Inside the barn, dust swirled in the beams of sunlight cutting through the dilapidated roof. The smell hit them first—damp hay, rust, and something else. Something out of place. Zeus’s head snapped toward the far corner.

He charged forward, barking furiously, clawing at the wooden floorboards. That’s when Simmons saw it. It wasn’t a door or hatch—just a section of dirt and splintered wood that didn’t quite match the rest. It looked like someone had hastily tried to cover a hole.

Poorly. Zeus, Simmons murmured to himself, what the hell did you find? Zeus had never been wrong.

The dog had tracked missing children through storms, sniffed out fentanyl hidden in gas tanks, and even found a body in a swamp when other cadaver dogs had given up. When Zeus barked, there was a reason. And when he barked like his life depended on it, Simmons knew to trust him.

This barn was about to reveal something buried deep. They grabbed shovels from the truck, and the boards lifted easily.

Beneath them, packed dirt.

And under that, something else. A hollow thud. Simmons felt his blood run cold.

They dug faster. Dust and sweat streamed down their arms. Zeus circled them tightly, barking, whining, spinning like a spring about to snap.

And then… They hit something. A sheet of plywood, nailed down in a makeshift cover. Simmons pried it up and saw four eyes staring back at him.

Four pairs of wide, sunken, terrified eyes. Children.

Let me pause for a moment.

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