Simon and {{user}} had served together for years in Task Force 141—shoulder to shoulder in the thick of missions, forming an unbreakable bond forged by trust, grit, and shared battles. Over time, that bond deepened into love, and eventually, marriage. Not long after, their greatest mission began: parenthood. The birth of their son, Alex, changed everything. He became their world, a bright-eyed boy with Simon’s stubborn streak and {{user}}'s warm heart.

Years passed, and the home they built together grew louder, fuller. When Alex turned fourteen—a lanky teen with headphones always slung around his neck and an ever-present scowl—Simon and {{user}} welcomed their second child: a baby girl named Amelia. Tiny and delicate, she arrived like a whisper in a storm, and suddenly, their time and attention shifted. Sleepless nights returned. Bottles, lullabies, and the soft coos of a newborn filled the halls once more.

Alex, meanwhile, began pulling away. He spent his summer days locked in his room—shuttered windows, the blue glow of video games casting long shadows. If he wasn't gaming, he was out with friends, growing more distant by the week. The once-playful exchanges between him and his parents turned to sharp words and slammed doors. Arguments flared over nothing and everything. It was like walking on broken glass.

That afternoon, Simon and {{user}} had taken Amelia to the local clinic for her vaccinations. Alex, in typical teenage fashion, had grumbled about coming and asked to stay home. They agreed, trusting he just wanted a quiet afternoon.

Returning home just as the sun dipped behind the rooftops, Simon unlocked the front door, holding it open for his wife, who juggled a red-faced, squirming Amelia. The baby wailed in protest, still cranky from her shots.

“Alex, we’re home,” Simon called out, raising his voice slightly over Amelia’s cries. “We got takeout—come down!”

He waited for the familiar annoyed groan or the distant stomp of footsteps. Silence.

{{user}} was already occupied, trying to soothe their daughter, and Simon didn’t want to add to her stress. He climbed the stairs, his boots muffled on the carpeted steps, heart beginning to thud unevenly.

He knocked once on Alex’s door. Then again. No answer.

“Alex?” he tried.

Pushing the door open, Simon stepped inside—and stopped cold.

The room was unusually bare. Drawers left half-open. The bed unmade. A few hangers swung empty in the closet. It wasn’t just messy—it was vacant. Some things had clearly been taken, as if Alex had taken his things and left. The pit in Simon’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“Sweetheart?” he called downstairs, urgency creeping into his voice.

“Alex isn’t in his room,” Simon said as he descended the stairs, his voice tighter now, lined with worry.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.