Chapter 2
Morning arrived with a pale, washed-out sunlight filtering through the kitchen blinds. Arthur had barely slept, his mind haunted by the microscopic numbers on the titanium ring. He dressed in his usual work attire: durable gray pants, thick black socks, and the scuffed brown hiking boots that had carried him through countless miles of solitary wandering. He strapped on his leather tool pouch, feeling the weight of a small hammer and a flashlight—tools of construction, but today, tools of inquiry.
Before leaving, he placed the metal ring on the wooden kitchen table under a slant of morning light. He examined it once more. The titanium alloy was aerospace-grade, expensive and heavily regulated. It was not the kind of material that randomly littered backyard gardens or local parks. It belonged inside a cleanroom or a secure waste containment facility. Clara had spent her final months before her disappearance working precisely in those sterile environments, cataloging high-stress turbine components.
Arthur drove his dented pickup truck down the winding county roads toward the old industrial park on the western edge of town. The Miller & Vance Aerospace facility loomed against the gray sky like a concrete monolith, its parking lot half-empty and windswept. He parked near the perimeter fence, watching the shift change. Workers in blue uniforms shuffled out through the heavy security gates, their faces tired and anonymous.
He approached the guard station, his heart beating with a steady, controlled rhythm. The security guard, a middle-aged man with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, looked up from a crossword puzzle. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I’m looking for someone from the materials testing division," Arthur said, his voice raspy from disuse. "Clara Miller. She worked here a few years back."
The guard’s expression shifted subtly, a brief flicker of recognition mixed with caution crossing his features. He tapped a pencil against the scarred wooden desk. "Clara. Yeah, I remember her. Quiet girl. Smart. Left rather abruptly, if I recall correctly. Management handled her exit. Why are you asking?"
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"I’m her father," Arthur said simply.
The guard sighed, setting his pencil down. He glanced around the empty lobby before leaning forward. "Mr. Miller, I shouldn't say anything, but things were weird around here when she left. Not illegal, necessarily, but confidential projects vanished from her desk the very day she stopped showing up. If you're looking for answers, don't start with HR. They'll just give you the corporate script. Go talk to Marcus Vance over at the old salvage yard by the river. He bought up all our decommissioned batch run scraps."
