Gallagher’s group was nearly a dozen strong, with a few undercover officers among them, their plain clothes doing little to disguise the way they moved. There were too many of them, and though they hadn’t actually entered the village, the sound of their boots was enough to set the local dogs off.

A single bark rose up, and instantly, from one end of the village to the other, an uproar broke out—every dog in the place was barking.

It wasn’t long before the commotion drew out some of the villagers. Someone shouted, “There are people in the village! Outsiders are here!”

Warren’s expression grew even more grave. “Ignore them. Keep moving,” he ordered.

But before they could get much farther, a middle-aged man on a battered motorcycle sped toward them, cutting them off on the narrow dirt road.

“Who are you people? What are you doing here?” he demanded, his face weathered and darkened from years of sun, his voice brash and heavy with the local accent.

Warren stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “We’re with the geological survey team, here to assess local resources."

The man scoffed. “Don’t try to fool me! You’re here looking for someone again, aren’t you? I’ve told you before, there’s no one here for you. Get out now, or don’t blame us for what happens next!”

Warren didn’t bother to argue. Two undercover officers at his back moved forward, grabbing the man by the arms and dragging him aside without a word, clearing the way for the group.

But the man didn’t give up. He struggled and shouted, calling out warnings to the rest of the village as he was pulled away.

Ivy walked close to Jamison, his arm shielding her from the chaos, but as they passed, the man caught a glimpse of her face—and recognition flashed in his eyes. “You—you’re—aren’t you Daisy from the Silly family? Daisy, you’ve come back!” he cried out, his voice full of disbelief as he stared at Ivy.

Jamison turned, shooting the man a cold, warning glare.

When they were out of earshot, he leaned in and asked Ivy quietly, “Daisy—was he talking about you?”

A shiver ran through Ivy, goosebumps prickling her arms. “Yes. Daisy was the name the traffickers gave me. After I got here, everyone called me that…”

Jamison wasted no time. He pulled Warren aside. “That man recognized Ivy. He’ll tip them off for sure.”

Warren nodded, his tone reassuring. “I know. Don’t worry, the state police have sent backup. Local law enforcement is under orders to cooperate with us fully. We have enough people—we’re not going to let them intimidate us.”

Even so, Jamison remained on edge. He quickly called over Derek, instructing him to get as many reinforcements as possible.

The group pushed on along the winding mountain path, struggling through thickets and uneven ground for over an hour before finally meeting up with the scout team that had gone in the night before.

While Warren spoke with the scouts, Ivy took in her surroundings. During those lost years, she’d been dragged deep into these mountains more than once—sometimes drugged, sometimes with a bag over her head. The details were hazy.

She remembered that once they were deep enough in, it became too difficult for her captors to carry her, so they’d splash her awake with frigid water, then tie a rope around her wrists and pull her along on foot, deeper and deeper into the wild.

She couldn’t remember exactly how she’d first been brought up here. But the paths they’d taken through the mountains—those she remembered, faintly, like a half-forgotten nightmare.

The landscape was even wilder now, the undergrowth thicker and the trees taller, making it hard to recognize the way. After searching the sky for bearings, Ivy finally said to Warren, “I can’t be sure about the direction. I’ll have to try and see if anything feels familiar.”

“Alright,” Warren replied. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Jamison still gripped Ivy’s hand tightly. Their palms were slick with sweat, but neither let go for an instant.

The mountain trails were rough and exhausting. Ivy led the way, stopping frequently to get her bearings, correcting herself by whatever scraps of memory she could muster. The group grew tired and hungry, and eventually they stopped to rest, sharing out a little food and water to keep going.

Just then, Warren’s satellite phone rang.

“Hello?”

Chapter 321

“Warren, it’s bad. The villagers have surrounded us—they’ve slashed all the tires on our vehicles and are screaming for us to hand Daisy over. They say if we don’t, none of us are leaving,” came the furious voice of one of the officers left behind at the entrance.

“They’re out of control! We showed our badges, but it didn’t matter. They’re accusing us of abusing our authority and threatening to file complaints against us!”