Gravel crunched under Ranger Daniel Mercer’s truck as he pulled onto his northern Idaho property, a rhythm that usually signaled home—but tonight, the air was thick, tense, alive with warning. Fourteen months deep undercover tracking poaching syndicates had hardened him, but nothing prepared him for the threat waiting inside his own house. His German Shepherd, Koda, stood rigid, hackles up, tail tucked—alerting him before he even stepped onto the porch.
Vanessa, his second wife, opened the door, offering a brittle smile. “Sophie’s asleep…she’s difficult,” she said, her tone clipped. But the house told another story: stale air, neglected corners, a sharp scent of decay. Koda didn’t hesitate, barreling past her to a small closet near the laundry room. A high-pitched whine pierced the quiet. Daniel flung the door open.
Sophie, his five-year-old daughter, was curled in the shadows—pale, trembling, dehydrated, and nearly unresponsive. “Daddy?” she whispered, barely audible. Daniel’s blood ran cold, fury igniting. He scooped her up, the weight of her small, fragile body fueling a resolve he hadn’t felt since entering the backcountry. Vanessa and her teenage son watched, voices dripping with callousness, as if Sophie were an inconvenience rather than a child in peril.
On the kitchen counter, a notebook revealed the full horror: dated logs of abuse, instructions to hide Sophie, ending with a chilling line: “Uncle Grant said to keep her quiet.” The name hit Daniel like a punch. Koda stiffened as a vehicle rolled into the driveway. Grant Morrison—Vanessa’s brother, a predator in human form—stepped onto the porch with a smug, untouchable smile.
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