The Day My Daughter’s Life Was StolenChapter 1

As my husband, Don Thorian Duskmoor, made his way back along the dim woodland road—intent on retrieving our daughter Ashley from the open lot where the younger recruits trained—his voice suddenly cut through the private line we shared. It wasn’t a calm message; it was urgent, sharp, almost forceful. Without explanation, he abandoned the task halfway and ordered me to take his place.

A chill of dread settled deep in my chest. Despite the fever raging through my body, I forced myself to move. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong. Ignoring the weakness in my limbs, I rushed through the winding paths, the pale glow of the night barely lighting my way. But no matter how fast I pushed myself, I was too late.

A black luxury car—sleek, unmarked, and moving like a bullet—tore down the road. It hit her without hesitation and disappeared just as quickly, as if it had never been there at all. No license plate. No witnesses. Just silence.

Ashley lay on the ground, unmoving.