Isabella, Chapter Seven: The Vanishing

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The road to Southwood, Pikolo’s last known base of operation, stretched out like a ribbon of fading clues. For Isabella, it wasn’t just a journey—it was a chase through shadows. Armed with two photographs—one of Pikolo Benz, the other of Esther, her sister—she clung to a fragile hope.
She wasn’t coming for closure.
She was coming for truth.
Arrival in Southwood
The city hadn’t changed much. Still cloaked in that oily mist from nearby steel plants, still pulsing with traffic, hustle, and crime beneath thin layers of glamour. But something about it felt colder now, more silent.
She checked into a low-key hotel, ignoring the concierge’s odd stare when he saw the large photograph she clutched tightly.
It was Esther’s.
Her little sister, smiling innocently in a white summer dress, frozen in time before vanishing into a man’s twisted world.

That night, Isabella visited an old contact—Tosky, her former university classmate, now a part-time hacker and full-time ghost in the city’s underground scene.
The Search Begins
In Tosky’s cluttered apartment, computer screens blinked with city surveillance archives, border logs, and encrypted phone networks.
She placed both pictures on the desk.
“Run these faces through every camera you can find—transport stations, traffic cams, ATM feeds, anything. I want timestamps. I want directions. I want a trail.”
Tosky nodded. “You’re asking a lot. But for you, I’ll try.”
For hours, the system worked. Faces scanned. Matches pinged.
A hit. Then another. Then silence.
Finally, Tosky turned around, his face pale.
“They were here… but not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got them on camera—three weeks ago. Train station. Headed northwest. But after that? Nothing. No check-ins, no calls, no ATM pings. They’ve gone dark.”
Isabella’s heart sank.
“Are you sure?”
“They’re ghosts now. And from the way they moved—false IDs, no digital footprints—they had help. Someone powerful.”
The One Lead
Isabella spent the next three days combing Southwood’s streets.
She met with store owners, taxi drivers, even the cleaner who used to sweep the corridor near Pikolo’s last apartment. Most claimed ignorance.
But then, a break.
A young street vendor—barely 15—recognized the photo of Esther.
“I saw her. With that man. She looked tired. Like she didn’t want to go. They got into a black car. I remember because the driver wore gloves even though it was hot.”
“When was this?”
“Two months ago. Or more.”
The trail had grown cold—but now, it had weight.
Esther was taken.
Maybe not by force.
But definitely not in freedom.
The Quiet Collapse
That night, back in her hotel room, Isabella sat alone.
The photos lay before her. Useless now.
She stared at her sister’s smile, wishing she could hear her voice again—soft and stubborn, full of fire.
Where did you go?Why didn’t you call?Are you still alive?
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.
Her phone buzzed.
It was a message from Sir Mark Luck:
We may have found a location linked to Pikolo’s offshore communication. Prepare to return. We’re launching Phase Two.
The Return
Exhausted and drained, Isabella boarded the train back to Hano Chi. The city lights blurred past her window. Her body felt heavy, but her mind remained sharp.
If Pikolo had fled, he wouldn’t do it alone.If Esther had gone with him, it meant she still mattered.And if they both had disappeared…
Then someone—maybe more than one person—was helping them.
As the train curved through the final hill, a deep conviction settled in her chest.
She would find them.
And this time, she wouldn’t just come with pictures and questions.
She would come with vengeance.