Chapter 269

Emily Johnson furrowed her brows, her fingers unconsciously tapping the table. She knew all too well the tactics of human traffickers—once the golden window for rescue passed, the chances of finding the missing child dwindled rapidly.

"Auntie, the police have already filed the case," Amy Bright said naively, believing that reporting to the authorities would solve everything.

"Too late," Emily shook her head. "This town only has a few roads. They should've blocked all exits immediately and conducted a thorough search. Now..." She left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear.

Amy suddenly paled as a memory struck her. "I met an old woman today who insisted I walk her home..."

Emily shot to her feet, knocking over her teacup. She had assumed the traffickers had gone quiet, but they had simply changed tactics.

"You did the right thing," she said, suppressing her anger. "These traffickers use the elderly, children, even pregnant women as decoys to lure victims to isolated areas."

Amy trembled as the realization hit her—she had nearly fallen into their trap.

"That's terrifying..."

"Remember, the friendlier they seem, the more cautious you should be."

Meanwhile, the village was in an uproar. Old Mrs. Zhang's sons stormed into the brigade office with bloodshot eyes. The roar of tractors filled the air as a group of men sped toward town.

Michael Stone and Brigade Leader John Stone Sr. were among them.

News spread like wildfire. Every household kept their children under close watch, fearing they might be next.

When Mary Stone arrived, Amy had just left.

"Michael went to town with your father. No telling when they'll be back."

"Mom, stay for dinner?" Emily offered a bowl of bayberries. "Picked them yesterday. Soaked in saltwater."

Mary waved her off, grabbing a handful as she headed out. "Got soup simmering at home."

The search in town wasn't going well.

"Dad, these traffickers are getting bolder!" Robert Stone gritted his teeth.

John Sr. scoffed. "Last year, your wife almost got snatched off the street, and you all turned a blind eye!"

Michael quietly broke away from the group, slipping into a shadowed alley. The midday air was thick with the scent of cooking, but something else caught his attention—an off smell.

"Third Brother, that's the house," the informant whispered, pointing.

Michael held his breath as he crept closer. Muffled voices drifted from inside:

"Boss, the cops are searching."

"We move them at nightfall."

His pupils constricted, fists clenching until his knuckles cracked.