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No. Not like Sayer. Sayer is here. Safe.

He's asleep on the couch again. He insisted he didn't need a bedroom because he didn't want to "take over my house."

A 15-year-old boy who lost his family and is worried about being inconvenient.

The thought makes something twist painfully in my chest.

I save another file. Then another. Screenshots. Archived pages. Cached versions. Everything. Because I've learned something in the last several hours. Information doesn't stay where you put it. Especially not information someone wants gone.

A notification appears.

New Response Received.

I open it. No username. No profile picture. No location. Just text.

Stop searching.

A second line appears.

You already know what happened.

Then the entire submission disappears. Not deleted. Not removed. Gone.

The page refreshes. Nothing. My heartbeat accelerates. I immediately take screenshots of everything I captured before it vanished.

The message. The timestamp. The blank account. Evidence. Real evidence.

"Carys?"

I jump.

Sayer stands in the doorway.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

He looks toward my screens.

"Did you find something?"

I hesitate. I refuse to lie to him.

"Yes."

His face changes. Not fear. Recognition.

"What?"

"Multiple people have reported similar disappearances."

He moves closer.

"People like me?"

I don't answer quickly enough. That is answer enough. His expression falls. Before I can say anything, he grabs the doorway.

"Sayer?"