Standing in the middle of the chaos he had created, he could hear the sound of sirens from everywhere. With every second that ticked by, they grew louder and louder, and the flashes seeping through the window became clearer. His breaths were heavy, and his hands clenched into tight fists. His mind screamed at the scene around him. He berated him for every shattered picture frame and mocked him at the sight of the overturned furniture and the strewn papers.

His attempt to find any evidence that could help him get her back gave him anything but. He had been deceived. He thought he was intelligent. He thought he was at a level above everyone else. He was wrong, and he didn't like being wrong. He wouldn't let that bitch prove him wrong. He wouldn't let her win.

Now, there was no time.

He cursed under his breath, his sharp eyes darting toward the window. Flashing red and blue lights reflected off the rain-slick pavement outside. They were closing in.

"Damn it," he muttered, the words barely audible over the pounding in his chest. His mind gnawed at him, begging him to erase all the evidence he might... no, that he must have left behind. But even his obsessive nature couldn't ignore the simple truth: he had seconds to escape, or he would lose everything.

Like a bullet, he shot toward the front door. Run, his mind screamed. Run away. Get out, and you can find Milinda. Get out now, and she can still be yours forever.

Freedom was but seconds away. As he swung the door open, he froze. Akhona, Milinda's neighbour and friend, was right there, her arms crossed, blocking his path. For the briefest of seconds, he could see fear shining in her doe eyes, and he watched as it turned into blinding rage.

"You," she hissed, her voice trembling with anger. "What have you done? Where's Milinda?"

His eyes narrowed as he tried to brush past her. "Out of my way," he growled, but Akhona didn't budge. She was tough, that much he knew, but she wouldn't fight against him.

"I'm not letting you leave," she spat, stepping forward and shoving him back into the apartment with a strength not even he could predict. "You're not getting away with this!"

Casanova stumbled but quickly regained his balance. His jaw tightened as Akhona lunged for him again. She wasn't going to make this easy, but that was alright; he never liked things to be easy anyway.

They grappled, her nails clawing at his arms as she tried to wrestle him to the ground. His strength surprised her—lean but solid, like a coiled spring. Still, she fought with everything she had, thinking only of her best friend and Kylie, wherever they were.

As the sirens grew louder, his movements became more frantic. He was nothing short of a wild animal wanting to escape its cage. He managed to push her away, sending her stumbling back into the doorframe. Before he could make a break for it, she lunged again, grabbing his jacket with both hands and yanking him backwards.

"Let me go!" he snapped. He was desperate, and that wasn't a good thing.

"Never," she snarled. She was shaky and tired; she wouldn't last much longer.

Time was running out, and he had no other options. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. The blade glinted in the moonlight, and Akhona's eyes widened once again with that same fear, but even through that, she didn't let go of his jacket.

"Back off," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

She didn't, and that was her mistake. If she believed he had a conscience that would tell him to stop, then she was wrong. Dead wrong. In one swift motion, the knife was in her side. She let out a gurgling scream and crumbled to the floor like a rag doll. He watched as she grabbed her side, blood spilling from the wound.

"Damn it," Casanova muttered again, stepping over her as she gasped in pain. "This didn't have to happen."

Akhona's vision started to blur, but through that, her voice was steady as she shouted after him, "You're not going to win!"

Her words chased him down the stairwell as he sprinted to his car. The sky above him started to cry, and the wind carried the whimpers from the stairway. He slammed the driver's side door shut, his hands trembling as he started the engine. The still air filled with his ragged, short breaths. The sirens were deafening now, the flashing lights reflecting in his rearview mirror. But he was a planner with escape routes already in place.

He peeled out of the parking lot, his tyres screeching like banshees on the wet pavement. The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his focus. He weaved through narrow streets, making sharp turns and doubling back to throw off any potential pursuit. It wasn't before long he found the sirens had now faded into the distance and out of what he would consider an immediate danger zone.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles a ghostly white. His heart still pounded deep in his chest, but his mind raced faster. He had been played—used by someone who had outmanoeuvred him. And now Milinda was gone. The thought of her, somewhere out there, helpless and terrified, filled him with a rage he couldn't contain. He briefly pondered if this was what the families of his lovers felt during those days when he kept them warm at his side. It was a fascinating sensation but not one he wanted to think about for much longer.

"She's mine," he snarled through clenched teeth. "No one else's."

He slammed his fist against the dashboard, and his car shook with the force. His plan was perfect; nothing was supposed to get in his way. It was all gone now, shattered like the glass in the picture frames he left behind, leaving him the fool to try and scramble and salvage what he could.

He had to find her. There was no if our but about he had to find her. And he would. Nobody was going to get in his way, and God help them if they did.

* * * *

A low groan slipped past Milinda's lips, filling the stillness lingering in the air. Her head throbbed in such a way she was sure there were tiny men with hammers making rounds in her skull. The dim light above her stung her eyes, a cruel version of the sun whose only purpose on Earth was to mock her. Her body ached in places she had never been aware of before, and the faint, musty smell of concrete and mildew filled her senses to the brim.

Waking up that morning, or night, she couldn't quite tell, was filled with disorientation. For the briefest of seconds, she wasn't sure where she was. The vile memories came flooding back, slamming into her like a wave of pain and terror—Chanelle, the tea, the taunts about Grayson, and the chilling statement: This is for my son.

She tried to move but felt something tiny shift against her side. Turning her head slightly, she saw Kylie, her small face streaked with tears.

"Mommy," Kylie whimpered, her voice trembling. Her tiny hands clung to Milinda's arm like a lifeline. "I'm scawed."

Milinda's heart broke at the sight of her daughter, frightened and vulnerable in this nightmare she had unknowingly dragged her into. She pulled Kylie into her arms, wincing as her muscles protested the action.

"I know, my baby, I know," she whispered, stroking Kylie's hair, which had grown only more mattered by the hour they spent down here. "But I'm here. I'm with you, and I promise I'm not going anywhere."

Kylie buried her face in Milinda's shoulder, her sobs muffled but heart-wrenching nonetheless. Milinda fought back her tears, knowing she needed to stay strong for her daughter. There would be a time to cry or mourn the sense of comfort she once felt, but this wasn't the time. It was nowhere close. She needed to get them out. One way or another, she needed to get them away. Far away so that nobody could hurt them ever again.

Her eyes started to adjust to the dim lighting above her, slowly revealing the few changes that had been set up since she was last awake. A small shrine to Grayson has been set up in the spot where his blood had seeped and dried into the concrete. Her stomach churned, threatening to spill what little contents it still held as her eyes drifted to all the photos of him. Set up from one in the hospital the day he was born to the last image taken by the police, the one that showed the bullet she put between his eyes. The day his reign of terror upon her life ended.

Bright white candles surrounded the photos. Some of them had already burned to stubs. There were even items that must have belonged to him—a watch, a tie, and a small notebook.

Milinda swallowed hard, her arms tightening around Kylie. If she wasn't scared about what Chanelle had planned for her, she was now.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase. Kylie whimpered and clung tighter to her mother. Milinda's body tensed, fully alert as Chanelle slowly descended the stairs. She didn't look like the same woman she met all those years ago. Her prim and proper appearance was torn away by dirt, and her clothes were smudged with streaks of grime. Her eyes shone with an unnatural gleam, and her lips were curled upward in a smile so sinister it sent shivers down Milinda's spine.

"Well," Chanelle said, her voice cutting through the silence. "You look like you had a good rest." Her condensing and mocking tone didn't go unnoticed by Milinda, who glared at her in response. "Oh, come on, Milinda, the least you can do is learn how to take a joke."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly in the mood for jokes right now," she motioned to the basement surrounding her, "given my environment and all. I'm sure you can understand that."

Chanelle scoffed. "I see it did nothing to fix your tone with me. That's okay. You're not going to be my problem for much longer anyway." She smiled at the final word, and it took everything in Milinda to keep her tears at bay.

Stay strong for Kylie—her new mantra and the only thing that would probably get her out of the situation. Stay strong for Kylie.

Milinda kept her gaze strong and her voice low and firm. "Chanelle, let Kylie go. She's a child who has nothing to do with this thing between us. Okay, surely we can handle it like grown women, just the two of us?"

Milinda knew trying to reason with her was a long shot, but long shots were all she had right now.

Chanelle chuckled. It was a cold and humourless sound. "Oh, Milinda, if you were thinking I would listen to anything you say, then you're even more stupid than I thought. I mean, do you think I'd let her go just because she's a kid? She is as much of a part of this as you are." Chanelle glanced at Kylie and shook her head. "She looks so much like him, her eyes, her hair, even the way she smiles. It's all so much like my little boy. A sick and cruel reminder of what I've lost. What you took from me."

"She's innocent," Milinda pleaded, her voice cracking. "She doesn't deserve to be here, and if you think she does, then you're even more of a monster than he was."

Chanelle tilted her head, her eyes narrowing and filled with anger. "And did Grayson deserve to die? Did I deserve to lose my son?" She scoffed, pacing the small space in front of the shrine. "No mother deserves to go through what you put me through. You took everything away from me the second you came into our lives. You're nothing more than the poison I should have cut out long ago. That was my mistake. I won't make it again. You are going to die in this basement, Milinda, and it is here that you will finally learn what real loss feels like."

Milinda's heart pounded in her chest as she shifted Kylie to her lap, covering her tiny body like a shield.

"What are you planning, Chanelle?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Only it wasn't working, and the more she talked, the more she sounded like a scared child.

Chanelle stopped pacing and smirked. "Setting up for the big finale," she said cryptically, brushing some dirt off her hands.

Milinda's stomach sank. "What does that mean?"

Chanelle ignored her, walking toward the shrine. She adjusted a fallen candle, her movements precise, almost reverent.

"Did Shawn ever discuss cases with you?"

The mere sound of his name made her feel like she had been hit with a brick.

"No, I never wanted him to."

"Well, a few weeks back, not long after your parents and I got here, he would have gotten a case about a weapons dealer found dead in his garage. Lots of items were taken, so it could have been a robbery gone wrong. A spat between him and a client who then took measures into their hands. Not a bad theory." She laughed, "That poor man, he thought he was safe because he was in the room with a woman. He never even saw it coming."

Milinda's blood ran cold. All the memories of those who were killed in Grayson's pursuit of her came flooding back. As if she didn't have enough blood staining her hands.

"You hurt someone?" she asked, refusing to use the word killed as it would become all too real.

Chanelle turned, her expression smug. "I did what had to be done. For Grayson. For justice."

Milinda felt Kylie's tiny hands clutch her shirt tighter. She stroked her daughter's back, trying to soothe her despite the panic rising in her chest.

"Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Kylie is just a little girl. She doesn't understand any of this."

Chanelle's smirk faded, replaced by a look of contempt. "And neither did I when I got the call that my son was dead. But that didn't stop it from happening, did it? Don't worry about Kylie, Milinda. Everyone grows up at some point, and maybe this is just her moment. The world is cruel; she would have learned that soon enough."

Without another word and her nose turned to the air, Chanelle made her way back up the stairs. The door slammed shut, leaving the fear-stricken girls alone again. The sound of locks being clicked into place echoed past the door, and then nothing.

Milinda pressed her lips to Kylie's forehead, whispering. "It's going to be okay, baby. Mommy's here. I promise I'll keep you safe."

But even as she said the words, she felt the weight of their predicament pressing down on her. She closed her eyes, holding Kylie close, and began to think of a way out. 

 * * * * 

Shawn didn't know what was moving faster: his heart, his mind, or his car. He was lucky the streets were quiet because God knows how many traffic laws he had already broken. He didn't need to add vehicular homicide to the list.

He glanced at the clock, its bright numbers cutting through the darkness. Seven minutes, that's how long ago he got the call from his station. The conversation was brief but more than enough to ignite his worst fear from its home deep within his soul: there had been a break-in reported from Milinda's apartment, and both she and Kylie were nowhere to be found.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled up to the apartment building he called home not too long ago. The darkness of night had been chased away by the red and blue flashing lights from the long line of police cars that had taken residence. There were officers everywhere you looked, and even from inside his car, Shawn could see the crime scene tape lining Milinda's door.

He rushed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him for the first time since he got the car; he didn't care if it got scratched or dented. Dread pooled in his stomach as one of the nearby officers started making his way toward him.

"Detective Conan," the officer said, his face grim, which did nothing to help ease the tension building in Shawn's body. "We've secured the scene, but..." He hesitated.

Shawn's jaw clenched. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have time for games and beating around the bush. Milinda and Kylie didn't have time. "This isn't the time to beat around the bush, officer. Just tell me what happened."

The officer nodded. "A neighbour saw a man fleeing the apartment just before we arrived. There was no sign of Milinda or Kylie inside. We've got units out searching, but..."

Shawn barely heard the rest. The man could have been telling him that he was in an alternate universe about to be arrested or something, and he wouldn't have heard it. His mind zeroed in on the words: No sign of Milinda or Kylie.

He brushed past the officer, ignoring his calls, and entered the apartment. If his heart wanted to suddenly stop, this was the moment to do so. The living room was a mess. Furniture had been overturned, drawers emptied, and personal items lay scattered across the floor. It was chaotic—so unlike Milinda's usual tidy space.

Shawn's stomach churned as his eyes scanned the room. A broken picture frame caught his gaze. He knelt to pick it up, the glass shards crunching under his boots. It was a photo of Milinda and Kylie, both smiling, taken not long ago by him during a family trip to a fun fair. His hands tightened around the frame.

"Detective," another officer called, drawing his attention back to the scene around him. "There is something else you need to know. Another neighbour struggled with the intruder and was injured. She's been taken to the hospital for treatment. Detective Martin went with her."

Shawn's chest tightened. "What do you mean Detective Martin went with her?"

The officer looked at him solemnly, "Because it was her girlfriend, sir."

Shawn shook his head. He didn't need to hear anything else. Within a minute, his legs had carried him back to his car, and he was on his way to the closest hospital. He could hear his heart in his head, and his face was drenched in sweat. All the worst possible scenarios were racing through his mind. What other horrors could the night unfold? He didn't even want to know.

The hospital was just as he remembered it from the night he was brought in with the gunshot wound. The incident felt like a lifetime ago, but standing on the cold tiles, it felt like it was only yesterday. The horrid smell of the sick and all the cleaning products burnt his nose hairs, and the dim fluorescent lights buzzed as he navigated the sterile corridors.

With some help from a nearby nurse, he found Camila standing outside a room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked up as he approached, her expression a mix of worry and exhaustion.

"She's stable," Camila said before he could ask. "The doctors say she'll be okay, but she took a nasty hit."

Shawn let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "That's good. That's really good." He glanced at the controlled chaos around them. "What the fuck happened tonight?"

Camila leaned against the wall, her shoulders sagging. "I told her to wait for the police, to wait for me, but she didn't. She tried to stop him, Shawn. The guy—Casanova—must've come out just as he was leaving Milinda's place. She fought him, but he pulled a knife and got her in the side. It wasn't deep and somehow missed everything important, but she lost a lot of blood."

The faint memory of seeing a pool of blood on the steps by the apartment door came back. He was in such a rush his brain didn't even process it. Shawn ran a hand through his hair, his mind spinning. "And Milinda and Kylie?"

Camila shook her head, her eyes glistening with frustration. "No sign of them. None of this right, Shawn. It's not the end of the month. Even then, why the hell would he take Kylie? That's not his thing. He doesn't take kids. He's never taken a kid."

She was right. None of this was normal. It didn't fit the pattern at all, and if there was one thing he learnt in the academy, it was that when a serial killer goes off pattern, it's never a good thing. It usually meant they were desperate. And when they were desperate, they were even more dangerous than normal. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about what that could mean for the girls.

"I know, but we can't focus on that too much. Right now, we need to find a way to locate them."

"How are we supposed to do that? I don't know if you were in the same room as me this past month, partner, but we were nowhere close to getting him last I checked. And who knows how much time we have right now? He went this far off script, and we don't even know what's next. They might... they might already be..." she trialled off, unable to finish the thought, and Shawn was grateful for that. It was bad enough that a part of his mind was going to the same dark place as her; the last thing he needed was to hear it out loud.

Shawn clenched his fists. "He doesn't get to win. Not this time. This time, he messed with the wrong people. He took the wrong people," he said firmly.

Camila studied him for a moment, a small smile breaking through the pain. "You look... different. Like the old Shawn."

He gave a weak smile, leaning against the wall beside her. "I guess I owe you for that. Your lecture—it got through to me." He sighed. "I told Averie it's over. I went to see my dad's grave, which was... strangely cathartic. It's been a rough few days, but I'm trying to pull myself together."

Camila nodded, her expression softening. "Good. Because right now, Milinda and Kylie need you at your best."

Before Shawn could respond, a soft groan came from inside the room. Shocked, they both turned to see Akhona shifting in her hospital bed. She looked groggy and pale, her eyes fluttering open slowly.

Camila was the first to run in and be at her side.

"Hey," Camila said gently, resting her hand on top of Akhona's. Shawn soon followed her, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands resting on the metal bars.

"Akhona," Shawn said softly, "you're safe. You're in the hospital."

Akhona's eyes landed on him, her face pale and drawn but determined. "Milinda, Kylie..." she croaked. "He took them."

"We know," Shawn said, his voice steady. "We already have officers searching. We're going to find them no matter what."

"Yeah, no matter what," Camila agreed.

Akhona's eyelids drooped, and the medication given to her by the doctors was still in full swing. Camila gently adjusted the blanket over her, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze and a brief kiss on her forehead.

Just then, Shawn's phone buzzed in his pocket. He stepped out of the room to take the call, glancing back at Camila, who nodded for him to go.

"This is Detective Conan," he answered.

"Detective," came the voice on the other end. "It's Jones from forensics. We found a partial print at Milinda's apartment. It's clear enough to run through the system. Sir, we might get a name for Casanova."

If there was ever a moment Shawn could say he felt like a kid getting their dream gift, it was at that very moment with those seven simple yet powerful words. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt like he should be jumping up and down from joy, but it wasn't the time. Might wasn't reassurance enough, but it was a start.

"We'll be there soon."

The line went dead, and a moment later, his phone buzzed again with an incoming notification. He opened it, his eyes scanning the screen. It was the countdown until the fingerprint was done running through the criminal database as well as any other database they could get it through.

For the first time in hours, days, hell, even weeks, Shawn felt a glimmer of hope. They had a lead—a real, tangible lead. He stepped back into Akhona's room, his determination renewed like never before.

Both Akhona and Camila looked up at him, a shared expression of questioning highlighting their features.

"They found a partial print at Milinda's apartment and are running it through the database now."

"We have an actual lead," Camia said.

Shawn nodded. "We're going to find him. And we're going to bring Milinda and Kylie home."

Camila's lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded. "Let's do it."

* * * * 

It must be after dawn, Milinda thought. A sense of warmth had started seeping into the basement which in her mind could only mean one thing: a new day had come and it was time to escape.

Kylie, still wrapped tightly in her arms, whimpered and cried, her tears dripping one by one onto Milinda's shirt, creating a cold spot. But she didn't care—a shirt was just a shirt, and her daughter's safety was everything at this point.

"Shh, baby," Milinda whispered, brushing back Kylie's curls and kissing her forehead. "Mommy's here. I promise we're going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

Milinda had repeated those same words over a hundred times in the last few hours and every time they felt more false than the last. A knot of terror coiled in her stomach. She didn't know if they were going to be okay. She didn't know if they were going to get out let alone how she was going to do it. There were so many things she didn't know, but she didn't want to sit there in the dark and wait for whatever it was Chanelle had planned for them.

She looked up at the door at the top of the stairs. It was sealed shut, but she could hear faint sounds—footsteps creaking above them and the distant hum of what sounded like power tools. The sound had picked up about an hour ago. She was sure Chanelle was busy preparing whatever twisted "finale" she had mentioned before. Milinda looked down at Kylie, if there was ever a time to try and get out this was probably it.

It's now or never. No backing out now.

Milinda set Kylie down gently, crouching to meet her wide, tear-filled eyes. "Kylie, we're going to play a game, okay? We're going to be very, very quiet, like little mice, and we're going to get out of here."

"And eat?" she whimpered, and Milinda was sure she felt her heart break a little.

She nodded. "Yes, we'll eat until we're sick of eating. So, can you be quiet with me?"

Kylie nodded, her lips trembling. "I'll twy, Mommy."

Milinda hugged her tightly, her heart breaking at the fear in her daughter's voice. "Good girl," she murmured.

Now or never, Milinda. Now or never.

She stood and scanned the room, surely there had to be something down here to help her get out. There just had to be. Eventually, her eyes landed on a rusted metal shelf against the far wall. Most of its shelves were gone but the few that stood held an assortment of bits of junk—likely remnants from whatever horrors Grayson had conducted here. Her gaze locked onto a small crowbar, its surface spotted with rust.

"Stay right here, baby," she whispered to Kylie, who clung to her leg. "Don't move, okay?"

Kylie nodded again, her little eyes round with fear.

Milinda crossed the room quickly but quietly, her bare feet barely making a sound against the cold cement. She grabbed the crowbar and returned to Kylie, crouching beside her.

"We're getting out of here," she whispered.

It took Milinda a long time to get the crowbar between the space sitting in between the lock and the end of the door without making too much of a noise. The echoes of the power tools helped drown out the screeching and scratching the crowbar made as it slowly broke the lock keeping them inside.

The basement door creaked open, the old hinges groaning as Milinda slowly pushed it ajar. She winced at the noise and froze, listening intently for any sign that Chanelle had heard.

Nothing.

Looking back over her shoulder she gestured for Kylie to follow, keeping the little girl attached to her hip as they crept up the stairs. Every step felt like an eternity, each creak beneath their weight threatening to betray them.

When they reached the top, Milinda peeked through a crack in the door. Much like the basement, the room beyond was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls from a flickering lamp. She could hear Chanelle upstairs, her voice muffled but distinct, as if she were muttering to herself. The ramblings of a crazy woman.

It had been a while since Milinda had been in the upper part of the house but she still remembered the way to the front door. She could still see herself walking the line from the front door to the basement with Grayson holding the gun behind him. She could lead them out. She had to.

Milinda pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room, holding Kylie's hand tightly. The upper part of the home was messy and had become more of a storage area than a home. Boxes and old furniture cluttered the area becoming nothing more than obstacles they had to watch out for. They moved carefully, weaving between these obstacles, their eyes fixed on the hallway leading to the front door.

Her heart pounded as they reached the doorway. Just a few more steps, and they'd be in the hall. Just a little further, and— she stopped dead in her tracks her eyes wide and her breath catching in her throat. Milinda shook her head wondering if what she was seeing was an illusion. It wasn't.

There, standing at the entrance to the hallway, was Noel.

For the longest moment, the two of them just stared at each other, frozen in shock.

"Noel?" she finally whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and hope.

His dark eyes flicked between her and Kylie, wide with surprise. "Milinda?"

She took a tentative step forward, clutching Kylie's hand tighter than ever before. "Please... you have to help us. Chanelle—she's—"

But before she could finish, Noel's expression hardened, and he turned his head.

"Chanelle!" he called out, his voice sharp like a whip cutting through the air. The power tool that was ringing overhead stopped, and Milinda knew she was done for. She had messed up.

"No!" Milinda gasped, pulling Kylie behind her as she backed away. "Noel, please, don't do this!"

Chanelle's footsteps thundered down the stairs, and moments later, she appeared, her face twisted in fury.

"What is going on here?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she saw Milinda and Kylie.

"She tried to escape," Noel said.

Chanelle's lips curled into a snarl. "Take the child upstairs," she ordered.

"No!" Milinda screamed, clutching Kylie tightly. "Don't take her! Kylie, stay with Mommy!"

Kylie burst into tears, wailing loudly and clinging to Milinda's leg. Noel hesitated, his face pale.

"Now, Noel!" Chanelle barked, her tone icy.

Reluctantly, he stepped forward and snatched Kylie away from Milinda. The little girl screamed, reaching out for her mother as tears streamed down her face.

"Mommy!"

"Kylie! Let her go!" Milinda shouted. She tried to run toward them but Chanelle grabbed her and pulled her back. She fought with all her might against Chanelle wanting nothing more than to reach her daughter, but her hunger, dehydration, and sleep deprivation did nothing to help her.

Kylie screamed and cried as Noel carried her up the stairs. "Mommy!"

Milinda thrashed against Chanelle, her fury giving her a small sliver of strength.

"You monster!" she spat, tears streaming down her face. "You'll never get away with this! Shawn will find us!"

Chanelle's face twisted with rage. She grabbed Milinda by the arm and dragged her back down to the basement. Milinda fought with everything she had, but Chanelle was stronger, her grip like iron. When they reached the basement, Chanelle shoved her to the floor. Milinda scrambled to her feet, but Chanelle was already pulling a pair of handcuffs from her pocket.

"You thought you could escape?" Chanelle sneered. She pushed Milinda back slamming her against a wooden support beam knocking the wind out of her. She secured the handcuffs around Milinda's wrists, locking her in place.

"You were a fool for trying to escape, Milinda. And now, you'll never see your daughter again," Chanelle hissed, her voice low and venomous.

Milinda's chest heaved as she struggled against the cuffs, her wrists burning from the cuts. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "She's just a child. She hasn't done anything to you. Punish me as much as you want but just leave her alone."

Chanelle's eyes blazed with hatred. "She's the reason my son is dead," she spat. "You killed him. And now, you'll suffer the same way I have."

With that, she turned and ascended the stairs.

"At least give her something to eat. Please!"

But it was no use. Her words fell on deaf ears. The door to the basement was slammed shut and she heard something heavy being pushed against the door. The light above her died sending her into total darkness. The faint sound of Kylie crying faded as the power tools started again.

Milinda sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. The skin around her wrists ached with every movement she made.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry."

She rested her head against the wooden beam, her heart heavy with despair. Milinda had failed, her only hope now was that Shawn and Camila would find them before it was too late.

* * * *

Shawn was certain the police station had never been filled with as much tension before. Both he and Camila were seated in the conference room that had been like their second home for the past few weeks. The table was still lined with all their files. The whiteboards that surrounded them were decorated with notes and pictures. The overhead lights hummed the only sound that could be heard.

On the other side of the room far from the two of them, Averie leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn't said much since they'd arrived, her usual sharpness dulled by an obvious fatigue. Dark rings had formed under her eyes and she looked like she was about to collapse at any second.

Shawn couldn't help but glance at her from time to time. They hadn't spoken since that moment in her apartment, and he was grateful for that. The last thing he needed or wanted at that moment was to have another conversation with her. All he wanted was to find Milinda, end this case and put his life back together.

He glanced at her again but quickly looked away as their eyes met. He forced himself to look at a folder that was resting in front of him. He shuffled the papers inside, his movements jittery.

"Are you tripping on something?" Camila asked.

Right before they left the hospital a doctor gave them the reassurance that Akhona would make a full recovery, so Camila's sense of humour had started to come back.

"I'm just anxious. Those results are taking forever."

"They're taking the same amount of time they usually take it simply feels like it's taking forever because of the case. So, just sit back and take a deep breath."

Shawn shook his head. "I don't know how to, and I don't know how you can be so calm considering..." his voice trialled off.

"Considering what? Because I'm sitting at this damn desk when all I want is to be next to my girlfriend and help her get out of that fucking hospital bed this monster put her in. I'm not quite as calm as I look, and I know the doctor said she was going to be okay but I've seen people go from okay to flatlining in minutes before. I don't want to be here but I have to be. For you, for Milinda, Kylie, and all the families of the people who lost their lives to this man. I will be here and I will patiently wait. And when the time comes to slap cuffs on him I will be right there front and centre."

"You might have to fight me for that right," Averie said.

Camila nodded. "Probably for the best anyway. After tonight I might just kill the man."

"Camila," Shawn started.

"What? We've all thought about it before."

A knock on the door brought an end to the conversation. The door cracked open revealing the chief.

"The lab techs are ready for us," he said, his tone brisk.

Camila and Shawn stood immediately, the tension in the room ratcheting up a notch. Averie followed, a few steps behind, as they made their way to the forensics lab.

The lab was usually one of the calmest places in the station because it had to be. Dealing with such precious evidence all day every day the people in there had a certain amount of level of calmness. Today was not like that. It wasn't like that at all. They were a hive of activity, computer monitors glowing and machines whirring softly. The head technician, a wiry man named Dr. Jonas Le Roux, looked up as they entered. He adjusted his glasses, gesturing for them to come closer.

"We ran the print against the database," Le Roux began, tapping at his keyboard. "And we got a match."

He turned the monitor to face them, revealing a profile. A name flashed across the top in bold letters: Joseph Moodly.

"Joseph Moodly," Le Roux continued. "Forty-five years old. White male, six feet tall, blond hair, brown eyes. Works as a construction supervisor. Married, two kids."

Shawn's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the details. "A family man," he muttered, his tone edged with disbelief.

Camila frowned, crossing her arms. "There have been serial killers who were family men. BTK was one of them if I'm not mistaken. What else do we know about him?"

Le Roux clicked through the file. "Had a minor criminal record as a teenager—mostly voyeurism and according to our system nothing since he was sixteen. By all accounts, he's been a model citizen. Respected in his community."

"Until now," Shawn said grimly.

Le Roux nodded. "We've flagged his address. You can pick him up whenever you're ready."

The ride to Joseph Moodly's house was tense, the air inside the squad cars thick with anticipation. Shawn sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, his fingers drumming against his knee. Camila drove, her jaw set in a hard line.

"Married with two kids," she said, breaking the silence. "How does someone like that lead a double life like this?"

"Same way any predator does," Shawn replied. "Carefully. Methodically. He probably compartmentalized everything, kept his family and his victims in separate boxes."

Camila shook her head. "It's sick. Do you think his wife knows anything?"

Shawn shook his head. "Probably not. She might suspect something is off but I don't think she would ever guess it's something on this scale. I mean who wants to think they're married to a serial killer?"

"And had his children," Averie piped up from the back seat. She had been silent since they left the station.

"Those poor kids."

"We can talk about the misfortune of his family later," Shawn snapped. "Right now our only focus is capturing him and getting Milinda and Kylie to safety."

The ride was silent after that.

When they arrived at the address, the team moved swiftly. The house was a modest two-story in a quiet suburban neighbourhood, the kind of place that screamed normalcy. An old tire swing hung in a tree in the front yard and two bikes were lined by the front door. The glow of a TV flickered through the living room window.

Shawn signalled to the team. "Positions."

The officers spread out, some covering the back of the house while others moved to the front door. Shawn knocked, his hand resting on the holster of his weapon.

"Joseph Moodly, this is the police. Open the door."

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps. The door creaked open, and a man appeared. He matched the description perfectly—tall, blond, and well-built, with an air of confidence that faltered the moment he saw the officers. This was him. This was the man who had evaded law enforcement for over nineteen years. The man who shook this city to its core.

"What's this about?" Joseph asked, his voice steady but his eyes darting nervously.

"Joseph Moodly, you're under arrest," Shawn said, stepping forward. "Hands where we can see them."

A woman, his wife no doubt, appeared in the hallway, her face a mask of confusion. "What's going on? Joseph?"

Behind her, two teenagers peered out from a doorway, a brother and sister. Their eyes laced with fear as they looked at the officers surrounding their father.

"Dad, what's going on?" the girl, who appeared to be the oldest, asked.

"Don't worry, honey," Joseph said quickly. "This is just a misunderstanding."

Shawn moved in, cuffing him as another officer read him his rights.

Joseph's wife began to protest, her voice rising in panic. "What's he being arrested for? What's happening?"

Camila stepped forward, her tone firm but calm. "Ma'am, we need you to step back. This is a police matter."

Tears streamed down the woman's face as she clutched her children, who had begun to cry. "This can't be real. Joseph, what did you do?"

Joseph said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly as he was led out of the house.

The second they were all back at the station Joseph was led into an interrogation room. The officers that stayed behind to search the property came up empty. Milinda and Kylie were not there. If they wanted to find them they needed to get Joseph to talk, which is why they sent Shawn into the room first.

He sat across from him, his eyes locked onto Joseph's with an intensity that usually made people squirm. Shawn would never admit it out loud but looking into the cold dead eyes of this man sent a shiver down his spine. Shawn had interrogated many criminals before: murderers, rapists, child predators, but none of them were like this man. None of them held such a level of calmness and anger all at the same time.

"Where are they?" Shawn demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Joseph replied, his tone defiant.

"Don't play dumb," Shawn snapped. "We know who you are. We know what you've done. And we know you have Milinda and her daughter. So I'll ask you one more time: where are they?"

Joseph leaned back in his chair, a smug smile creeping onto his face. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you?"

Shawn's fist clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm. "You're not as clever as you think, Joseph. The evidence will bury you. And when it does, we'll find them. With or without your help."

* * * *

After an hour of getting nothing from Moodly Shawn was pulled from the interrogation room and Averie stepped in. Camila had offered to go on but the chief refused to leave her in a room alone with him given what had happened the night before.

Shawn stood by the observation window of the interrogation room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Beside him, Camila watched as Averie sat across from Joseph Moodly, her notepad resting on the table in front of her.

"This is useless" Camila murmured. "She's trying, but he's not giving her anything."

Shawn didn't respond, his jaw clenched as he observed Joseph's every move. The man looked disturbingly calm, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the metal table. His lips moved in a whisper, but the microphone couldn't pick up what he was saying.

Inside the room, Averie leaned forward, her voice steady but firm. "Joseph, you've been caught. We have proof that you are the Casanova stalker. There's no way out of this. You are going to go to jail for a very long time. But prison doesn't have to be a terrible place for you. If you help us right now and give us the location of Milinda and her daughter we will make things easier for you."

Joseph didn't respond. His gaze flicked to the two-way mirror, his expression unreadable.

"Joseph," Averie tried again, her tone sharper now. "Where are Milinda and Kylie? What have you done with them?"

The man's whisper grew louder, but the words were the same, repeated like a mantra: "I have to find her. I have to find her."

Averie's frustration was evident as she leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. She glanced at the mirror, her eyes unknowingly meeting Shawn's through the glass.

"He's not going to crack like this," Camila muttered. "He's never going to help us."

Shawn finally spoke, his voice low. "He doesn't care about us or what we want. The only thing on his mind is Milinda."

A sour taste appeared in Shawn's mouth. Knowing about this man's obsession with the woman he still loved was one thing, seeing it and having to admit it out loud was another thing entirely.

The interview ended with Joseph being escorted back to a holding cell. Shawn and Camila stepped out of the observation room, their exhaustion written on their faces. Averie joined them in the hallway, running a hand through her hair.

"He's completely fixated," she said, frustration lacing her voice. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like no one else in the world exists except her."

"Milinda is his obsession," Shawn replied grimly. "And obsessions don't break easily."

Before anyone could say more, the front doors of the station burst open, and a flurry of movement caught their attention. A man and a woman rushed inside, their faces pale with fear and desperation. Shawn's heart dropped at the sight of them.

"Where's Detective Shawn Conan?" the man demanded, his voice trembling.

"Isn't that?" Camila asked.

"Yes," Shawn responded stepping forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Van de Merwe," he said, addressing Milinda's parents. "What's going on?"

Milinda's mother held out a phone, her hands shaking as she tapped on the screen. "You need to see this," she said.

She handed the phone to Shawn, who took it carefully. The screen displayed a video file, the thumbnail alone sending a chill down his spine. He pressed play, and the room fell silent as the video began.

The grainy footage showed a dimly lit room, the camera angled toward Milinda. She was handcuffed to a wooden beam, and Kylie was nowhere to be found. Milinda looked dishevelled but unharmed, her expression a mixture of defiance and fear.

Camila and Averie were now standing next to him.

"Milinda," Camila gasped her hand now over her mouth.

The group watched in horror as Chanelle stepped into the frame. Shawn's breath caught as he saw her. Chanelle's hair was unkempt, and dirt smudged her face, but her eyes burned with cold determination.

"What on Earth."

"Good evening, everyone, did you really think it was over?" she said, her voice smooth and chilling. "I assume by now you've caught your so-called Casanova Stalker. Congratulations." She paced slowly, her movements deliberate. "Milinda over there thought she could destroy my life," Chanelle continued, her tone sharpening. "But now, I hold her life—and the life of her precious daughter—in my hands."

Milinda could be heard in the background, pleading, "Chanelle, please, let Kylie go. She's just a child."

Her voice was hoarse, from crying or screaming; Shawn didn't know.

Chanelle ignored her, turning back to the camera. "Revenge will come soon. And I promise you, it will be unforgettable."

The screen shifted to black for a moment before text appeared: 36 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT.

Shawn's grip on the phone tightened as the video ended. The room was silent, the weight of Chanelle's words sinking in.

"She sent this to you directly?" Shawn asked, his voice steady but edged with urgency.

Milinda's father nodded. "It came to our email less than an hour ago. We rushed here as soon as we saw it."

Camila exhaled sharply, her mind already racing. "She's taunting us. She wants us to know she's in control."

"But why send a countdown?" Averie asked, stepping closer. "She's giving us a deadline. Why?"

Shawn's eyes narrowed as he stared at the phone screen. "Because she wants us to suffer," he said. "She wants us to know the clock is ticking and that every second that passes is one step closer to whatever she has planned."

"We need to find them," Milinda's mom said. "Please, Shawn, you have to find my daughter and granddaughter before it's too late."

Shawn placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his expression resolute. "We will. I promise you, we'll bring them back."

The team reconvened in the conference room, the tension palpable as they reviewed the video and strategized their next move.

"She said she'd send more videos," Camila pointed out. "We need to monitor their email and track any incoming files."

"I'll get the tech team on it," Averie said, already heading toward the door.

Shawn remained seated, his mind racing. The clock was ticking, and the stakes had never been higher. Chanelle's plan was unfolding, and they were running out of time to stop her.

As the team dispersed to begin their work, Shawn stayed behind, staring at the countdown on the video. 36 hours.

"Hang on, Milinda," he murmured to himself. "We're coming."

The End of Episode 9