James' life had not gotten any better. In fact, it had gotten significantly worse.

Lily still wasn't answering any of his messages. Not calls, not texts, not even the string of increasingly unhinged voice mails he left at 3am that night he drank an entire bottle of bourbon and decided she had definitely been kidnapped by a cult.

He'd tried everything short of carrier pigeon or smoke signals. He even stared at an envelope for a good ten minutes one morning, debating whether to handwrite a letter like it was the 1800s. But James couldn't remember the last time he'd written anything by hand that wasn't a food delivery note or a passive-aggressive sticky note to his old flatmate.

After another bender, during which he blacked out halfway through a conspiracy theory YouTube rabbit hole titled "Is Your Neighbour in a Secret Government Program?", James came to the conclusion that Lily's family were clearly running some sort of paramilitary compound. Or maybe a meth lab.

Either way, he needed backup.

SWAT backup.

It took him thirty minutes of hungover googling and four dead-end calls before he realised that Australia didn't have a SWAT team. Not in the American action movie sense, anyway.

"Oh, you'd bloody show up for a hostage situation in New York," he muttered at his phone screen. "But what if it's in bum-f*** nowhere New South Wales? Nothing."

Defeated and dehydrated, he made himself a cup of instant coffee that tasted like regret and settled on a new plan.

The local police.

Except not too local. He was certain the station in Lily's town was part of it—bribed, threatened, or brainwashed. He wouldn't put anything past that smug bastard Zane with his off-grid rugged looks and unshakable calm.

After a bit more sleuthing, James found the number for a police station two towns over. Neutral territory. Safe. They'd have to listen.

The first time he called, it rang three times before a message cut in: "This station is currently unmanned. For emergencies, please call triple zero."

James slammed his phone onto the kitchen bench hard enough to make the microwave beep. For one, delirious moment, he considered actually calling 000. Then the rational part of his brain (what little was left) piped up.

Don't call emergency services because your ex-girlfriend moved home. That's how you end up in the paper.

He took a deep breath, pressed the phone to his forehead, then rerung the number again. This time, he listened to the full recording and caught the manned hours.

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Tomorrow. 9am to 3pm.

Perfect. He had time to prepare.

James pulled out a pad of paper and started scribbling like a man possessed. He needed a plan. A script. Something that sounded convincing, factual, and—most importantly—not like he was having a mental breakdown.

James' Police Report Checklist ✔ Address of the property ✔ Strange people with weapons ✔ Evidence of violence ✔ Missing persons? (maybe add this) ✔ Illicit drug activity (definitely) ✔ Medical miracle? Bell was dying and now looks 25 and can run laps ✔ Tarni – possibly ex-military? Too many knives ✔ Claim he barely escaped with his life (needs dramatic emphasis) ✔ Everyone in town acting weird (maybe leave this out…)

He stared at the last point, chewing his pen cap. That bit might be a step too far. The officer might think he was drunk. Again.

Stick to the Riders and that Tarni bloke, he decided. They were the real problem. Zane had always looked like he belonged in a biker gang or one of those survivalist forums. And now Bell was… well, running. With hair like it was dyed by the gods and skin that glowed like she'd drunk ten litres of collagen.

It wasn't natural. It wasn't right.

James was sure of one thing: something was happening out there. And he was the only one who could stop it, and of course save Lily.

He looked at his list, nodded to himself, and poured the last of the bourbon into his coffee.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, I'll save her.

The next morning, James sat stiffly on the edge of his battered couch, sweaty palms clutching the phone like it was a lifeline. The pad of paper with his carefully crafted notes lay folded in his lap, the words blurring slightly as his heart hammered in his chest.

He dialled the number for the police station two towns over. The phone rang once... twice... three times...

A calm, professional voice answered. "Scone Police Station, Sergeant Smith talking, how may I assist you?"

James took a deep breath, forcing his voice to sound steady despite the knot in his stomach. "Yes, Sergeant Smith, my name's James. I need to report something serious about a property on the outskirts of town. It's about Lily Rider — her family's place."

The officer paused, a soft click on the other end. "Okay, sir. Can I get your name and the address, please?"

James slowly told him his name and address. While he heard soft keystrokes, he was starting to think this might have been a bad idea. Just as James was about to panic and hang up, the sergeant spoke in a calm yet demanding voice, "Alright, James. Please tell me everything you know."

James swallowed hard and began. "I've tried reaching Lily for weeks now. No answer. I've seen signs of violence around their property — Blood stains. I'm worried she's in trouble. I even caught sight of her parents acting strange, and… well, I just want to make sure she's safe."

Sergeant Smith's voice was steady but attentive. "That's concerning, James. Can you provide the exact address and any other details? Anything you've noticed might help."

James rattled off the address and described the suspicious activity he'd observed: strange blood stains, the missing stairs from the front of the property, and Lily's sudden disappearance from contact.

"Listen, James," the sergeant said thoughtfully, "we take these reports seriously. I'll forward this to the local unit and see if someone can check on Lily and her family. For now, do not try to intervene yourself — it could be dangerous."

James nodded, though the sergeant couldn't see it. "Thanks, Sergeant. I just want her safe. That's all."

The sergeant replied, "Understood. Keep your phone close — we may need to follow up with you."

James hung up, a flicker of hope warming his chest, but the weight of uncertainty still pressing down on him.

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