## Chapter 2: The Seven-Year Grave
Travis froze mid-step. Every ounce of color drained from his rugged face. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“He said if I showed you that…” the little girl whispered, tears finally spilling down her dusty cheeks.
Travis’s voice dropped to a terrifying, hollow whisper. “…Where did you get my daughter’s rattle?”
Seven years ago, Travis’s wife and infant daughter, Emily, were missing and presumed dead after a tragic flash flood near the canyon. Travis had dug a symbolic grave himself, burying his daughter's pink backpack and her favorite silver rattle to find some semblance of peace. He had spent nearly a decade believing he was entirely alone in the world.
The pale man backed toward the glass door, his hands shaking violently as he pointed outside. “He says my real mom is waiting outside,” the little girl added softly.
Travis slowly turned his head toward the sun-blasted window. Outside, standing amidst the gleaming chrome of the motorcycles, was a woman. She looked exhausted, battered, and thin—but Travis would recognize those eyes anywhere. It was Sarah, his wife. And in her trembling hands, she was holding the child-sized pink backpack he had buried seven years ago.
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Before Travis could even process the shock, a black SUV roared into the diner’s parking lot, tires screeching. Two armed men jumped out, aiming directly at Sarah.
“They tracked us!” the pale man screamed, throwing the door open. “Travis, they’re going to kill her!”
