The morning light spilled through the window, golden rays creeping across the floral wallpaper of Lucy Sinclair's bedroom. She let out a groggy sigh, stretching her arms above her head before rolling onto her side.

  Her fingers instinctively reached under her pillow. The notebook was still there. She pulled it out, thumbing along the worn leather cover before flipping it open again. The pages were lined with neat, handwritten French, some sections underlined or marked with strange symbols and numbers.

  Lucy frowned. She had understood it vividly last night. That was, at least, what she had experienced in her dreams.

  "But then again..." she murmured, rubbing her forehead. "Karen was the culprit in my dream."

  She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head before closing the book and setting it on her nightstand. It was just a dream—her brain twisting last night's events into something ridiculous. Still, her thoughts drifted back to the fire, to the man running into the night.

  Who was he? Did he start the fire? Or was he running from something worse?

  The thoughts buzzed in her head, but her stomach growled louder. Sighing, she slipped out of bed, reached for her robe, and headed for the bathroom.

  By the time Lucy padded downstairs, the smell of pancakes and muffins filled the air. The kitchen was warm and lively, the sound of plates clinking and conversation blending with the soft hum of the radio playing in the background. Her mother, Betty Sinclair, stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with expert ease. At the table sat her mother's fiancé. Evan Carter, a tall, broad-shouldered man, had calloused hands and a permanent layer of dust on his clothes—a telltale sign of a man who worked with his hands for a living. The QA employed him as a construction worker.

  "Mornin', kiddo," Evan greeted, sipping his coffee.

  "Morning, sweetheart!" Betty added with a cheerful smile.

  Lucy rubbed her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she pulled up a chair.

  "Good morning, good morning," she muttered before flashing a grin. "I am absolutely starving."

  Then she caught sight of the spread on the table.

  Pancakes. Muffins.

  They were a little blander than they used to be, but they were still her favorite. She happily grabbed a plate, already reaching for a muffin when Evan leaned back in his chair.

  "You hear about the fire?" he asked casually.

  Lucy paused for half a second before tearing a piece off her muffin.

  "Yeah," she said, popping it into her mouth. "I was there."

  Evan raised a brow. "Is that right?"

  Betty tsked, turning over another pancake. "Lucy, honey, were you in danger?"

  Lucy waved her hand dismissively. "No, no—just close enough to see the commotion."

  Evan hummed. "Did you find anything useful?"

  Lucy flashed a playful smirk. "Not yet. But hopefully something comes up."

  She sat up straighter, mock-dramatic. "But not to worry! The case is in excellent hands."

  Evan chuckled, shaking his head. "Shame a young girl has to bear such a responsibility. But if anyone can figure it out, it's you."

  Lucy shot him a finger gun. "Darn tootin'."

  Evan snorted. Lucy tapped her fork against her plate.

  "Do you know anything about that house?" she asked.

  Evan glanced at her over his coffee. "It belonged to some QA Councilman. Geoffrey something-or-other."

  It piqued Lucy's interest. "Councilman Geoffrey? What's he in charge of?"

  Evan leaned back in his chair. "Food and rationing, I believe."

  Lucy's fork froze midair, clearly intrigued.

  She set it down, tilting her head. "Is he straight?"

  Evan let out a dry laugh. "He's a councilman in the Quarantine Authority." He shook his head. "He's definitely not straight. But what would I know?"

  Lucy leaned forward. "So he might have enemies."

  Evan raised a brow. Lucy grinned.

  "Enemies who would want to, say, blow up his home, hoping he was inside?"

  Evan took another sip of his coffee. "Could be. Could be."

  There was a moment of silence. Then, Betty came bustling over with a fresh plate of pancakes.

  "Alright, alright, enough with the shop talk! Breakfast is served!"

  Lucy laughed, tucking the conversation into the back of her mind as she grabbed another pancake. There was a lot to chew on this morning.

  And not just the food.

  Lucy spent the next couple of hours in her room. She sat at her desk, flipping through the French notebook for what had to be the fiftieth time that morning. Despite the fire, the neatly written pages remained crisp, yet the words seemed like elegant nonsense to her. She traced her finger along an underlined section, tilting her head.

  Nothing.

  She sighed, leaning back in her chair and tapping the notebook with her pen.

  What did this mean? There had to be something. Some connection.

  Her mind yearned to begin assembling a puzzle, yet it lacked the necessary pieces.

  The fire, the man running, the French notebook, and Mr. Bennett's arrest.

  Lucy frowned.

  Were they connected? Or am I reaching?

  She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. She needed something solid. Something real. And then—

  A loud knock rattled the front door.

  Lucy jerked upright, heart skipping half a beat before she snapped the notebook shut. Paranoia momentarily flickered through her—was it the QA? She rushed downstairs, stepping lightly as she moved toward the door. She sighed with relief as she peered through the small peephole.

  Karen.

  Lucy unlocked the door and swung it open.

  "Morning, stranger!" Karen grinned.

  The two girls hugged briefly, then Karen stepped inside like she owned the place.

  "Ollie told me about last night." Karen's eyes were wide with excitement. "Gosh, Lucy! A fire? A mysterious explosion? And I wasn't there to see it?!"

  Lucy laughed, shaking her head as she closed the door.

  "Trust me, it was scary." She stretched slightly. "Plus, the QA showed up, so it wasn't all that fun."

  Karen rolled her eyes dramatically. "Damn QA."

  Lucy chuckled. "My thoughts exactly."

  Karen clapped her hands together. "Well! Enough about that. Get your coat. We're getting brunch."

  Lucy blinked. "Brunch?"

  "Yes, brunch! You know, that magical meal between breakfast and lunch?"

  Lucy crossed her arms. "I just had a big breakfast."

  Karen gasped in mock offense. "Must be lovely to be part of the elites. A big, hearty breakfast while the rest of us poor folk suffer."

  Lucy rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."

  Karen grinned, undeterred. "Fine, then. You don't have to eat. Just come along and watch me eat."

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  Lucy smirked. "What do you mean, 'come along'? I'll be driving."

  Karen gasped again. "Why, yes! Because you're my chauffeur!" Then, with a dramatic snap of her fingers, she gestured as if she were a wealthy lady commanding her butler. "Come now, Ms. Sinclair. I have places to be, you know!"

  Lucy shook her head, grabbing her coat. This girl was too much. But she wouldn't have it any other way.

  The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling streets of Brightvale. The town square was alive with movement—mothers carrying grocery bags, men in pressed suits heading to work, children darting between their parents' legs, their laughter ringing through the air. QA soldiers stood at their usual posts, their watchful gazes scanning the sidewalks as the citizens carried on, pretending not to notice.

  Lucy drove east toward Pleasant Hill, her Studebaker rolling smoothly over the cobblestone streets. Their destination?

  Jukebox Café.

  The diner was cozy, featuring a checkered floor, red leather booths, and a glowing neon sign that hummed softly. A jukebox sat in the corner, occasionally playing a soft jazz tune, though it was mostly drowned out by the chatter of the morning crowd.

  Lucy pulled into the lot and killed the engine. Karen clapped her hands together. "I can already taste those pancakes."

  Lucy shook her head, grinning as they stepped inside.

  A middle-aged waitress with a soft smile and a green uniform approached their booth. "What'll you have to order, girls?" she asked, clicking her pen.

  Lucy flipped her menu shut. "Just a coffee and a yogurt, thanks."

  Karen leaned back with a dramatic sigh. "Tea, and I'll take the whole classic American breakfast."

  The waitress chuckled. "Coming right up."

  As she walked away, Lucy rested her chin in her hand, eyes drifting toward the window.

  Everyone hurried along Brightvale's streets, performing their daily routine as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Karen noticed Lucy's distant expression and nudged her foot under the table.

  "Alright, what's with the long face?" she asked.

  Lucy snapped back to reality and sighed. "I'm just thinking about the case. Trying to figure out how it all fits together."

  Karen perked up. "Ooooh, now we're getting serious. What's the latest development, detective?"

  Lucy glanced around, then leaned in slightly. "I found something at the fire last night."

  Karen's eyes widened. "Well, why didn't you say so? What is it?"

  Lucy pulled the notebook from her coat pocket and set it on the table. Karen picked it up, flipping through the pages.

  "Oh, wow. French. That's, uh... that's about all I got." She squinted at the text. "I can make out, like... three words."

  Lucy smirked. "Know anyone who can actually read it?"

  Karen tapped her chin. "Not personally. Not exactly. But I might know someone who can help."

  Lucy raised a brow. "Yeah? Who?"

  "Trevor Bailey."

  Lucy tilted her head. "Trevor Bailey? I remember him. Didn't think he spoke French."

  Karen snorted. "That's because you didn't know him like I did."

  Lucy rolled her eyes. "Oh, here we go."

  Karen grinned. "I used to study with him before everything went sideways. And by 'study,' I mean I cheated off his homework."

  Lucy chuckled. "Of course you did."

  "But!" Karen gestured with one finger. "In my defense, we got to know each other pretty well, and his grandfather was from Canada. It's like French there or something. Anyway, he even taught me a few words."

  Lucy smirked. "Let me guess—cuss words?"

  Karen grinned proudly. "Mais oui, mon amie!"

  Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. "Karen, you're a genius. Thank you."

  Karen sighed dreamily. "It's about time someone noticed."

  Their food arrived soon after, and the girls dug in, Lucy sipping her coffee as Karen all but inhaled her pancakes. By the time they paid the bill and stepped back outside, the afternoon sun had shifted slightly.

  As Lucy dug into her pocket for her keys, a voice nearby caught their attention.

  "You wouldn't happen to be a soldier, would you?"

  Lucy and Karen paused, exchanging glances.

  A young man stood nearby, speaking with an older gentleman. He looked about seventeen, his short, neatly combed hair giving him a somewhat formal appearance. His expression was eager, but his posture was uncertain—like someone trying to act more confident than he felt.

  The older man shook his head. "No, son. Haven't seen any vets since the Outbreak."

  The young man nodded. "I figured. Not many soldiers left wandering around among us, are there?"

  He paused, thoughtful. "They've all been drafted into the QA. Even the old ones."

  The girls caught the tail end of the conversation just as the young man thanked the older man for his time and turned to leave. Before Lucy could look away, he suddenly locked eyes with her. His brows shot up in surprise.

  "Wait... Sinclair? Lucy Sinclair?"

  Lucy blinked. "The one and only."

  The boy grinned, looking genuinely excited. "No kidding! I'm a big fan. I follow your cases whenever I hear about them."

  He hesitated, then his face turned more serious. "I'm sorry about your dad's transfer."

  Lucy raised a brow, crossing her arms. "Can't say I've ever been recognized on the street before. That's a first."

  The boy beamed. "Oh? Well, boy, I'm honored!" He extended a hand. "Hans."

  Before Lucy could reply, Karen stepped forward, grinning. "I'm Karen!" She jabbed a thumb toward herself. "I'm actually the brains of the operation. Lucy here is kinda my sidekick."

  Lucy snorted. Hans chuckled. "Oh, is that so?"

  Karen nodded sagely. "Afraid so. But don't worry—she's a quick learner."

  Lucy shook her head, amused. This morning had taken an intriguing turn. Hans adjusted his collar, flashing Karen a quick grin.

  "I'm sure she is, Miss Karen! But, um... Lucy?" He shifted slightly, lowering his voice. "Did you hear about the fire?"

  Lucy folded her arms again, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah, I was there last night. Have you heard anything?"

  Hans shook his head. "Nothing more than anyone else."

  She let out a small sigh. "Damn. I was afraid so."

  Hans glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for any unwanted ears, then took a half step closer.

  "No, that's a good thing," he whispered. "It's also a good thing I bumped into you here today."

  Lucy and Karen exchanged a look. Hans reached into his coat pocket, his fingers fumbling around for something.

  "I found these tags. Soldier tags."

  He pulled out two grey metal dog tags attached to a string.

  Karen raised a brow. "And? Those are everywhere. All the QA guys have 'em."

  Hans nodded. "That's what I thought too. I figured maybe one of 'em dropped these."

  Then he turned the tags over in his palm. "But these don't look like any I've ever seen."

  He held them out. Lucy took them carefully, turning them over in her fingers. The metal felt cool and smooth to the touch, but there was an unsettling feeling.

  There were no QA insignias.

  No name. No rank. No official seal. There's just a single number stamped right in the center.

  47.

  Karen leaned forward, impatient. "So? Don't keep us all in suspense!"

  Lucy studied them closely, running her thumb over the engraving. "Curious," she murmured.

  She lifted her gaze. "These don't belong to the QA."

  Karen raised an eyebrow. "Then who?"

  Lucy turned back to Hans. "Where did you find these?"

  Hans shifted, his excitement dimming slightly. "At the house," he said.

  "I was riding my bike around there this morning. Since there was no one around, I decided to stop and investigate. And well... I found those lying in the grass in the backyard."

  Lucy's fingers tightened around the tags. Someone else had been there. Not just the QA. Someone who didn't want to be found.

  She looked back at Hans. "Good work."

  Hans grinned proudly. "Oh boy, I think that means I'm officially on the case!"

  Karen snorted. "Yeah, sure, junior detective. Don't let it go to your head."

  Lucy slipped the tags into her pocket. "No, really. This might be important."

  Her mind was already racing. The explosion. The notebook. And now, soldier tags that didn't belong to any army she knew. Brightvale was hiding more secrets than she thought.

  Lucy brushed off her coat, flashing Hans a polite smile. "We need to get going. It was a pleasure meeting you today. Thanks again."

  Hans straightened up, giving a quick nod. "Oh, you too, Miss Sinclair! And Karen! Maybe we'll run into each other again. We can discuss the case."

  Lucy chuckled lightly. "Maybe."

  As Hans headed toward the diner, Karen suddenly tapped Lucy on the shoulder. "Bye, Hans! Lucy will be thinking about you!"

  Lucy's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. "Shut up, Karen!" she hissed, giving her a slight shove.

  Hans turned back with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the exchange. He gave an enthusiastic wave before stepping inside the diner, still smiling.

  Lucy groaned, pressing a hand to her face. "I can't bring you anywhere."

  Karen smirked. "Oh, come on. He's cute."

  Lucy shook her head. "Whatever."

  Karen just laughed.

  The road stretched long and golden under the late afternoon sun, fields of rolling green and amber swaying in the wind. The Studebaker cruised down the countryside, the windows rolled down, letting the crisp air whip through their hair. The radio crackled softly, then burst into life, playing an upbeat rock 'n' roll tune. Karen tapped her fingers against her knee, bobbing her head to the beat. Lucy, ever the serious driver, kept her hands on the wheel, letting the music fill the space between them.

  They pulled into Karen's driveway, a cozy little house tucked away from the main road. As they stepped inside, the house was quiet—empty.

  "No one home?" Lucy asked.

  Karen shrugged, heading up the stairs. "Nope. Dad's probably working late again."

  Lucy nodded silently, following her up.

  Karen's room was cluttered but cozy—fashion magazines, school notebooks, and a pile of records stacked near her dresser. A few old movie posters adorned the walls, while a pink blanket half-hung onto her unmade bed. Karen flopped onto the bed, grabbing a random magazine and flipping through it lazily.

  "Alright, Sinclair," she said, voice casual. "The dog tags. The notebook. What do you make of it?"

  Lucy paced slightly, twirling the dog tags in her fingers. "I'm not sure. But they must belong to the same person."

  Karen raised an eyebrow. "The guy who owned the house?"

  Lucy hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I don't think so."

  Karen looked up, catching the hesitation in Lucy's voice. "What? What is it?"

  Lucy sighed. "Last night... at the house." She hesitated again before finally admitting, "The notebook isn't the only thing I saw."

  Karen snapped her magazine shut with a loud clap. "Sinclair!" she gasped. "Holding out on me again? You always do this! What did you see? Spill it!"

  Lucy exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "A man."

  Karen tilted her head. "A man? Who?"

  Lucy shook her head. "That's the thing; I don't know. I saw him in the backyard, running off. And now we find a notebook and dog tags in the same place? It can't be a coincidence."

  Karen frowned, tapping her chin. Lucy added, "Besides... my stepdad knew the guy who owned that house. He never mentioned anything about him being French. Or Canadian."

  Karen's eyes flicked around the room, then she asked, "Who owns the house?"

  Lucy sighed. "I'm not really sure. Some councilman, Evan said. Apparently, he was in charge of rationing the food or something."

  Karen sat up. "That can't be easy. A job like that? He might have enemies."

  Lucy nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking."

  Karen's eyes narrowed slightly. "But now he's gone?"

  Lucy shrugged. "I don't know. He may have been in the house; he may not have been."

  Karen sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah..."

  For a moment, they both sat in silence, the weight of the unknown hanging in the air. Then Karen suddenly clapped her hands together. "Well, look, it's getting late. You should probably go. Don't you have to pick up that basket for your mom?"

  Lucy stood up straight. "Right! I forgot!" She groaned. "You're right; I should get going. Don't wanna get myself arrested or worse now, do I?"

  Karen smirked. "No. You really don't."

  She walked Lucy to the door and leaned against the frame. "Hear from you tomorrow?"

  Lucy smirked. "Definitely. We need to find a way to Northside to see your friend."

  Karen nodded. "Yeah. He could shine a light on this whole thing. If he still lives there."

  Karen opened the door, letting the cool evening air drift in. "Anyways, goodnight, Lucy. Be safe."

  Lucy stepped onto the porch, glancing back with a grin. "You too, Karen. Goodnight."

  Lucy made her way toward her car parked in the driveway. The sky had deepened to a soft purple, the last slivers of sunlight fading on the horizon. The air was quiet. Too quiet. Lucy hesitated before opening the car door, glancing around. For the first time since last night, she felt it.

  Something was wrong in Brightvale.

  She had always known things weren't perfect. The QA controlled everything—the curfews, the rationing, the disappearances. But for the most part, people kept their heads down and moved along. This was different.

  The fire, the notebook, the dog tags.

  Beneath the surface, something darker was brewing.

  And Lucy planned on uncovering it.