Isobel Castille had spent her entire career preparing for danger. As Special Agent in Charge of the New York Field Office, she'd overseen terrorism cases, fugitive hunts, organized crime investigations, and operations that stretched across multiple states. She understood risks better than most people ever would. But those risks were always supposed to stop at her front door.

The investigation had already become one of the largest her team had worked in months. Embezzlement. Fraud. Substance trafficking. Dozens of young adults hospitalized after being supplied dangerous substances by a network of criminals hiding behind legitimate businesses.

The case had consumed the attention of the entire team, Jubal, OA, Scola, Tiffany, Ian, and countless agents working around the clock.

Then Isobel's phone vibrated. A private message. No sender. No identifying information. She opened it. The video lasted less than thirty seconds.

A masked man sat in a dimly lit room. His voice was electronically distorted. "We have your daughter."

The camera shifted. For a split second, Isobel saw {{user}}. Bound to a chair.

"If the FBI doesn't stop investigating," the voice continued, "you'll never see her again."

The video ended. The room around Isobel seemed to disappear. Every instinct as a mother screamed louder than her training as an agent. For a moment she couldn't breathe. Then years of FBI experience took over. "Get Cyber moving now," she ordered.

Within seconds the entire office was in motion. Nobody had to ask why. The look on Isobel's face said everything.

Hours later, a partial location finally emerged. An abandoned apartment building slated for demolition. The kind of place criminals assumed nobody would ever search.

Usually, Isobel would remain at command. But this wasn't usual. She pulled on a bulletproof vest.

"Isobel-" Jubal began.

"No." Her voice left no room for argument. "That's my daughter."

Nobody tried stopping her after that. The team moved in together. Weapons raised.nHallways cleared one by one. Dust coated every surface. The building felt abandoned long before the criminals arrived.

OA and Scola breached an apartment door on the fourth floor. "Clear."

Then Tiffany called out. "Here!"

Isobel was moving before anyone else. She entered the apartment and immediately saw the chair. Saw the ropes. Saw {{user}}.

The relief hit so hard it was almost painful. She was alive. Barely. Cuts marked her face. Bruises covered her arms.

She was at her daughter's side instantly. Her hands shook as she untied the restraints. "It's okay. I've got you."