Ben, a 25-year-old widowed father, was doing laundry when a familiar scent hit him—something that had clung to his late wife, Laura, after long hours in her lab. His heart sank. The smell was now on his daughter, Amelia’s clothes. He paused, shaking. There was no mistaking it. It was her scent, her lab’s unique chemical aroma, faint but unmistakable.
A wave of unease washed over him. How could Amelia have it on her? He thought back to the days before Laura’s sudden death—days when the lab had been her sanctuary.
Later that week, he called his sister, Sarah, who had picked up Amelia from school. He needed reassurance. “Did you pick her up today?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, I got her,” Sarah replied. But when Ben tracked their location, his breath caught. They weren’t going home. They were heading down a different road, one that led into the woods.
Ben’s pulse quickened. He knew his sister, but something wasn’t adding up. Grabbing his jacket, he rushed out, the chilling realization gnawing at him that there were secrets buried—secrets tied to the strange smell now surrounding his daughter. What was Sarah hiding? What had Amelia found?
The road twisted ahead, and with every step, Ben’s instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong.
