Sarah didn't sleep.
Even after Jack left the bathroom and returned to the main room, she stayed curled on the thin cot, the towel wrapped tightly around her body long after she had dried.
Her skin still felt invaded.
Her mind replayed his words.
You don't get to reject care.
Care.
He had rebranded control as protection.
Violation as correction.
Obsession as devotion.
And that frightened her more than anger ever had.
From the other side of the room, Jack sat at the folding table with the lantern on low. A map was spread in front of him. He wasn't pacing anymore. He wasn't shouting.
He was reorganizing.
That was worse.
"You're quiet," he said without looking up.
She didn't respond.
"I fixed the problem."
"You created it."
He looked up slowly.
"No."
His voice wasn't sharp.
It was firm.
"They contaminated you."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"You burned a building."
"They forced escalation."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly across concrete.
"They turned this into a spectacle," he continued, pacing again now. "Helicopters. Boats. News crews will be there by now."
She said nothing.
Because he was right.
At the lake, yellow tape fluttered in the morning wind.
Media vans lined the outer road.
Camera crews filmed the smoldering remains of what had once been the cabin.
"Law enforcement confirms Detective Jack Davis is now the prime suspect in multiple disappearances," one reporter said into the lens.
Brian stood behind the command vehicle, watching it all unfold.
The story had gone public.
There was no containing it now.
"Arkansas State Police are coordinating with us," the Chief said, approaching him. "FBI liaison wants formal entry."
"Let them," Brian replied.
"He's still within ninety miles."
"Yes."
"Why hasn't he run further?"
Brian stared at the map again.
"Because running further increases unpredictability."
"And he doesn't tolerate unpredictability."
"No."
Brian turned away from the cameras.
"We hit Property Three next."
"Southern Missouri?" the Chief asked.
"Yes."
The drive to Property Three took just under an hour.
Dense forest.
No visible structures from the road.
Single dirt access lane.
The team moved carefully.
Weapons drawn.
Silent advance.
When they reached the clearing, the structure stood abandoned.
A small wood-frame shed converted into living quarters.
Door ajar.
Inside—
Cold.
Unused.
But not untouched.
"Fresh tire marks," an officer called.
Brian stepped inside.
Dust had been disturbed recently.
On the table lay an empty water pouch.
On the floor, faint rope fibers.
"Recent," forensics confirmed.
"How recent?" Brian asked.
"Within twenty-four hours."
He was moving.
Within the radius.
Just one step ahead.
Back at the hospital, Molly watched the press coverage replay on the mounted television.
They showed Jack's academy graduation photo.
Clean-cut.
Composed.
Respectable.
She felt sick.
"That's not him," she whispered.
A nurse adjusted her IV.
"You should rest."
"I can't."
Her mind drifted back to the bathroom.
The sound of running water.
The way Sarah's voice had trembled.
She pressed her palms together tightly.
"I should have stayed home," she whispered to herself.
But she knew that wasn't true.
Jack had already taken Sarah before Molly arrived in Branson.
This had been building long before she followed him.
Inside the metal structure, Jack shut off the lantern and paced in near darkness.
The news would be everywhere by now.
He imagined helicopters circling.
Police at his house.
Neighbors staring.
His jaw tightened.
"They'll search everything," he muttered.
Sarah watched him from the cot.
"You thought they wouldn't?"
"They weren't supposed to escalate."
"You shot a helicopter."
"They flew it too low."
His breathing grew heavier.
He wasn't thinking like a detective anymore.
He was thinking like a cornered animal.
He stopped pacing abruptly and looked at her.
"You don't regret leaving me."
It wasn't a question.
She held his gaze carefully.
"I regret trusting you."
His expression flickered.
Anger.
Hurt.
Rage.
Then something colder settled in.
"They're telling stories about me right now," he said.
"They're telling the truth."
He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed the edge of the cot.
"They're rewriting history."
"No," she said softly. "You are."
He stared down at her for a long moment.
Then stepped back slowly.
"They're closing the radius," he said quietly.
Her pulse quickened.
He knew.
"How?" she asked carefully.
"I can feel it."
He walked to the door and opened it just enough to scan the tree line.
Still.
Quiet.
But that didn't calm him.
"They'll hit the outer properties next."
She said nothing.
"Which means," he continued, "we adjust again."
Her stomach tightened.
He wasn't staying.
He was compressing movement.
Shorter hops.
Closer shifts.
Harder to track.
Back at Property Three, Brian stood over a small notebook discovered beneath a loose floorboard.
Inside were coded initials.
Dates.
Short location markers.
Three of the dates matched missing persons reports.
Two did not.
"We have at least five victims tied to him now," the Chief said quietly.
Brian flipped the page.
One date was circled.
Recent.
Very recent.
"Who disappeared this week?" Brian asked.
Silence fell as officers checked databases.
Then—
"No official report."
Brian's eyes narrowed.
"That means she hasn't been found."
Or she hadn't been reported.
His jaw tightened.
He looked back toward the dense woods beyond the clearing.
"He's not just protecting Sarah."
He's taking control.
Back inside the metal building, Jack stood near Sarah again.
"You think they'll save you."
"I think they won't stop."
"They will," he said quietly. "When it becomes too expensive."
She studied him carefully.
"You underestimate Brian."
He froze slightly at that name.
"You don't know him."
"I know obsession."
He leaned closer.
"You don't."
She didn't look away.
"You think this is love."
"It is."
"It's possession."
His breathing shifted again.
"You don't get to define it."
Outside, wind moved faintly through trees.
A distant engine hummed somewhere beyond the ridge.
Jack's head snapped toward the sound.
He stepped outside.
Listened.
The sound faded.
Probably a farm vehicle miles away.
But paranoia had planted itself now.
And paranoia grows quickly.
He stepped back inside and shut the door harder than necessary.
"We move tonight," he said.
Her pulse pounded.
To where?
Another circle on the map?
Another containment point?
Back at the command, Brian stared at the six red circles again.
Property Three had been vacated within a day.
That meant he wasn't staying long anywhere.
"Pattern shift," Brian muttered.
"What?" the Chief asked.
"He's compressing distance."
"How so?"
"He's staying closer between jumps."
The Chief studied the map.
"Why?"
Brian's answer came slowly.
"Because he wants to monitor the response."
And that meant one terrifying thing.
Jack wasn't trying to disappear.
He was trying to outmaneuver.
Within the same battlefield.
Within the same region.
The war hadn't expanded.
It had tightened.
And tightening meant something was going to snap.
Soon.