Back to La
The ferry rocked gently against the morning tide as Brendon leaned against the railing, his trench coat flapping in the cold wind. It was 7:03 a.m. The Port of Holyhead was slowly shrinking in the distance, and the familiar outline of Lagooncrest Isle was beginning to emerge beyond the fogged horizon.
He hadn't slept. Not really. Just moments of staring into the dark ceiling of his apartment, playing Grimm's half-finished sentence over and over again in his mind like a cursed echo.
"Something really weird happ—"
Then: silence.
No follow-up. No second call. No message. Nothing.
He had to move. Now. Before whatever was going on disappeared into the shadows again.
He glanced down at his phone, which buzzed softly in his coat pocket.
Still no reply from Robert. But that didn't matter. He'd already sent the message that said everything it needed to:
> It seems what you said earlier... is the right course of action now.
I am going back.
Please manage it with Chief Tyson.
He turned the phone screen off, tucked it away, and stared forward as Lagooncrest Isle grew closer.
---
Ridgecliff – 8:00 a.m.
The station felt like it was vibrating with tension. Phones were ringing, case files were being shuffled with urgency, and the usual chatter had been replaced with mutters and grumbles.
Chief Tyson stormed into the operations room, slapping a file down hard on a desk.
"Where the hell is Brendon?" he barked.
Robert looked up from behind his desk, jaw tight, but said nothing.
"I asked a question!" Tyson thundered, eyes blazing. "What does that scoundrel think he is, huh? Does he think this is his father's home? That he can come and go as he pleases?"
Robert rubbed his temples. The man was exhausting on a good day. Today wasn't one of them.
"He didn't exactly 'go' without saying anything," Robert said finally. "He left a message. He's heading back to Lagooncrest Isle."
"Without my permission?"
"Yes."
Tyson slammed the edge of the table with a clenched fist. "You tell that bastard I'll be waiting when he gets back. Badge or no badge, he's got a storm coming!"
"Sir," Robert said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "Brendon wouldn't leave on a whim. You know that. He's... impulsive, yeah, but he wouldn't walk into another fire unless he smelled the smoke first."
Tyson glared at him. "Then what the hell is he chasing now?"
Robert didn't answer. Because truth be told—he didn't know either.
---
Lagooncrest Isle – 10:35 a.m.
Brendon stepped off the ferry with a heavy heart and a heavier backpack. The Isle looked unchanged, quiet in its deception. Early mist still clung to the coastline like a veil of secrets.
There was no welcome party, no patrol at the dock. It was the kind of place that seemed to erase your presence as quickly as it acknowledged it.
His boots crunched over gravel as he made his way toward the woods—toward Dr. Vaelrick Grimm.
No one knew he was here. Not the Isle's local authorities. Not even Grimm himself.
That was how Brendon wanted it. The fewer eyes on him, the more freely he could move.
He passed the edge of the village, the stone houses stacked together like clustered memories. A few locals glanced his way—recognizing him, perhaps—but none spoke. There was a tension here too. As if something dark had returned, and everyone could feel it but no one dared to name it.
---
Back in Ridgecliff – 10:45 a.m.
Robert stood by the whiteboard, staring at the lines and notes they'd collected so far. None of it made sense. Natasha's distress call before abduction. Amelia's sudden involvement. The cult's remnants. The Mayor's trip to France—if that is even true.
And now Brendon was gone again.
Robert clenched his jaw and checked his phone. Still no reply. He opened Brendon's last message again. It didn't offer answers—only more questions.
He sat down with a sigh. "Dammit, Brendon… what are you chasing?"
---
Grimm's Cabin – Noon
After a long search Brendon at last found Dr. Grimm's Cabin in the eastern side of the forest.
The door to the wooden shack creaked open slowly. Brendon stepped inside, cautious.
"Dr. Grimm?" he called out.
No answer.
The interior was as he remembered—half-laboratory, half-study. Walls lined with hanging plants. Jars full of crushed herbs. Scattered books and charts. A cot in the corner with worn blankets.
But something was different.
The air was still. Stagnant. As if it had been left untouched for days.
Brendon walked in, eyes sharp. A faint smell lingered. Earthy, metallic. He followed it to the back room.
A spilled beaker. Broken glass. A streak of something on the floor that looked too much like dried blood to ignore.
He crouched beside it, touching a gloved finger to the mark. It wasn't recent. Maybe a day old.
"Grimm," he muttered, heart starting to race.
Had someone come after him? Was this what that cut-off call had been?
He moved deeper into the cabin, eyes scanning for any signs of life.
On the desk, a notebook lay open. Scribbled entries in cramped handwriting.
> Specimen 42: Accelerated reaction to Vineleaf compound and Nightroot, a highly volatile plant, can induce hallucinations. Nervous tremors. Mental clarity decrease followed by sudden agitation. Note: Connection between Hybrid neural system and chemical receptors still unverified. Need further analysis. Heard whispers again last night. Same voices. Same warning. Must not ignore it anymore.
Brendon frowned. Whispers?
His hand trembled slightly as he flipped the page.
At the bottom, underlined:
> They're coming for the ones who know the truth. I may become next target. I have to tell someone whom I can trust.
He froze.
Grimm had written this log. Days before the call.
---
Lagooncrest Town Hall – After an Hour later
The front desk clerk greeted him, flustered. "I thought you'd left, Sheriff."
Brendon gave her a polite nod. "Just tying up loose ends."
He headed for the guest room — not because he expected to find answers, but because his instincts kept pulling him back there.
He scanned the area where he'd found the note. Clean. No trace left behind.
He thought about the woman on the phone. D.
Don't trust the mayor.
Was that paranoia? Or something more?
He stepped into the adjoining conference room. Empty chairs. Dusty bookshelves.
And a faint trail of herbs on the carpet—barely visible, but to a trained eye, it was unmistakable.
The scent was familiar. Brendon bent down and rubbed his thumb against the fabric.
Nightroot.
Grimm's most volatile plant. Used in rare cases to stimulate Hybrid senses—but in high doses, it could induce hallucinations… and madness.
Someone had brought it here.
Recently.
And Brendon is now certain—he hadn't come back for closure.
He had come back to stop something bigger.
---
Ridgecliff PD – 2:00 p.m.
Robert was at his desk, pouring over Brendon's past cases, hoping for a thread.
Chief Tyson passed behind him with a grunt. "Still cleaning up his mess?"
Robert didn't even look up. "Trying to keep us from falling behind."
"Let him drown himself out there. He wants to be a hero? Fine. But when this all burns, don't say I didn't warn you."
Robert sighed, fingers tapping nervously on the table.
But a whisper in his mind echoed Brendon's words:
> Please manage it with Chief Tyson.