The Studebaker hummed softly as Lucy drove through Pleasant Valley, the road winding through the clean-cut neighborhoods and neatly trimmed lawns that lined the east side of Brightvale.

  It was a perfect morning—if one ignored the soldiers patrolling the sidewalks.

  Karen had her arm resting on the open window, letting the breeze ruffle her hair as the radio played a soft jazz tune. She let out a satisfied sigh.

  "You know, sometimes I almost forget how bad things are around here."

  Lucy huffed a small laugh, keeping her eyes on the road. "That's the trick, isn't it? They keep things looking normal so you don't notice the rot underneath. That's what my dad says anyway."

  Karen made a clicking sound with her tongue. "And you just had to ruin the moment, didn't ya?"

  Lucy grinned. "Gotta keep you sharp, Baxtor. Can't have you getting soft on me."

  Karen was on the verge of retaliating when she noticed something in the distance.

  A crowd had gathered outside a shop, their voices hushed yet filled with concern. While trucks parked out front were moving crates in, military officers stood at attention, directing people away.

  Karen leaned forward. "Huh. That's weird."

  Lucy slowed the car slightly, peering at the scene.

  The store was The Protective Measure—one of the best places in town to find televisions, recording equipment, cameras, and anything high-tech or home security-related.

  "I wonder what's going on," Karen mused.

  Lucy stopped the car near the curb, and a familiar figure caught their attention as she did. Hans was standing near the edge of the commotion, watching the soldiers with a mix of curiosity and excitement.

  Noticing them, he waved.

  Karen grinned. "Hans!"

  Hans walked over eagerly as Lucy put the car in park.

  "Hey, you two! Long time no see!" he greeted.

  Lucy barely glanced at him, her eyes fixed on the soldiers. They were unloading heavy wooden crates, each stamped with an official-looking insignia.

  Something about it felt... off.

  "What are they doing?" she finally asked.

  Hans shrugged. "Oh. Communists."

  Karen blinked. "Wait, what?"

  Hans scratched his head. "Not really sure what it means, but they said the shop owners were 'communist traitors.'"

  Lucy and Karen exchanged a look.

  Karen frowned. "Communists are, well... actually, I'm not sure either."

  Lucy crossed her arms. "They said they were the enemy when I was younger."

  Hans nodded. "Yup." Then he added, "I guess they were spies."

  Karen snorted. "Spies that sell cameras? How predictable."

  Hans chuckled. "It's the perfect cover, don'tcha think?"

  Lucy wasn't laughing. Something wasn't right here.

  The QA was already oppressive, but accusing shopkeepers of being communists was a new twist. That didn't feel like just paranoia—it felt like an excuse.

  She wasn't sure why yet, but she was determined to find out. For now, though—they had other plans.

  Karen, eager to move on, clapped a hand on Hans' shoulder. "Well, we're headed to get some grub. Why don't you accompany us, Hans?"

  Hans' eyes practically lit up. "Boy, really? I get to work on a case with Lucy Sinclair herself? My brother is going to be so jealous!"

  Karen tilted her head. "Your brother?"

  Hans groaned. "Yeah. He's really annoying."

  Lucy chuckled. "Come on, we're starving."

  Hans grinned. "Lead the way, detective."

  The small diner was nothing special—worn-down booths, a scratched-up counter, and a faint smell of coffee and grease lingering in the air. Lucy, Karen, and Hans stepped inside, the door's rusty bell jingling above them.

  A waitress—middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and clearly unimpressed—glanced up from behind the counter.

  "How many people?" she asked, voice flat.

  "Just us three," Lucy replied.

  The waitress scrutinized them carefully, as if determining if they were worth the trouble.

  After a moment, she sighed. "Follow me."

  She led them to a corner booth tucked near a fogged-up window. The vinyl seats creaked as they slid in, and the table's sticky surface reflected the dim overhead lights.

  The waitress pulled a small notepad from her apron.

  "What'll it be?" she asked.

  "All we got is eggs and pancakes. One egg, one pancake per serving. That's it."

  The trio glanced at each other in hesitation.

  Lucy pursed her lips, then nodded. "We'll all have two eggs and two pancakes, then."

  The waitress let out a loud, dry laugh. "Ha! You must think that I was born yesterday, child." She leaned against the booth, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see some money first."

  Lucy, already rummaging through her bag, asked, "How much?"

  The waitress smacked her gum. "Six dollars."

  Karen nearly choked. "Good grief!"

  "It's okay," Lucy said softly, already handing over the cash.

  She added, "Times are tough these days."

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The waitress took the bills, giving Lucy another hard look—almost as if she felt mocked. She scoffed and walked away.

  Karen, watching her go, frowned. "What's her problem?"

  Lucy shrugged. "I'm not quite sure."

  Hans, arms crossed, muttered, "I know it's called 'Pleasant Valley' but people aren't actually pleasant around these parts. Mostly because everything's gotten so expensive since the QA got rid of all the coins."

  Karen rolled her eyes and said mockingly, "I'm surprised they haven't erected someone's statue out of them!"

  Lucy gave a half-smile, then sighed. "I remember when we were all kind of the same," she said. "Now everyone's always jealous of each other."

  Karen scoffed. "I'd be jealous too if all I ate were rations."

  Lucy arched a brow. "Karen, you and your dad mostly eat rations."

  Karen snorted, bursting into laughter. "Well, it's a good thing I'm best friends with such an elite gal."

  Lucy chuckled. "Right. Lucky you."

  As the conversation drifted, Lucy's eyes wandered around the diner. She noticed something strange.

  Most of the people here looked poor—thin, exhausted, wrapped in second-hand clothes. But scattered among them, others didn't fit in. They included well-dressed men in pressed suits, women with perfectly curled hair, and expensive jewelry.

  Lucy leaned toward Hans. "Hey, Hans, you're from here, right?"

  He nodded. "Yeah, born and raised. Why?"

  She hesitated, glancing back at the well-dressed crowd. "I don't mean to offend, but... why are there so many rich-looking people in a place like this?"

  Hans followed her gaze, then shrugged. "Oh. Lots of people used to have lots of money. Not so much anymore."

  Karen smirked. "So, they were rich and useless. Now they're poor and useless. Oh, the irony."

  Lucy frowned. "That's not kind, Karen."

  Karen shrugged, flipping through a sugar packet on the table. "What? They didn't really provide anything before. Now that usefulness is key, they're here." She gestured toward the room. "Take you and your family, for example. Yeah, you guys were well off before, but because your dad's job was actually valuable, you get to live like kings."

  Lucy sat back, mulling that over. "I guess..."

  Hans, arms crossed, nodded. "She's not wrong."

  Lucy wasn't sure how she felt about that. She didn't consider herself "privileged"—but... wasn't she?

  Her dad's job kept them safe. Her mom's fiancé had a guaranteed government position. She and her mother still lived in a comfortable house, had decent food on the table, and were never truly scared for their survival.

  Wasn't that exactly what the others in this diner didn't have anymore?

  The three of them ate in peace, letting the conversation drift into lighter topics—Lucy half-listened while mulling over the case, and Hans, as usual, was just happy to be included. By the time their plates were empty, the tension from earlier had faded.

  Karen leaned back, sighing. "Well, that was seriously pretty good."

  Hans nodded. "Yeah, for what little we get nowadays."

  Karen smirked. "For pancakes and eggs, anyway."

  Lucy wiped her hands with a napkin, then tapped her fingers against the table. "We have to get to Northside."

  Hans nearly choked on his last sip of coffee. "Northside? How? That's impossible."

  Karen raised an eyebrow. "Impossible?"

  Hans leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. "Yeah. They say there's monsters down that way."

  Karen let out a roar of laughter. "Monsters? What are you, twelve?"

  Hans huffed. "Seventeen, actually!"

  Karen grinned. "Right. My mistake."

  Hans crossed his arms. "But I'm serious! That's what people say. No one goes out there except the QA."

  Lucy nodded. "Yeah. My dad had to go out there once, and he needed a special pass from the sheriff's department."

  "You mean the QA's department." Karen scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Since they threw Sheriff Austin and those two other bozos in a shed."

  Lucy sighed. "Yeah... basically."

  Northside was heavily restricted and cut off from the rest of Brightvale. It wasn't just about getting in—it was about what was out there.

  Lucy pulled her Studebaker into the lot, parking just outside the Sheriff's Department. She stepped out, immediately glancing toward the rusted-down shed beside the main building. It was barely a structure anymore—just a haphazard lean-to of salvaged scrap, where Sheriff Austin and his two deputies, Michael and Ben, had been relegated.

  Today, however, it stood empty.

  There was no sign of them.

  Lucy frowned. If they weren't there, it meant they were either avoiding trouble... or already in it. She shook the thought away, straightened her coat, and walked toward the main entrance. Just as she stepped through the door—

  A soldier stepped in front of her. "State your business."

  Lucy barely hesitated. "I need to get a travel pass."

  The soldier raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

  Lucy sighed and pulled out her badge, holding it up for him to see.

  "Lucy Sinclair."

  The soldier took it from her and inspected it carefully. He then glanced back at her with a dry expression.

  "You're not a man."

  Lucy let out a small, exasperated chuckle.

  "It's my dad's. He was the detective around here. Look, just show it to someone in charge, and I'm sure it'll be fine."

  The soldier looked her up and down again, then at the badge.

  Finally, he muttered, "Wait here."

  He strode toward the main desk, where a woman in uniform sat, looking busy and unimpressed. The soldier leaned down, showing her the badge. The woman didn't even look up—she sighed and waved Lucy over. As the soldier returned, he thrust her badge back at her without a word. Lucy caught it, sliding it back into her coat as she approached the desk. The woman, Holly, was already giving her a look of pure exhaustion.

  "Miss Sinclair. Are you serious?"

  Lucy tilted her head. "What?"

  Holly scoffed.

  "Didn't I tell you not to come back here? Do you have another 'case' you're about to ask me to waste our time on?"

  Lucy smirked. "No, Holly. I would never."

  Then, after a pause, she grinned wider.

  "But now that you mention it—I do need a pass to reach Northside."

  Holly's expression darkened instantly.

  "Don't make me get my man over there to escort you out of the building," she whined, looking at a guard.

  "Don't waste my time, Lucy. You know I'm not going to grant you that."

  Lucy's smile faded slightly. "I'm not wasting your time."

  Holly stared at her for a long moment, then leaned forward.

  "You're going to cross No Man's Land?" She asked slowly. "You?"

  Lucy blinked. "No Man's Land?"

  Holly smirked.

  "That's what we call it. The region of Virginia between here and Northside. It's highly infected and it's the only way through."

  Lucy felt a small chill crawl up her spine. "Huh."

  Holly leaned back in her chair.

  "Besides—who knows who's hiding out there? They don't bother us, but a pretty girl like you wandering around?"

  She let the sentence linger. Lucy swallowed but didn't break eye contact. Holly studied her for a moment, then sighed.

  "Look, kid. You're in way over your head. There's a reason we have machine guns."

  Lucy didn't know what to think. Knowing that people were becoming desperate was one thing, but Holly's implication was quite another.

  People could be violent, sure—but they weren't savages.

  Right?

  She squared her shoulders. "Holly, it's important, okay? I'm up for it."

  Holly tapped a pen against the desk, watching Lucy carefully.

  Then, slowly, she said—"Tell ya what."

  She reached for a notepad and pencil, then looked back up at her.

  "My men have seen you with that little German boy. Tell me about him."

  Lucy furrowed her brow. "What? Hans?"

  Holly nodded. "Yeah. The Nazi family."

  Lucy froze.

  Holly's voice had been flat and cold, but the accusation was sharp enough to cut. "They're up to something," she added, waiting for Lucy to confirm it.

  Lucy opened her mouth but said nothing. Her mind was stumbling over itself, trying to piece together what Holly was even suggesting.

  Hans? A Nazi?

  She thought back to him.

  He had an easygoing demeanor.

  His eagerness to be involved in everything she did was evident.

  He showed his obvious admiration for her.

  He didn't seem like a spy.

  And besides—weren't we past the war?

  Lucy shook her head slightly.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Holly. He seems like a charming boy."

  Holly laughed. Her laughter was not one of amusement, but rather one of mockery. Then, leaning forward, she said with a smirk—"Then I guess you're not getting to Northside."

  And with that, she pulled her sidearm from its holster, setting it down on the desk between them. Lucy's breath hitched. The click of the metal against the wood sounded deafeningly loud in the silent building.

  Holly tilted her head. "Or perhaps you're a sympathizer."

  Lucy's blood ran cold. For a long, painful moment, she couldn't move. She just stared at the gun, unable to tear her eyes away. She'd seen a gun before, but not like this. Not being used as a threat against her. Finally, her voice came out quietly.

  "What if I told you I have possible evidence of a Resistance?"

  Holly barely blinked. "Yeah, I doubt that."

  Lucy swallowed, then reached into her pocket. She pulled out the dog tags and tossed them across the desk. They clinked against the wood before landing in Holly's lap. She picked them up slowly, inspecting them.

  Lucy crossed her arms. "They don't look like yours now, do they?"

  Holly's expression hardened. "Where'd you get this?"

  Lucy shrugged. "Over by Councilman Geoffrey's place."

  Holly's eyes flicked up. "That's a QA zone now."

  Lucy nodded.

  "I just so happened to be close by when it happened. Don't worry, I didn't break any laws. I just did my job."

  Holly laughed dryly. "Your job? Sure thing, kiddo."

  Then she leaned forward again, spinning the dog tags between her fingers.

  "Anything else you'd like to share?" she asked mockingly.

  "You know, with the Law around here?"

  Lucy kept her face blank. "Nope. That's it. Just the tags."

  Holly held her gaze for a moment longer. Then she sighed, shaking her head. She grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbled something down, and pushed it toward Lucy.

  "You'll get your passage, Sinclair. However, be warned—"

  She locked eyes with her.

  "No one's coming to look for you in No Man's Land."