Detective Langley stands at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house that had belonged to the Hartman family just yesterday. The neighborhood is unnervingly silent, as if holding its breath, and the only sounds are the distant cawing of a crow and the soft crunch of Langley's shoes on gravel. No one in the street meets his gaze; curtains shift, eyes peering out, but no one approaches.
Langley’s partner, Detective Ruiz, flips through a family photo album left open on the dining table. Detective Ruiz runs a gloved finger along the edge of a framed picture, pausing over the smiles that now seem haunting. "No signs of forced entry. No struggle. It's like they just... evaporated," she murmurs, voice low.
Langley opens the closet door, half-expecting something to leap out. Instead, he finds the family’s luggage, neatly stacked and unused. Detective Langley mutters, "If they planned to leave, why take nothing? Why leave breakfast half-finished?"
Ruiz approaches Langley, notebook in hand. "Neighbors heard nothing unusual. Security cams glitched at midnight—just static. No vehicles came or went on the footage we do have," she says. The room feels colder as Langley replies, "This doesn't make sense. People don't just vanish. There's always something..."
Langley kneels, scraping a sample into a plastic bag. Ruiz stands behind him, arms crossed. "Should we tell them about this?" she asks, her tone uncertain. Langley shakes his head, tension etched into his features. "No. Not yet. Not until we know what it means,"
The case file sits thick and unresolved on the detective’s desk, a photograph of the missing family paper-clipped to the front. Weeks pass—no ransom, no sightings, no suspects. And still, no one explains the circle of salt, nor why the detectives refuse to speak of what was found in the darkness below.
