Detective Monroe sat at her desk, surrounded by files, old news clippings, and notes sprawled across every inch of the surface. The case wasn't just about a missing girl anymore. Something about it crawled under her skin—the eerie calm of Mira's parents, the unexplained footage gaps, the doll with the impossibly human expression.
She reached again for the CCTV clip. Replaying it. Slow motion.
Mira's parents. Robotic smiles. Dressing her like a doll. Their faces—blank.
And then, blackout.
It didn't add up.
That night, Monroe returned to the alley where Mira claimed to have found the antique store. It was empty. A brick wall now stood where Mira's friend swore the crooked shop used to be. No store. No signage. No surveillance. Nothing.
But something caught her eye—carved faintly into the brick, just at eye level: a small symbol. An ornate design resembling a doll's eye encased in vines. Faint, but fresh.
She took a photo, sent it to a contact who owed her favors—a historian who dabbled in folklore.
The next morning, she met him at a small café across town. He studied the photo with a grim face.
"I've seen this before," he said, fingers tightening around his cup. "It's not just decoration. It's a binding mark. Folklore dating back centuries—connected to old European superstitions. They believed these marks were used to seal deals… or lives."
Monroe leaned in. "Deals with what?"
He hesitated. "Not what. Who. There are scattered stories—missing children, strange shops that appear and vanish, always tied to an ageless woman. She goes by different names. Sometimes La Collectrice, sometimes The Maiden of Porcelain."
"And the shops?"
"Temporary. They only appear when she's ready to claim someone new."
Monroe felt her pulse quicken.
He handed her a brittle photocopy from an 1890s newspaper archive—"Four Local Children Vanish After Visiting 'Witch's Curiosity Room'"—beneath the article, a sketch of the shop's storefront. It was nearly identical to the one Mira's friend described.
"And this?" Monroe tapped the sketch.
"The mark was found on the doorframe. Same one you found on the alley wall."
Monroe sat back, the noise of the café dimming under the weight of realization.
If this woman—this Collector—was real, then Mira wasn't just missing.
She was taken.
That night, Monroe returned to the Whitman house. Mira's parents sat on the couch, exhausted, hollow-eyed. She laid out the files, photos, and the article.
"I need you to trust me," she said. "What took your daughter… isn't human. And I think she's done this before."
They stared at her, the silence stretching.
Finally, Amanda nodded, trembling. "Tell us everything."
Monroe's voice dropped. "There may still be a way to reach her. I know it sounds absurd, even I can't believe it fully , but it's the only clue we have now, and if it's true we don't have much time left."