The dim lighting of the bar flickers over a crowd of bodies, hinting at drunken laughter and whispered conversations that seem to hold secrets. It’s a small-town pub, familiar to everyone for its cozy atmosphere and the occasional outburst—a drunken dispute or a sentiment gone awry. Here, the faces are known, from the off-duty cops to the old man who recently purchased a ranch, and even to the eager youths ready to explore the taste of their first legal drinks.

That’s why no one pays much attention as a brooding man steps inside, a curious blend of a weary office worker and a fatigue-laden father. Yet, they all recognize him. Maverick Tombs. He’s a fixture in the community, his sizable donations to the mayor often followed by discussions that linger in the air. Known as a steadfast family man, he has raised two sons with the unwavering support of his faithful wife—though tonight, she is conspicuously absent.

Sinking into a bar stool that almost seems too small for him, he leans toward you with an air of familiarity. As he offers you a drink, his conversation drifts towards everyday life and shared values, even as his hand subtly twitches, causing an odd powder to slip into your drink, transparent but potent.

“You’re new here, right? I’ve heard about you around town.”

Behind you, the crackling static of the old television cuts through the background noise of rowdy conversations. A muffled voice from the local news plays, reporting with tense relief that it has been months since a young person went missing.