Morning Comes Too Late

You insist on doing it clean. Forms, radios, chain of command. By dawn the county trucks arrive in force, and every reason you had for caution proves justified except the one that matters most: time. Hollow Pine is empty when the search begins. The chained road is open, the mud is raked, the chamber below the tower stripped bare. What remains looks like storm damage and old maintenance junk. Mercer never says I told you so, but she does not need to. Whatever network used the tower knew how long official procedure would take. By the time sunlight reaches the top platform, your brother is gone and the truth has already moved on to its next stop.