesn’t fit. Not him. Not the family.”
Then, after a beat, he added more honestly, “I think something else was there.”
Morganta finally looked at him properly. “Something else like what?”
He hesitated, then gave a small shrug.
“I’m into supernatural explanations,” he admitted. “Always have been. I know how it sounds.”
A short laugh followed it, like he expected her to dismiss him immediately.
But Morganta didn’t.
It wasn’t agreement. Just interest.
Not everything had clean answers in her experience either.
Still, she kept her tone practical. “We stick to evidence first.”
“Fair,” Lexus said. “I just don’t think the evidence ends where people say it does.”
That was enough for now.
Morganta closed her notebook slightly. “First stop is Moretti’s. Family-run supermarket on the edge of Fraser. They were the last confirmed human contact before the disappearance.”
Lexus nodded immediately. “Good. Witness memory window is still valuable.”
She gave him a look. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve read enough cases,” he said simply.
Then he turned toward his car.
They drove separately.
On the way, Morganta found herself staring out the window more than she meant to. The road stretched ahead in long quiet lines, and for the first time she noticed something she hadn’t before.
This was the same highway.
The Dawson route.
Same direction. Same stretch of land. Same emptiness in places that should’ve felt more alive.
At around 1pm, she arrived at the store.
Lexus pulled in shortly after.
Moretti’s General Store sat slightly off the highway, old and slightly weathered, like it had been holding its place there longer than most of the town around it. The sign above the door was simple. No branding effort. Just function.
Inside, the bell above the door rang softly when they entered.
The shop smelled faintly like old produce and cleaning products trying to cover it up.
Behind the counter stood Enzo Moretti.
Seventy-two. Tanned skin. Balding slightly on top. The kind of face that looked like it had spent its life dealing with routine and never expected anything unusual to interrupt it.
Until that day.
Morganta approached carefully.
“Mr Moretti?” she asked.
He looked up, blinked once, then nodded. “Yes.”
“We’re investigating the Dawson family disappearance,” she said. “We were hoping you could answer a few questions.”
Something in his expression changed immediately. Not fear. Not shock.
Recognition.
Like he had already expected this moment to arrive at some point.
He gestured toward the back of the shop. “We can talk.”
The staff room was small. Functional. A couple of chairs. A table that had clearly seen years of use. A faint hum from the fridge in the corner.
They sat.
Lexus took the lead first, speaking calmly. “We just need you to walk us through what you remember that night.”
Enzo nodded slowly. “They came in. Family of five.”
Morganta opened her notebook.
He continued, voice steady but slightly distant. “Asked to use the bathroom key. I gave it. Nothing strange. Normal stop.”
He paused.
“They left. Everything looked fine.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Then I heard screaming.”
That got both of them to focus.
Enzo’s hands tightened slightly on his knees. “Mary’s voice. I remember it. Clear.”
Lexus leaned forward. “You didn’t go outside?”
Enzo shook his head.
“No.”
Silence followed that.
Heavy silence.
Morganta wrote it down anyway, even though she could feel how uncomfortable the moment had become.
When she finally closed her notebook, she thought they were done.
But Enzo raised a hand slightly.
“I didn’t help them,” he said quietly. “I know that.”
Morganta looked up.
He stood slowly, like the chair suddenly felt too small for what he was carrying. “But I want to now.”
Lexus exchanged a look with her.
Enzo continued. “There was something I never paid attention to that night. Near the highway. Skid marks. Broken glass.”
He swallowed.
“I think you should see it.”