The front door of the house stood open, swinging slowly in the wind.

I looked down at my hand.

The USB drive was still there, clutched tightly in my fist.

But my daughter was gone.

“Where is she?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“Where did they take her?”

The person beside me didn’t answer.

They only pointed toward the dark woods at the end of the street.

A single flashlight beam flickered once through the trees, then went out.

I stood up, the mud clinging to my uniform.

I didn’t care about the rain.

I didn’t care about the military police or the forensic audit.

I only cared about the pink blanket.

I started to run.

The darkness swallowed me as I entered the tree line.

The branches clawed at my face and uniform.

Ahead of me, the sound of footsteps snapped dry twigs in the dark.

I followed the sound, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

The flashlight beam flickered again, further away this time.

I pushed through a thick patch of briars, ignoring the sharp pain on my skin.