Kelsey checked the clock above the stove for the tenth time. Two hours late. She hit Dylan's name again and got the same flat voicemail beep. Grace was coloring at the table, humming, unaware. Kelsey kept her face still. She had built her whole life around staying still on the outside. But she already knew. Traffic didn't swallow a man whole. The Black Ring did. She grabbed her keys and drove to the trailhead where he ran every morning. His truck sat alone in the gravel. On the driver's seat, neat as a place setting, lay his brown leather wallet. He never left it behind. Kelsey's hands went cold. She picked it up, locked the truck, and walked back to her car without looking at the trees. Whatever came next, Grace could not be home alone for it.