“That doesn’t belong here,” Mara said, kneeling beside the tool. “It’s mid-century steel. Look at the ground.” A second, distinct set of heavy boot prints crossed the dust, stomping directly toward the platform, then turning sharply back toward the exit in a panicked rush.
“There was a struggle,” Cole surmised, tracking the chaotic prints. Mara swept her light along the perimeter. Near the far wall, buried beneath a recent rock shelf, she spotted a flash of black plastic. “I’ve got a camera. An old manual SLR.” The casing was cracked, but the film chamber remained tightly closed. A few feet away, sitting perfectly level on a flat rock, was a gold wedding ring. “Why would someone take off their ring?” Cole asked, frowning. “They didn’t take it off to discard it,” Mara murmured, her eyes stinging. “They placed it there. On purpose.”
Directly above the ring, shallow scratches marred the limestone wall. Mara gently brushed away a layer of fine dust with her glove. Two letters emerged: E.G. Below the initials, a second line had been started, but the deep grooves faded into faint, desperate scratches halfway through. Cole looked from the ring to the collapsed rock fall at the back of the chamber. The realization hit him like a physical blow. “He didn’t drown in the river, Mara.” “No,” Mara whispered. “He was here, trapped.”