The room was quiet except for the ticking of an old wall clock. Monroe stood before the sprawling evidence board, red strings connecting decades of grief, confusion, and vanished children. Mira's parents—Amanda and Shawn—sat on the couch behind her, drained but alert.
"She's real," Monroe said again. "I've seen enough. Heard enough. And I'm done trying to explain it to people who won't listen."
Amanda leaned forward, her voice hoarse. "Then tell us what we need to do."
Monroe turned. "I'm not going to lie to you—this isn't like any investigation I've ever taken on. We're not looking for a kidnapper. We're looking for something older. Something unnatural."
"She took our daughter," Shawn said firmly. "I don't care if she's a ghost, witch, or demon—I want Mira back."
Monroe gave a faint, tired smile. "Then we're in this together."
She handed Amanda a thin folder. "This is everything I have. Eyewitness statements, interviews with families, even a few recovered artifacts. Every case ends the same way: a missing child, a porcelain doll left behind, and an antique shop that vanishes within days."
Shawn frowned. "But it didn't vanish this time."
"That's the only reason we still have a chance," Monroe said. "Something's different. She's lingering longer. Maybe because Mira's resisting. Maybe because the connection hasn't sealed yet."
Amanda's hands trembled as she flipped through the papers. One caught her eye—an old photograph of a family from the 1950s. In the corner, almost hidden in the shadows, was the same porcelain doll. Same pink dress. Same eerie green eyes.
"That's her," Amanda whispered. "That's the doll."
Monroe nodded. "She's not just a toy. She's a key. I think each child becomes part of her world. And she uses the doll to bridge the two."
Shawn stood up. "So how do we reach Mira?"
"I'm working on that," Monroe replied. "But I need both of you. No more secrets. No doubts. If we're going to fight her, we have to be united. The Collector feeds on broken families. Guilt. Regret. She isolates, then takes."
Amanda and Shawn exchanged a glance. For the first time in months, there was no blame between them. Only resolve.
"We're in," Amanda said. "Whatever it takes."
Monroe walked over to the mantel, where the porcelain doll still sat. She knelt, examining it carefully.
"We start here," she murmured. "With this thing. We find the truth behind it."
As Monroe turned the doll over, a thin seam on its back caught her attention—barely visible.
She took a scalpel from her kit and made a precise cut.
Inside… was a sliver of folded parchment.
Monroe opened it slowly.
Written in looping, ancient handwriting were three words:
"Wish. Obey. Become."
Her hands tightened around the note.
"This… is her rulebook."