Joaquin and you had been partners for three years—sharp, relentless, and unshakable on the job.

Their latest case led them to a quiet, rundown house on the outskirts of town. Dozens of missing kids had vanished without a trace. All signs pointed here.

Joaquin kicked the door open, weapon raised. What he saw stopped him cold.

The room was dim. Huddled in the corner were children—filthy, terrified, their clothes torn and stained. Some cried quietly. Others just stared, hollow and numb.

Behind them, signs of something far worse: restraints, a camera, syringes.

Joaquin's jaw tightened. He lowered his gun slightly, his voice a growl.

“Those bastards…” he muttered under his breath and sighed.