Adopted Son Talks to "Headless Man" at 3 AM — Morning After, My Face Is Cut From Every Photo in the House
👉 Previous Decision: You chose to evacuate Jonah through the basement storm hatch and retreat to the woods.
“Jonah,” I whispered, pulling the heavy steel door of the panic closet open. “We’re going on an adventure.”
His eyes were wide, but he nodded, his small hand finding mine. I led him through the utility room, unbolting the basement storm hatch. Cold, driving rain immediately assaulted us. I pulled him close, using the dense tree line as cover, moving away from the house’s infrared signature.
We navigated 1.5 miles through rough, unfamiliar terrain, the sound of the rain masking our footsteps. I moved with the precision of someone who knew every inch of this forest, having scouted it years ago as a contingency. Finally, we reached a pre-staged gear cache hidden deep inside an abandoned culvert.
“Stay here,” I murmured, pulling out my emergency kit. From it, I extracted a small satellite tracking beacon. As I was packing it, my fingers brushed against something hard, sewn into the lining of Jonah’s heavy winter jacket.
I pulled out a small, passive RFID transponder, no bigger than a thumbnail. It was designed to emit a constant, low-frequency signal. My blood ran cold. They hadn’t just tracked my house; they had been monitoring Jonah’s exact coordinates continuously, a silent digital leash, ever since I adopted him. They knew where he was, always.
This wasn’t just about a house anymore. It was about escaping a net that had been cast months ago, tightening around us in the darkness.
➡️ Read Chapter 11 to continue the story
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