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Even though it's summer and the temps are high doesn't mean you can't be thinking about perennials for next Spring. In fact, this is the perfect time since fall is the best time to plant them! Here is a list of the ten best perennials that fit most zones. Dianthus - These plants come back every year when planted in fall or spring; bonus, they can even flower twice a year. After their first flush of blooms, shear off the dead flowers, and they will continue to grow new ones! Dianthus like Spring/early summer conditions. Zones 4-9 Coreopsis - I love these plants because they spread every year and fill in areas of the garden that need color and weed prevention. I have Moonbeam yellow in a few areas and StarStruck, a daisy-like flower with variegated fuschia, red, and yellow in the center. They bloom in summer through fall. Zones 4-9 Clematis - I absolutely love these climbing plants! I have 26 different clematis that climb my trellises and are stunners! See pic above. You can get ones that bloom in spring, summer, and fall! Zones 4-8. Lilies - These traditional plants are a favorite, especially daylilies (only bloom for a day but typically have tons of buds) and Asiatic lilies. Canna Lilies are absolutely gorgeous but seem to like more humid conditions so that they can overwinter in zones 8 & 9. All others 3-9. Some can get upwards of 5-6 feet and bloom in summer Peonies - With huge blossoms that need staking, these puff ball blossoms are eye-catching and smell heavenly. I have Elle "Jules" (my nickname) Monsieur, but there are tons to choose from. They only bloom for a few weeks in late spring, but they're worth it! Zones 2-8 Hibiscus - These "dinner plate" blooms can get around 8-9 inches! Plant in fall for the next year's summer blossoms. Colors can be white, pink, red, or yellow. Most can handle zones 4-9, with some 10 -12. Roses - Of course, I can't forget these! There are numerous types of roses, from single petals to triple petaled, and the smells, Ahhhh ... sweetly aromatic. For beginners, Oh-So Easy is perfect, and don't get too tall for small spaces. Zones 3-10 Hostas - You can't pass up hostas if you have shade and want a big, beautiful plant grown for its foliage. They can get huge and will even flower in the summer. They can help prevent weeds (yes, weeds grown in shade too) and look good amongst hydrangeas, geraniums, petunias, echinacea, and much more. Zones 3-8 Lupine - These colorful plants have long, bushy blooms that are akin to foxgloves. Find a sunny space and grow them together, and every year, welcome them back with yellow, pink, red, purple, or multicolor blossoms. Zones 4-9. Plumbago - True blue dainty flowers sit atop sturdy, compact bush-like stems, creating a beautiful hedge for viburnum, euonymus, or other large bushes. They can handle shade and will spread, so ensure you have plenty of space. Zones 5-9. Depending on where you live, you can grow many more perennials. Just ensure when you first plant, they are grown in good soil, are fertilized, and watered well. Happy Gardening!!

Elizabeth Hatches a Plan After taking a bus and being in San Diego for several months, moving between campsites and eating at homeless shelters, Immanuel announces that they need to leave and go somewhere far away, such as New York or Boston. Elizabeth, in desperation, tells them she believes God wants them to move back to Salt Lake City. The trick worked, and they hitched a ride to Salt Lake. Elizabeth Smart Rescued On March 12, 2003, a witness in Sandy, Utah, thought she recognized the man with two women covered in veils walking down a sidewalk. Later, she said that the young girl looked to be Elizabeth Smart and contacted local police. After the discovery, Elizabeth was rescued and finally reunited with her family, who wept with relief while Mitchell and Barzee were arrested. Elizabeth was then taken to the hospital for an examination and testing.  Wanda Barzee was scheduled to stand trial in July 2005 but was deemed unfit for trial–the same as Brian David Mitchell. This put the trial on hold for two years while the two were in the Utah State Hospital.  March 2008: Mitchell and Barzee are Indicted After five years of waiting for justice to be served, Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee are federally indicted on the charges of interstate kidnapping and unlawful transportation of a minor across state lines. However, in October of that year, after a judge denied a request to medicate Mitchell forcibly, the case was turned over to the federal court system. It wouldn’t be until 18 months later that Barzee pleaded guilty for her role in kidnapping and assaulting Elizabeth. She apologized, saying, “I'm so sorry, Elizabeth, for all the pain and suffering I caused you and your family," she said in court. "It is my hope you will be able to find it in your heart to forgive me." March 2010: Wanda Barzee Stands Trial Eight years after her part in the kidnapping and sexual assault of Elizabeth, Barzeel is finally competent to stand trial. On May 21, Barzee was sentenced to 15 years in federal prison for kidnapping and sexual assault and one to 15 years at the Utah State Prison for the attempted abduction of Smart's cousin, with the sentences running concurrently. Elizabeth’s mother, in her victim impact statement, said, "What you did to our family and our girl Elizabeth was wrong. It was wrong, and it was evil," Lois tells Barzee. "You hurt our family in ways you'll never know." November 1, 2010: Brian David Mitchell Stands Trial After a long-awaited trial of felony kidnapping, sexual assault, and burglary charges, Mitchell’s trial began. Still, a few days later, a request from the plaintiff to move venues delayed it until the appeals court ruled it would be allowed to stay in Salt Lake City. On November 8 until the 10th, Elizabeth, who at the time was serving an LDS mission.came back to testify and tell the in-depth story of the terrifying experience of being abducted, “married” to Mitchell, the sexual abuse, and the horrible living conditions she endured for nine months. She also told of her near rescue in a library but was too afraid to speak up.  November 18-19, 2010: Barzee Testifies Against Mitchell As part of her plea deal, Barzee agreed to testify against her husband, Mitchell, in which she explained that he had a “revelation” to garner 350 wives and set to abduct Elizabeth, making her his second wife and then abducting her cousin and making her the third wife. She was ordered to set up the camp for Elizabeth’s arrival. Five weeks later, on December 10, 2010, Mitchell was convicted on all charges after the defense argument of an insanity plea was denied. Elizabeth beamed at her mother. After a lengthy trial, Mitchell was sentenced to life in prison on May 25th, 2011, almost nine years after he abducted Elizabeth Smart. Before he was transferred to the state prison, Elizabeth confronted her abductor and said this: "I know that you know what you did was wrong," she said. "You took away nine months of my life that can never be returned, but in this life or next, you will have to be held responsible for those actions, and I hope you are ready for when that time comes." The Aftermath On September 18, 2019, Wanda Barzee was released from prison after only 9 years, but the terms of her release included being registered as a sex offender and getting mental help counseling. Elizabeth reacted to Barzze’s release: "May we all remain vigilant in watching over our families, friends, and community from anyone who would seek to hurt or take advantage. I truly believe life is meant to be happy and beautiful, and no matter what happens that will remain my goal for me and for my family." After the trial and sentencing, Elizabeth created the  Elizabeth Smart Foundation  in 2011 to help combat sexual violence and raise awareness. It's still going strong. She traveled and spoke around the country. In 2012, she married Mathew Gilmour and had three children together. She also published her first memoir of the ordeal,  My Story,  in 2013, followed by a second book in March 2018,  Where There's Hope: Healing, Moving Forward, and Never Giving Up. In 2014, Elizabeth Smart testified for the Child Sexual Abuse Prevention Bill HB 286 in Utah. The TV movie  I Am Elizabeth  was released on the Lifetime Movie Network in 2017. In 2023, Elizabeth Smart executive produced the Lifetime movie  The Kara Robinson Story. Stay tuned to learn the history of Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee and the events that led up to the horrifying kidnapping of Elizabeth Smart.

On a warm day in Salt Lake City, Utah, and just days before she was to graduate from middle school and enjoy summer before starting her high school career, 14-year-old Elizabeth Smart vanished. It was early morning June 12th, 2002, when her sister Mary Katherine was awakened when a bearded man was holding a knife to her sister’s throat and told not to scream or he would kill them. He then took Elizabeth. A few hours later, a frightened Mary Katherine rushed into their parent’s bedroom and told them what happened. Immediately, the Smarts contacted the police, and a massive manhunt was underway. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is forced into a grueling hike up the hills of her Salt Lake City home where they stopped at a camp and her harrowing experience began. This is the story of the harrowing yet miraculous rescue of Elizabeth Smart from my home state, one that rocked the city, state, and country, and caused every parent to guard their children and pray for her safe return.   The Smarts Hire a Worker Before Elizabeth was taken, her and her mother were walking down a Salt Lake City Street when they noticed a man panhandling. Smart’s mother Lois, having compassion for the man, gave him $5 and then said if he needed work that their roof needed repairs and that he could help. The man introduced himself as Immanuel and accepted Lois’ offer. He was to start Nov. 1 of that year, and for the next 7 months, he was a good worker. Because of the snow at times, the workers needed to pace their time working on the roof. Immanuel was allowed to sleep at a small apartment adjacent to their home. Elizabeth often spoke with him, being friendly as her parents had taught her to be.  She would often give the workers drinks or snacks when the weather started to heat up. Elizabeth is Kidnapped On June 12th, as police and volunteers combed the area behind the Smart’s house, looking for any signs of Elizabeth, she was forced into a “marriage” by a bearded man and his accomplice, later to be known as Wanda Barzee. On June 14th, a suspect was arrested because of a parole violation. Richard Ricci, who also worked at the Smart’s home, was a career criminal and the police interrogated him, but not for Elizabeth’s disappearance. Still, they did question him since he had been working there. Several weeks later, the police would learn he stole jewelry and other things from the Smarts and other homeowners in the area. However, he had an alibi that was confirmed for when Elizabeth disappeared. On July 24th, Utah’s Pioneer Day, the police were called to Lois’s sister’s home after a daughter awoke to see a man cutting the screen of her window. She screamed and he quickly fled.  A month later, Ricci, in prison for his crimes, suffered a brain hemorrhage that put him in a coma. Three days later, he was taken off life support and died August 30, 2002. The case went cold. A Startling Revelation In October 2002, Elizabeth’s sister, Mary Katherine was thumbing through a Guinness Book of World Records when she comes upon a page with a muscular woman. Suddenly, she recollects that the person she saw kidnapping her sister was the same homeless man who was hired to work on their roof the year prior, Immanuel. She remembers his voice matched the same voice of the kidnapper who ordered her sister out of her room. On February 3rd, 2003, the family publicizes a sketch of Immanuel after several months of clashing with the local authorities about the issue. Even though the police downplayed the significance of the sketch, on the February 15 episode of  America’s Most Wanted , a woman came forward and said she thought the suspect looked very similar to her brother, Brian David Mitchell, except without the beard. His stepson matched her testimony.  Stay tuned for the next installment when we learn shocking truths that will rock the community and how Elizabeth was finally found.

Taking a small break to post the disappearance of Georgina Ann Moore. This case was a fascinating if not disturbing one, so buckle up and read about her background, murder, investigation, and conclusion. The Moore's In the veiled mist of time, there existed Mr. and Mrs. Moore, souls of humble origin, who had migrated from the depths of Devonshire to the sprawling metropolis of London in the 1870s. They were unassuming and solitary beings, devoid of kin or close companions in this bustling city. Their existence was one of quiet integrity and sobriety; the father, a skilled carpenter, toiled for a firm nestled in the opulent west end of London. Their modest family comprised of but two offspring: the young Georgina and a younger boy. For the past half-year, they had resided at No. 105, Winchester-street, Pimlico, a dwelling amidst a labyrinth of new streets, each adorned with rows of small stuccoed houses, their pretentious pillared porticoes a stark contrast to the humble lives within. The Enigma of Her Vanishing On the fateful morning of Tuesday, December 20th, 1881, Seven-year-old Georgina set forth as was her custom, bound for the girls' school of the United Methodists’ Free Church, situated nearby on Westmoreland-street. Yet, she never graced her home with her return. A fleeting glimpse of her, safe and sound, was caught at midday at No. 7, Westmoreland-street, where her mother chanced to be visiting that day. Here, Georgina shared a meal with her mother and hostess. At 1:30 PM, she left, intending to return to her school. She ventured alone, but no cause for alarm was anticipated as she did this daily. Georgina was a bright and quick-witted child, known for her punctuality and diligence in her studies. The schoolhouse itself was but a stone's throw away from the dwelling where she had dined, adding another layer of mystery to her disappearance. Yet, the child never again appeared at the school. Georgina Moore was tall for her age, her complexion fair and luminous, her hair a cascade of gold framing her face, her eyes a captivating blue. She was last seen clad in a dark blue serge frock, a dark ulster adorned with two rows of black buttons, a white straw hat trimmed with black velvet, dark blue knitted stockings, and button boots. The police, from the outset, spared no effort in their quest to unravel the mystery of Georgina Moore. Mr. C. E. Howard Vincent and Chief Superintendent Williamson delved deep into the case, their relentless pursuit a testament to their dedication. Yet, the "Pimlico Mystery" remained unsolved. The Grim Discovery Imagine the agonizing suspense that gripped Mr. and Mrs. Moore during the week that stretched between that fateful 20th of December and the somber Monday, January 30th, when the lifeless body of their beloved daughter was plucked from the River Medway. Alfred Pinhorn, of the barge Maidstone, recounted to the Coroner's jury at the Yalding Railway Inn on February 1st the chilling tale of his accidental encounter with the corpse. On that fateful Monday afternoon, as he navigated his barge upriver towards Tonbridge, near Hampstead Lock, he plunged his barge-pole, or "beam," into the riverbed. Upon retrieving it, he was met with a sight that would forever haunt his memory: the lifeless body of a young girl impaled on the iron spike. His partner, Swain, assisted in retrieving the body. A piece of wire was tightly wrapped around the waist three times, with a brick attached to the end. The brick was stamped with a crown and the letters TYNEE. The apparent age, the perfect match between the child's clothing and the description on the police flyers offering a £40 reward for information leading to Georgina Moore's discovery, and even a faint resemblance in the facial features to those in the photograph, prompted the police to immediately contact the father. Upon his arrival in Yalding the following Tuesday, he tragically confirmed the remains were those of his daughter. It was undeniable that a brutal murder had taken place. The neck displayed clear, dark marks, indicating the child had been strangled before being disposed of in the river. ESTHER PAY SUSPECTED Mrs. Esther Pay was living at Yaldin in Westmoreland-street at the time of Georgina’s disappearance and near the spot where the body was discovered. She was arrested a week later some twenty doors or so only from the school when it was discovered that she was seen with Georgina the day of her disappearance. However, the Moores never suspected Esther. They had lived at one time, and for as long a period as two years, in the Pay house. It, is alleged that Pay may have been jealous of the Moore's, having no children of her own, but there were also rumors that Mr. Moore and Mrs. Pay had had an affair and murdered the child so Mr. Moore would come to her. The house in which the Pay’s lived was a quiet two-storied house and was used for lodgers, a perfect place to keep a child prisoner. Here, moreover, Mrs. Pay continued to live quietly week after week during investigation; and more than once she called upon Mrs. Moore since Georgina's disappearance, professing sympathy and sorrow for her loss. SHE SKIPS TOWN About two weeks later, Mrs. Pay suddenly disappeared. She took some of the furniture with her, openly, while her husband, who works the night shift at a nearby wheel manufacturer, was away. Rumor has it that although this was done without his knowledge or permission, Mr. Pay didn't seem too bothered about his wife's departure, claiming to be happy to be rid of her. Regardless, it's since been discovered that Mrs. Pay didn't go far; she simply moved to her own place on a nearby street, where it's believed her furniture is still located. However, she seemed to have vanished for several days until she was found a week later on a Tuesday, staying with friends in the same small, unremarkable Kentish village where the child's body had been identified just days earlier. Now, let's fast forward to Wednesday, February 1st. 35-year-old Esther Pay, described as an attractive married woman residing at 51 Westmoreland-street, Pimlico, was brought before Mr. Partridge at Westminster Police Court. She was charged with suspicion of causing the death of Georgina Moore. Inspector Henry Marshall, a proactive and capable officer from the Criminal Investigation Department, testified that he had arrested Mrs. Pay the previous Tuesday in a cottage at Yalding. Inside her bag, he found a copy of the Penny Illustrated Paper, which featured the reprinted portrait of Georgina Moore. He also discovered a piece of paper with what he believed to be bloodstains, along with a rather familiar letter written by Mrs. Pay to Mr. Moore. Stay tuned for Part Two: The Arrest ...

Everything is going to plan. I move a piece of hair from my eye and smack my lips after donning on some bright red lipstick. I adjust my black, shoulder-length wig and stare into the mirror. Botox has helped prevent the fine lines and wrinkles whereas Patrice looks every bit her age. My reflection stares back and I realize I’m finally acting myself again. After years of divorce, losing my job, the drug abuse and losing my two children, I knew it was time to act. My life has been destroyed by that night and it’s time for Patrice Summers to pay. My mind flies back to 1984. Emily had her whole life ahead of her (yes, it sounds cliché) but it’s true. She had been accepted to Harvard for pre-law and had told me she was going to be an attorney, so she could ensure justice was served, which hadn’t happened with her younger brother, Darren, who had been kidnapped when he was five and murdered a week later. The monster was acquitted because our family attorney screwed up the case and did unethical shit to coerce a confession which was then overturned. That night, me and my boyfriend, Chad, and four more couples decide to hike up a popular trail in the Spanish Fork canyon before prom. We would be gone for the day and then we girls would go back to Emily’s and get ready. Emily was a quiet person, very shy, and not very popular. I took her under my wing and changed her look, got her contacts, and showed her how to be popular. It worked. After I taught her how to do her makeup and hair, she finally got a date. That date turned into a boyfriend. I was so proud of myself. After, we hung out all the time, and double-dated often. She was my project, and I made sure she was popular, but not too popular. I ruled Grantsville High, and no one crossed me – no one. When Emily died, a piece of my heart died too, and I vowed I would get revenge – not for me, mind you, but for her and her family. Patrice pushed her to get on the bridge when she didn’t want to and she could have gone around and met us on the other side, but no, Patrice Summers guilted her into it. Then after, she moved on with her life, got married, had kids, a successful marketing consultant business, and even a YouTube gardening channel. Her home is beautiful, and she has a gorgeous husband. It’s not fair. Of course, over the last year, she’s had it rough. Her neighbor was found murdered, his lover’s husband tried to poison her and Brock, and our first-grade teacher was also murdered, oh, and a police officer was a drug dealer. Patrice was nearly killed at least a few times. Too bad, the plots never worked. I won’t make that mistake. My phone buzzes and I pull my phone out and push accept. “What?” I know it’s Mark and I hope he has good news. “They got Bob.” “You mean Chad?” My old boyfriend who I’ve kept in contact with and also wanted to get revenge agreed to work with me if I paid him a handsome sum - $100,000. It’s a drop in the bucket since my husband died and I got a $5 million life insurance policy. Plus, my organization, The Shadows, has been raking in funds from gullible millionaires. It’s amazing what people will pay when you put on your best sorrowful face and tell them the money is to help fund cold cases that families can’t pay to continue. I guess marrying a man 20 years your senior and him dying of a stroke was, what would you call it, a stroke of good luck. “Yeah, Chad.” “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. He knew the risks. I’ll be there soon.” I end the call and head to the bathroom where I fix my hair and dab on some lipstick. Why is that I must do things myself when stupid men should have completed the mission swiftly without problems. I push the car fob that unlocks my Tesla and climb in. I punch the address into my GPS and open the sunroof to allow the heat to penetrate. Finally, after forty years, I will get my revenge, and oh, yes, it will be sweet. Too bad Patrice’s husband, Brock, must die. A life for a life. *** I arrive at the compound, punch in the code, and drive inside the iron gates. The guards usher me in and I wave them off. Being in control is such a freeing thing. For many years, I was controlled by drugs, men, and my anger. Not anymore. “Well, since Chad has been captured, we need a new plan,” I say to the 20 or so of my “team.” I use that word loosely, as I have used these men and a few women from all walks of life and from several countries. They didn’t know each other and were thrown together – all to make a measly twenty grand. Pitiful if you ask me, but I didn’t ask questions. They had a job and, well, they haven’t performed. Time to bring some incentive to the game. I summon The Doctor. He arrives promptly with his briefcase in hand, saying nothing. He knows his orders. He unclicks the case and pulls out a branding iron with the seal of The Shadows imbedded into it. I summon the rest of the team, and they look scared. Good. “Now, since you seem to not care about your mission, I would like to make it crystal clear, well, shall we say, iron clad.” I nod and walk away as I hear the first screams echo off the walls of the compound. That should do it.

From The Illustrated Police News, Saturday, 25th February, 1882. Copyright, The British Library Board.   The Trial Date Was Set The judge concluded by stating that this was a general overview of the case, and he believed that based on the facts presented to them, the jury would have no trouble reaching a guilty verdict. Later that afternoon, the grand jury indicted Esther Pay for the willful murder of Georgina Moore. Mr. Byrom, who would lead the prosecution along with Mr. Poland and Mr. Eyre Lloyd, requested a trial date from the court. Baron Pollock stated that it was important to finish other matters before this trial began, and he suggested starting the trial on Wednesday morning.       Esther Pay’s Trial The trial itself began at the County Hall, Lewes, on Wednesday, April 26th, 1882. On Saturday, April 29th, The Thanet Advertiser published a report on the proceedings: "The trial of Esther Pay for the murder of Georgina Ann Moore, at Yalding, Kent, commenced at the County Hall, Lewes,before Mr. Baron Pollock, on Wednesday morning. There was little to no public excitement surrounding the trial. The prisoner was transported in a cab from the jail shortly before ten o'clock, accompanied by two policemen. A number of policemen formed a pathway for her to enter the court. However, very few people, beyond those necessary to fill the court, showed up. Due to the court's small size, only a few ticket holders were admitted, filling it to capacity. The gallery was reserved entirely for women. The witnesses, reportedly numbering 69, were kept together in a waiting room adjacent to the court.       The Trial Begins Mr. Baron Pollock took his seat on the bench at ten o'clock. The prisoner was then brought to the defendant's stand. She wore a gray coat and a black bonnet with a veil, and a white lace-trimmed scarf around her neck. She immediately raised her veil, and while the jury was being sworn in, she put on a pair of black kid gloves, occasionally glancing at the jurors. She also leaned over the bar and spoke to her solicitor. After the jury was sworn in, she was allowed to sit down, with a female guard seated nearby in the dock. She listened intently to Mr. Poland's opening statement for the prosecution and closely observed the proceedings. Mr. Poland, Mr. Biron, and Mr. Eyre Lloyd, instructed by the Solicitors to the Treasury, represented the prosecution. Mr.E. Clarke, Q.C., M.P., Mr. Deane, and Mr. Safford, instructed by Mr. Dutton, solicitor, represented the prisoner. The Case for the Prosecution The prisoner pleaded not guilty in a firm voice. Mr. Poland, in his opening statement, reminded the jury that although the evidence was entirely circumstantial, there were connections that he believed would undeniably prove the prisoner's guilt in this serious crime. Among the witnesses examined that day were the child's father and mother. The father was questioned extensively by the defense counsel about his relationship with the prisoner, particularly in the time leading up to his daughter's disappearance and death. The trial resumed on Thursday. The session was spent examining witnesses for the prosecution, most of whom were called to testify about the prisoner being seen with the little girl after she left London on December 20th and traveled to Yalding. However, with one exception, the witnesses were very uncertain in their identification. THE YALDING MURDER CASE The Witney Express and Oxfordshire and Midland Counties Herald reported on the final day of the trial in its May 4th, 1882 edition: "The trial of Esther Pay for the murder of Georgina Moore resumed at Lewes before Mr. Baron Pollock. Mr. Edward Clarke, Q.C., representing the defense, argued that in this unusual case, there wasn't a single shred of the kind of circumstantial evidence typically relied upon in such trials. Nothing belonging to the child was found on the prisoner, and nothing belonging to the prisoner was found on the child. While a black lace shawl was retrieved from the River Medway, which one witness claimed to have seen in Mrs. Pay's possession before the murder, her confidence in identifying this particular shawl was completely shaken when presented with similar items and cross-examined about them. Flawed Evidence Certain evidence had been presented by the prosecution with an intention that he had to protest against. The prosecution aimed to prove that Esther Pay was the one who committed the crime, and if he could show that their case against her was flawed, he wasn't obligated to suggest any other specific person as the guilty party. The jury had to rely on the evidence presented to them, and based on that evidence, he demanded an acquittal. The prosecution's decision to call these women could only be described as an attempt to distract the jury from the real issue: had the prosecution proven their case against Esther Pay? Despite having all resources at their disposal and assistance from the most skilled detectives, the prosecution had proven absolutely nothing against the prisoner. Meanwhile, the woman's poverty prevented her from conducting investigations that might have significantly helped her case. In fact, it was only through the kind assistance of friends who sympathized with her elderly parents that she was able to secure legal representation for her trial. Unable to Account for Her Movements Much was made of the fact that Pay hadn't accounted for her whereabouts on the day of the murder. One of the absurdities of the law was that her husband couldn't be called as a witness. But as barbaric as the law had sometimes been, surely it never contained such a barbarity that a person's life could be taken away simply because she couldn't account for where she had been at certain times on a particular day in the past. Out of eleven witnesses called to identify Pay, nine failed to do so, and two of them even picked out another person as the woman supposedly seen with the child at Yalding. The Murder Committed in London He reiterated that the medical evidence clearly indicated that the murder must have been committed in London, within two or three hours after the child had eaten her dinner at half-past twelve o'clock, and the body was then somehow transported to Yalding. Pay's conversations and behavior after her arrest were those of an innocent woman. They had heard how she was taken into custody, how her elderly father asked, "Are you guilty or innocent?" How she embraced him and tearfully replied that she was innocent, and how her father then told her that, knowing her innocence, she could stand up and face either God or the devil. He was sure it would be one of the happiest days in the lives of the jury if they found themselves not only entitled but obligated by the evidence to return her to the home and hearts of her parents who loved her – to restore her as a woman who, between a husband's cruelty and a seducer's persuasion, had unfortunately sinned, but who, in their opinion, was innocent of the terrible crime charged against her. A Ridiculous Suggestion Mr. Poland, for the prosecution, dismissed the suggestion that the child had been murdered in London by a man and then transported to Yalding as absurd. He pointed out that while each piece of evidence might not be conclusive on its own, when considered together, they pointed to Pay as the one who lured the child away from Pimlico and then committed the murder in Yalding. They would argue that Pay was seen talking to the child in Westmoreland-street, the last time she was seen alive. Witnesses testified to seeing her in the Yalding area with a child that same night, and others saw her at the Yalding train station with her mother the following morning. It was true that the defense questioned the reliability of these witnesses' memories, but it was up to the jury to decide whether to believe them. Pay also had given an inaccurate account of her movements that day, and surely if she had been in London, she could have found someone to confirm where she had been or someone who had seen her. The Judge’s Summing Up Mr. Baron Pollock, in summing up, said that this was a case in which the jury could not take a middle ground. It was clear to all that the trial relied solely on circumstantial evidence, and it was for the jury to decide which parts they could accept and which they could reject. He didn't think they would have much difficulty in this case. If they felt there were any facts they couldn't entirely rely on, they should, of course, give the benefit of the doubt to the prisoner. The judge then proceeded to carefully weigh the evidence, tracing the alleged movements of Pay to Yalding, and commenting on the suggestion that the murder was committed in London. Regarding Moore, he said that this man's conduct wasn't such that most people would readily believe he was likely to be the murderer of his own child. As wicked as Moore might be – immoral, sensual, utterly dishonest, and cruel to the women who trusted him to some extent – even though he might be a man whom anyone, even of the humblest social standing, might be ashamed to call a friend, it didn't necessarily follow that he was someone who would take the life of his own child without a specific motive. A Verdict of Not Guilty In conclusion, the judge said that in his many years of experience, he couldn't recall any case in which, as far as human effort could go, greater pains had been taken to present every possible piece of evidence to the jury. The jury retired at a quarter past five o'clock, and after an absence of twenty minutes, returned with a verdict of not guilty. The verdict was met with loud applause from many of the women in court. Pay's father, mother, brother, and sister, who were seated in the first row behind the dock, were deeply moved. The old woman, clasping her hands, cried out, "Thank the Lord, and all of you gentlemen." Mrs. Pay herself also seemed pleased with her acquittal and, with a smile, thanked the jury. Leaning over the rail of the dock, she expressed her desire to thank her solicitor (Mr. Dutton) and her counsel (Mr. Clarke, Q.C., and Mr. Safford) for their tremendous efforts on her behalf, but she had barely begun the sentence when the jailer took her downstairs, away from the crowd of relatives who were trying to embrace her. To this day, the murder of Georgina Moore has never been solved.

On Wednesday, February 1st. Esther Pay, a 35-year-old married woman was brought before Mr. Partridge at Westminster Police Court. She was charged with suspicion of causing the death of Georgina Moore. HER MOTIVE WAS JEALOUSY The Inspector's testimony revealed a curious fact – during the train journey to London, and even before, the prisoner repeatedly asked him to invite Mr. Moore to ride in the same carriage with them. She also dropped hints intended to implicate the father in the murder of his own little girl. For instance, Esther said to Inspector Marshall, "Well, don't be surprised if he runs away, and then you'll find that the most guilty party is gone." Mr. Partridge: "You're sure she said 'the most guilty'?" The Witness: "Oh, yes. We were never alone during any part of the journey. Later on, she said, 'This child was killed out of spite towards Moore, because he has treated women very badly, and one that I know worse than me, and has treated me badly enough. Why don't you find them? Then you might be on the right track. One can only die once, and I won't die a coward. That's all.'" THE FUNERAL AND PUBLIC OUTRAGE A large demonstration occurred in Pimlico at the funeral of Georgina Moore that Saturday afternoon. The coffin was placed in an open car, and a crowd of over two thousand people gathered near the parents' residence on Winchester-street. When the father was seen entering one of the mourning coaches, he was met with boos and hisses. A large police force struggled to protect him from the mob's anger. A strong line of officers had to be formed around the vehicle, accompanying the procession to the burial site at Brompton Cemetery. The crowd grew larger along the route, and the demonstrations continued. The scene at the cemetery was shocking and disturbing. The crowd's behavior was so threatening that the police decided to lock Mr. Moore in the chapel, preventing him from attending the graveside service or returning with the other mourners. He wasn't released to go home until after dark, when the crowd had dispersed. MR. MOORE'S STATEMENT Georgina’s father stated that although he had suffered greatly from the public's anger towards him since the court proceedings, he was certain that nothing the suspect could say would affect him. He admitted to having been to Yalding, but not for two years, and neither he nor the accused tried to talk to each other at the train station after the arrest. Moore stated that he accompanied the suspect (Pay) to London Bridge on the night of Saturday, the 28th of the previous month. He didn't believe she was going to Yalding until he saw her buy a ticket for that station at Charing Cross. He wanted to know if she was really leaving London, so he accompanied her on the train as far as his destination. Almost the entire journey, she talked about Georgina, and she begged him to write and let her know if any information was found about her. In fact, ever since the girl went missing, she had expressed the greatest concern about the child's fate – whom she claimed to be very fond of – and she had often visited or sent someone twice a day to inquire about her. Georgina had often gone for walks with Esther, and if she had met her and asked her, his daughter would have undoubtedly gone anywhere with her. Georgina had an older brother, but Esther had never shown the same interest in him. MRS. PAY AND GEORGINA MOORE: THE INVESTIGATION The diligent reporters had made it clear days before that there would be significant evidence presented at the Westminster Police Court on Wednesday. But it might be most impactful to present this information in a narrative form. There's strong evidence suggesting that Georgina Moore was murdered in Yalding on the evening of the day she left her home. The date of the murder is determined in an unusual way – by the partially digested food found in her stomach. The mother remembers that the little girl ate a lot of bread and milk for breakfast and had a good portion of currant pudding for dinner. Food of the same kind was found by the doctors who performed the autopsy. The mother can also confirm that the child hadn't changed her clothes because she had dressed her on the morning of December 20th, and the fastenings and the way the clothes were arranged hadn't been altered. WITNESS ACCOUNTS Early in the afternoon in question, Georgina was allegedly seen by some of her playmates and acquaintances in the company of the suspect on the street in Pimlico. A constable named Hill also saw the little girl with a woman whose face he didn't see but who matched the accused in height and other details. However, other theories were presented. Mr. Poland, the prosecutor, dismissed the idea that the child had been murdered in London by a man and then transported to Yalding as absurd. He emphasized that while each piece of evidence might not be conclusive on its own, when considered together, they pointed to the prisoner as the one who lured the child away from Pimlico and then committed the murder in Yalding. The prisoner was seen talking to the child in Westmoreland-street, the last time she was seen alive. Witnesses testified to seeing her in the Yalding area with a child that same night, and others saw her at the Yalding train station with her mother the following morning. The defense questioned the reliability of these witnesses' memories, but it was up to the jury to decide whether to believe them. MRS. PAY’S MOVEMENTS In the interviews Inspector Marshall had with her before her arrest, she only accounted for her time on the afternoon and night of December 20th by stating that she was with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rutter, walking around Fulham, Hammersmith, and King's Road, Chelsea, window-shopping. She couldn't name any specific place they had been to or where she had eaten dinner. Mrs. Rutter only provided a vague confirmation of the suspect's story. The suspect didn't get home until almost midnight on the night of December 20th, and she then said that she was soaked through from the rain and was very tired. Stay tuned for the shocking conclusion ….

My heart races as I read Hestia's message. "They're not alone." Dread fills me, a cold, heavy weight settling in my stomach. Who could be with them? Are they in danger? I try to contact Hestia and Brock, but there's no response. A million scenarios flash through my mind, each more terrifying than the last. Are they captured? Injured? Worse? I pace the small apartment, my nerves frayed. I feel helpless, trapped here while my friends are out there, facing unknown dangers. The uncertainty is unbearable. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. It's Brock. I answer frantically, "Brock! Are you okay? Where are you?" His voice is strained, barely above a whisper. "We're at a safe house," he says, "a few blocks from the nightclub. We found Athena and Hermes, but they're..." He pauses, his voice thick with emotion. "They're not in good shape." My heart drops. "What happened?" "They were captured by the Shadows," Brock replies. "They're injured, but alive. We managed to get them out, but we had to leave in a hurry. We're being followed." A wave of relief washes over me, followed by a surge of anger. The Shadows won't stop until they've silenced us all. "We're coming to you," I say, my voice determined. "Just stay where you are." I grab my bag, stuffing it with essentials: a first aid kit, a few changes of clothes, the encrypted drive containing the stolen data. I have to get to Brock and the others. We need to regroup, assess the situation, and figure out our next move. I hail a taxi and give the driver the address of the safe house. As we speed through the city, I can't help but think about Athena and Hermes. What did they endure at the hands of the Shadows? How badly are they hurt? The taxi pulls up to a nondescript building on a quiet street. I pay the driver and hurry inside, my heart pounding. Brock's embrace feels like a lifeline as I step into the safe house, the weight of the past hours threatening to crush me. The sight of Athena and Hermes, battered but defiant, brings a mixture of relief and guilt. Athena's forehead is marred by a deep gash, a stark reminder of their struggle, and Hermes' arm hangs limp in a makeshift sling. "Thank God you're alive," I choke out, my voice thick with emotion. "Barely," Athena manages, a weak smile playing on her lips. "But we didn't give them anything." Hermes winces as he shifts, his voice raspy. "They tried everything. Sleep deprivation, threats, even..." He trails off, his eyes clouding with the memory. "Even what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "They brought in someone," Athena continues, her voice hardening. "Someone we knew." My heart skips a beat. "Who?" "Lisa," Hermes says, the name hanging heavy in the air. A wave of nausea washes over me. Lisa, my once friend, now a pawn in the Shadows' game, or was she? Maybe she was the leader.  "She tried to break us," Athena says, her voice shaking with anger. "She used our past against us, twisted our memories, our fears." "But we didn't crack," Hermes adds, his voice filled with pride. "We stayed strong. We protected the information." Their courage humbles me. They had faced unimaginable horrors, yet their spirits remained unbroken. They were true heroes. As they recount their ordeal, I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility. If it weren't for me, they wouldn't have been in that warehouse in the first place. If it weren't for me, they wouldn't have been captured and tortured. But Athena shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine. "Don't blame yourself, Patrice," she says softly. "We knew the risks. We chose this fight." Her words bring a measure of comfort, but the guilt still lingers. I vow to myself that I will do everything in my power to help them, to bring down the Shadows, and to ensure that their sacrifice was not in vain. .A wave of admiration washes over me. These are strong, resilient people. They've been through hell, but they're still fighting. "We have to get them out of here," Brock says, his voice urgent. "They need medical attention." "But where can we go?" I ask. "The Shadows are everywhere." Hestia steps forward, her eyes shining with determination. "I know a place," she says. "It's an old monastery, hidden in the mountains. It's a sanctuary, a place where no one will find us." We leave Athens under cover of darkness, traveling in a nondescript van that Hestia procured from a trusted contact. The journey is long and arduous, the winding mountain roads treacherous in the darkness. But Hestia navigates them with the skill of a seasoned rally driver, her determination a beacon in the night. We arrive at the monastery just as dawn breaks, the sky a canvas of pinks and oranges. The ancient stone building, nestled amongst the olive groves, exudes an aura of tranquility and solitude. We are greeted by a wizened monk, Father Nikolas, whose kind eyes and gentle smile offer a much-needed respite from the chaos of our recent experiences. He leads us to a hidden wing of the monastery, a sanctuary reserved for those seeking refuge from the world's turmoil. Athena and Hermes are immediately taken to a makeshift infirmary, where their wounds are tended to by Father Nikolas and a young novice named Sister Sophia. Brock and I offer what assistance we can, our hearts heavy with worry for our friends. In the quiet solitude of the monastery, we have a chance to reflect on the events of the past few days. We've been through so much, faced so many dangers. Yet, we're still here, still fighting. Hestia, ever the pragmatist, reminds us of the task at hand. "We can't rest on our laurels," she says. "The Shadows are still out there, and they won't stop until they've silenced us all." We gather around a weathered wooden table, the list of names spread out before us. It's a daunting task, but we have to start somewhere. We begin by cross-referencing the names with our own research, looking for any connections, any patterns that might lead us closer to the heart of the conspiracy. As we delve deeper into the data, we discover a web of interconnected relationships that stretch across Greece and beyond. We find links to politicians, businessmen, journalists, even members of law enforcement. The Shadows' influence is far-reaching, their tentacles entwined in every aspect of society. But with each new discovery, our resolve strengthens. We won't let them win. We will expose their corruption, their greed, their crimes against humanity. And we'll do it together. In this remote mountain sanctuary, a new bond is forged. We are no longer just individuals fighting a common enemy; we are a family, united by a shared purpose. We are the resistance. *** Days have turned into a week at the monastery. The peaceful rhythm of daily life—morning prayers, communal meals, and quiet contemplation—provides a much-needed balm for our weary souls. Athena and Hermes slowly recover from their injuries, their resilience inspiring us all. They share stories of their past, of the events that led them to join the Oracle Collective, of their unwavering commitment to justice. Brock and I grow closer, our bond deepening amidst the shared trauma and the constant threat that hangs over us. We find solace in each other's company, our love a beacon of light in the darkness. But even in this tranquil sanctuary, we never forget our mission. We continue our investigations, using the monastery's limited resources to gather information and build our case against the Shadows. We work tirelessly, driven by a burning desire to expose their crimes and bring them to justice. One day, as we're poring over a stack of old documents in the monastery's library, Hestia makes a startling discovery. "Look at this," she says, her voice hushed with excitement. "It's a letter, dated 1984. It's addressed to a man named Dimitri Stavros." Dimitri Stavros. The name sends a chill down my spine. It's a name I remember from the list we stole from the Shadows' compound. He's a powerful businessman, with connections to politicians and organized crime. We eagerly read the letter, our hearts pounding with anticipation. It's a cryptic message, filled with veiled threats and ominous warnings. But one line stands out, a line that sends a shiver down our spines: "The bridge will fall." The bridge. The words echo in my mind, conjuring up the painful memories of Emily's death. Could it be? Could this letter be connected to the tragedy that shattered my life all those years ago? We know we have to find out – to uncover the truth, no matter where it leads us. And we have to do it before the Shadows strike again. It’s time to face the music.

The message, a stark white text against a black background, hangs heavy in the air. The room falls silent, the only sound the hum of the computers and the ragged breaths of the Oracle Collective. "What does it mean?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. Athena's eyes narrow, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "It's a warning," she says, her voice grim. "They know we infiltrated their compound." "But how?" Brock asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. "It doesn't matter how," Athena replies. "What matters is that they're onto us. Luckily, we’re in this safe house so they can’t find us, but we need to let the Embassy know.” We quickly pack up equipment, erasing any trace. The three leave, the list of names tucked safely away in a secure digital vault. We stay behind with Hermes saying they will keep in touch. Brock and I try to make sense of the situation. We've struck a blow against the Shadows, but we've also made ourselves targets - again. We're no longer just investigating a conspiracy; we're fighting for our lives. The weight of this realization is crushing. I feel a wave of despair wash over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. But then I remember Brock's words, his unwavering belief in our mission. I look at my watch and realize it’s nearly midnight and I’m exhausted. "We can't give up, Patrice," he says, his voice firm. "We've come too far." His words ignite a spark of defiance within me. He's right. We won't back down. We won't let fear control us. We will fight back. “You’re right, but I’m so tired of everything. I just want to enjoy life without constantly looking over my shoulder and worrying whether the next time, we won’t be so lucky.” I rub my shoulder and yawn. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. I’m going to stay up a bit and review the stolen data, searching for any clues that might lead us to Lisa and her partner. The information is vast and complex, a labyrinth of codes and aliases, and in the morning, I’m going to call a couple of my connections and see what I can find in the States. “I won’t argue with you,” I say heading to the room. “Good night, Trice. I love you,” Brock kisses me and gives me a gentle hug, knowing it’s still hurts with any pressure applied on my chest. He then closes the door. After my nightly routine, I lay down on the soft bed. But sleep is elusive. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind, sends a shiver down my spine. Just as I’m about to give up on sleep, a faint knock on the door jolts me. I rush to the bedroom door and open it. Who could be here at this hour? Brock glances and shrugs his shoulders. We cautiously approach the door, Brock motioning for me to stand back. He peers through the peephole, his brow furrowing. "Who is it?" I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest. "It's Hestia," he replies, his voice barely audible. I'm surprised but relieved. Hestia, the quietest member of the Oracle Collective, is the last person we expected to see at our door. Brock opens the door, and Hestia slips inside, her face pale and drawn. She looks around the room nervously, as if expecting someone to jump out at her. "What's wrong?" I ask, my voice filled with concern. Hestia takes a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. "We've been compromised," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "They found us." A cold dread washes over me. "Who found you?" "The Shadows," she replies. "They tracked us down. We barely escaped." "What about Athena and Hermes?" Brock asks, his voice urgent. Hestia shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't know. We got separated during the escape. I haven't heard from them since." My heart sinks. The Shadows have struck back, and they've hit us hard. We're no longer just dealing with a faceless organization; we're facing a real, tangible threat. We quickly gather our belongings, knowing we can't stay here any longer. We leave the safe house, Hestia leading the way through the darkened streets of Athens. We find refuge in a small, unassuming apartment in a quiet neighborhood. It's another safe house, one of many that the Oracle Collective maintains throughout the city. As we settle in, the reality of our situation sinks in. We're on the run, fugitives in a foreign land. Our lives are in danger, and the people we care about are missing. But we can't give up. We have to find Athena and Hermes, and we have to expose the Shadows' crimes to the world. Hestia tells us everything she knows about the attack, the escape, and the last known whereabouts of Athena and Hermes. It's not much, but it's a starting point. Hestia, barely whispering, struggles with each word as she recounts the memory of flashing lights, shouting voices, and the metallic clang of gunshots echoing in the warehouse. Her eyes dart around the room as if expecting the Shadows to burst through the door at any moment. "It happened so fast," she says, her voice seeming far away, her hands trembling slightly as she recounts the events. "We were just finishing the download when the alarms went off. At first, we thought it was a glitch in our system, but then..." She pauses, swallowing hard. "Then we heard the gunshots." The tension in the room thickens. Brock and I lean forward; our faces etched with concern. "We knew we had to get out," Hestia continues, her voice barely audible. "Athena grabbed the drive, and we bolted for the emergency exit. But they were waiting for us." Her eyes glaze over as she recalls the scene: the blinding light of a flashlight, the snarling faces of masked men, the sharp crack of gunfire as bullets whizzed past their heads. "We split up," she says, her voice cracking. "Athena and Hermes went one way, I went another. I managed to lose them in the maze of shipping containers, but..." Her voice trails off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air. "But you don't know what happened to them," I finish the sentence. She nods and rubs her forehead. “Come, sit down. We’ll find out what happened,” I say. We spend the rest of the night formulating a plan. We have to find our friends, and we have to do it fast. But we also have to be careful. The Shadows are out there, lurking, waiting for us. *** The first rays of dawn peek through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the sparsely furnished apartment, vastly different than the safe house we just left. We sit around a small table, huddled over a map of Athens, our faces etched with worry and determination. Hestia points to a location on the map, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is where we were attacked. A warehouse district near the port." Brock leans in, tracing a route with his finger. "If Athena and Hermes were trying to escape, they would have likely headed towards the city center. There are more people, more places to hide." I nod in agreement. "But we need to be careful. The Shadows could be anywhere." Hestia produces a burner phone from her pocket. "I'll try to contact my sources. Maybe they've heard something." We wait anxiously as she makes a series of encrypted calls. Minutes feel like hours as the silence stretches on. Finally, Hestia lowers the phone, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "One of my contacts heard a rumor," she says. "There was a disturbance at a nightclub near Syntagma Square last night. It could be connected." We exchange a look of understanding. Syntagma Square is a central hub, a place where locals and tourists mingle. It's also a place where information flows freely. "We have to go there," I say, my voice firm. "It's our best chance of finding Athena and Hermes." We quickly formulate a plan. Brock will scout the area around the nightclub, looking for any signs of our friends or suspicious activity. Hestia will use her hacking skills to monitor the club's security cameras and communication channels. And I, still recovering from my injury, will stay at the safe house and act as our communications hub. As we prepare to leave, Hestia hands me a small earpiece. "Stay in touch," she says. "And be careful." I nod, my heart heavy with worry. I know this is a dangerous mission, but it's one we have to undertake. We have to find our friends, and we have to stop the Shadows. Brock and Hestia slip out of the apartment, disappearing into the early morning streets of Athens. I'm left alone, the silence broken only by the hum of the computer and the steady beat of my own heart. The waiting is agonizing. I try to distract myself by monitoring the news, searching for any mention of the disturbance at the nightclub. But there's nothing. It's as if the incident never happened. Hours pass, and still no word from Brock or Hestia. My anxiety grows with each passing minute. Have they found something? Are they safe? Just as I'm about to lose hope, a message flashes across my screen. It's from Hestia: "We found them." My heart leaps with joy. But the next line brings a chill down my spine: "They're not alone."

It’s been over a week as we work tirelessly with the Oracle Collective. I’m still healing but getting my strength back. Brock contacted Gray unbeknownst to me, about the shooting. He in turn contacted the Embassy in Athens and put us in a safe house, this time in a nice area by the ocean. The rambler is white stucco with two bedrooms, a dining area, kitchen, bathroom, and large living room. The décor is simple but with some antique framed portraits of Greek mythology in bold colors. The sofa is a neutral color, light beige, with a few stone-colored throw pillows. A deep ruby red Greek style chair complements the reds in the portraits. We have a beautiful view of the ocean and spend countless hours on the veranda analyzing data, tracking digital footprints, and following leads. The hunt for Lisa and her partner becomes an obsession, fueled by a thirst for justice and a desire to avenge my near-death experience. The Embassy now has full support, and the local police have put out alerts in the area. However, Lisa and “Bob” are probably back in the States for all we know. I don’t even know her last name if she’s married or goes by an alias. Athena's team of hackers proves to be invaluable, their skills and resources far exceeding our expectations. They uncover hidden connections between Lisa, her partner, and a shadowy figure known only as "The Architect," a high-ranking member of the Shadows. "How are you feeling today?" Brock says as I’m poring over the computer data Athena sent us. I instinctively rub my chest. "Better, thanks to the pain meds. Still sore, but not as bad as a few days ago." "That's good to hear. We'll have you back in fighting shape in no time." I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to be in fighting shape. "If only I could say the same for our investigation. I still can't believe Lisa did this. And to think, we don't even know her last name." "I know. It's a lot to process. But Gray pulling some strings with the embassy has helped. This safe house is a lifesaver." "It is. The view helps clear my head, even if just for a little bit. But every second we're here, Lisa and 'Bob' could be slipping further away." Brock squeezes my hand. "We'll find them, Trice. We have the Oracle Collective on our side, and they're making progress. Did you see what they found on 'The Architect'?" I nod. "It's incredible. They're like digital ghosts, uncovering connections we never would have found." "This safe house might be a temporary refuge, but it's also our war room. We'll use this information to bring down the Shadows, and we'll get justice for what happened to you." A light tapping on the door interrupts our conversation. Brock opens it to reveal Athena, Hermes, and Hestia, their faces alight with a mixture of excitement and urgency. "Good news?" Brock asks, stepping aside to let them in. Athena nods, a determined glint in her eye. "We've been digging into 'The Architect's' data, and we've uncovered some interesting connections." They all look like they’ve been up all night. Athena’s hair is swept up in a messy bun; she’s wearing cargo shorts and white t-shirt. Hermes is in jeans and a black shirt, his hair, short and a dark curly, looks as if hasn’t been washed in at least a week. Hestia though looks made up, her dark black hair brushing just past her shoulders. She looks like she’s ready for office work in white slacks and a pink and black polka-dotted blouse. Hestia takes a seat on the edge of the sofa, her voice hushed. "His real name is Alistair Kincaid. British national, ex-MI6, with a long history of covert operations and a reputation for ruthlessness." Hermes, unable to contain his excitement, chimes in. "But that's not all. We traced his financial records, and they lead to a series of shell companies and offshore accounts. It's a complex web of deceit, but we're starting to see a pattern." I lean forward, intrigued. "What kind of pattern?" Athena exchanges a knowing look with her colleagues. "It seems The Architect has been funneling funds into a project called 'Operation: Pandora's Box'." The name sends a shiver down my spine. "Pandora's Box? What does that mean?" Hermes shrugs. "We're not sure yet. But based on the encrypted files we've decrypted; it appears to be a large-scale operation with global implications." Brock paces the room, his mind racing. "This is big, really big. We need to find out what this operation is all about and how it connects to the Shadows' broader agenda." I’m grateful Brock is with me as he’s able to put his legal expertise to use with his connections back in the States. Hestia nods in agreement. "We're working on it. We've planted a few Trojan horses in their systems, hoping to intercept more information. But we need to be careful. They're already suspicious." A heavy silence falls over the room. The stakes have just been raised. We're no longer just dealing with a shadowy organization; we're facing a potential global threat. The weight of this responsibility presses down on us, a reminder of the importance of our mission. "We have to stop them," I say, my voice filled with determination. "We have to expose their secrets and prevent them from unleashing chaos on the world." Brock takes my hand, his eyes filled with unwavering support. "We will, Trice. We will." *********************************************************************************** Later that evening, amidst pizza boxes scattered around the kitchen and emptied Greek wine, we follow a trail of encrypted messages and financial transactions, tracking The Architect to a remote island in the Aegean Sea. It's a heavily fortified compound, guarded by armed mercenaries and state-of-the-art security systems. But the Oracle Collective is undeterred. The three hackers devise a plan to infiltrate the compound, using their hacking skills to disable the security systems and creating a diversion while the rest of the team breaches the compound. Brock and I, still recovering from our injuries, are relegated to a support role. We monitor the operation from a safe distance, our hearts pounding with each update from Athena. The glow of the computer screen illuminates Athena's focused face as she types furiously, her fingers a blur across the keyboard. Brock and I stand behind her, our eyes glued to the monitor, hearts pounding in our chests. The Collective Oracle has a six-member team, not included Athena, Hermes, and Hestia, who are back at the safe house with us, as they hack into their systems to allow the rest of the team access. “How's it going?” I’m hovering over her shoulder as her fingers whisk across the keyboard. She says without turning, “We're in. Firewall breached and security systems bypassed. Hermes is feeding the cameras a loop of the last hour, so they won't see us moving around.” The screen flickers, revealing grainy footage from inside the compound. A group of guards patrols the perimeter, oblivious to the silent intrusion. “What about the motion sensors?” Brock says. “We're jamming them with a low-frequency pulse. They won't detect a thing.” The screen switches to a schematic of the compound. A red dot, marking the location of the Oracle Collective, moves steadily towards a heavily fortified building at the center. I stand, tapping my foot nervously. “That's where they're keeping the files, right?” Athena nods. “That's our target.” The red dot reaches the building, pausing for a moment. Then, a series of small explosions appear on the screen, followed by the sound of alarms blaring. “What was that?” Brock says, startled. Turning to face us and grinning, Athena says, “Just a little distraction. We needed to draw the guards away from the main entrance.” The screen shows the guards rushing towards the source of the explosions, leaving the main building unguarded. The red dot quickly enters the building, disappearing from view. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath and let it out. “Are they inside?” “Yes. Now comes the tricky part.” Minutes tick by, each one agonizingly slow. We watch the screen, our eyes darting between the empty corridors of the building and the chaos outside. Suddenly, the red dot reappears, now accompanied by three flashing green dots. Hestia says softly from the sofa. “They found the files. They're downloading them now.” Brock looking relieved says, “That's great! How long will it take?” “A few more minutes. Then we're out of there,” Athena remarks, her fingers furiously tapping again. We wait, the silence in the room hung heavy, a suffocating blanket stifling any attempt at conversation. Finally, the green dots disappear, and the red dot starts moving again, retracing its steps towards the exit. “They got it. They're on their way out,” Athena says. We watch as the red dot exits the building, the guards still preoccupied with the diversion. The team moves quickly, slipping through the shadows, their movements unseen. “They did it.” Brock claps his hands. Turning to us, Athena smiles. “Mission accomplished. We have the evidence we need.” From what I could understand, among the stolen data is a list of names – the Shadows' operatives in Greece. It's a major breakthrough, a key to unraveling their network and exposing their crimes. But our victory is short-lived. As we celebrate our success, a chilling message appears on our screens: "You've made a grave mistake."

Lisa's eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter, now burn with a rage I never thought possible. Her hand trembles as she raises the gun, the barrel pointed directly at my chest. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the crackling fire and the rumble of collapsing stone. "Move," she hisses, her voice raw with pain. "You're getting us out of here." Bob, if that’s even his name, snickers and pushes Brock forward. Brock tries to protest, but Lisa cuts him off with a venomous glare. "Not a word. One wrong move, and she's dead." With a heavy heart, I obey. Brock and I stumble through the labyrinth, each step a heavy burden. The gun remains trained on me, Lisa's eyes never leaving mine. I see the anguish in her face, the betrayal, the hatred. But beneath it all, I see a flicker of something else. Pain. Deep, raw pain that has festered for years, poisoning her heart and twisting her love into something dark and unrecognizable. We navigate through the maze, the heat and smoke growing more intense. The ground shakes beneath us, and chunks of stone rain down from above. But Lisa doesn't falter. She pushes us forward, her resolve unwavering. Finally, we emerge from the labyrinth, blinking in the harsh sunlight. The ruins lie behind us, a smoldering testament to the destruction we've left behind. Lisa lowers the gun, but her eyes remain fixed on mine. "I never forgave you, Patrice," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Not for what you did to Emily." A chill rushes through me as she recounts that fateful summer in 1984. Six couples, on a prom date in the Spanish Fork mountains, their lives forever changed by a single, tragic event. Emily's death. I remember the words I said before she crossed the bridge. Emily started across the bridge, we all encouraged her on. Halfway through, a wooden plank cracked and then a second, and before we could react, Emily lost her footing, teetered, and fell off the bridge. We all stared in horror as she plunged down to the raging river below. A few of the guys tried to go down the mountain to search for her while the rest of us headed back to get help. A few hours later, search and rescue pulled her lifeless body out of the river. Lisa screamed and collapsed in her boyfriend’s arms. After that night, the town mourned. We graduated a month later, but it was a somber day without Emily. The principal had her friends say some things about her, but Lisa only cried and had to be helped off the stage. They had been best friends since toddlers, and after Lisa was never the same. I blamed myself, knowing that if I had not pushed her, she wouldn’t have fallen to her death. It took years before I could process her death and move on. I never thought Lisa would be coming after me 40 years later. As if she could read my mind, Lisa snaps me back to the present with those dreaded words. "You pushed her," she accuses, her voice rising. "You told her to go, even though she was scared. You killed her." Tears stream down my face as I shake my head. "Lisa, it wasn't like that. It was an accident. The bridge collapsed. I have blamed myself for her death for years, but I realize this was a freak accident and could have happened to any one of us." But my words fall on deaf ears. Lisa's face contorts with rage, and she raises the gun again, this time aiming at Brock. "If I can't have her back," she snarls, "I'll take away the one thing you love most. See how you like it." My heart leaps into my throat. I can't lose Brock. Not like this. Not because of me. "No, Lisa!" I scream, lunging towards her. But it's too late. A deafening roar echoes through the air as the gun goes off. I feel a searing pain in my chest, a white-hot agony that sends me stumbling backward. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the ground, my vision blurring. Brock screams my name, his voice filled with panic and despair. He rushes to my side, cradling my head in his lap. "Patrice! Stay with me!" he pleads, his voice thick with emotion. I can barely make out his face through the haze of pain. My body feels heavy, my limbs leaden. I reach out to touch his face, but my hand falls limply to my side. In the distance, I hear footsteps fading away. Lisa and her partner are gone, leaving me bleeding on the ground. Brock rips off his shirt and presses it against my wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. His hands are shaking, his eyes wide with fear. "Help!" he yells, his voice echoing across the desolate landscape. "Somebody help us!" But there's no one around to hear his cries. We're alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere. I try to speak, to reassure him, but the words won't come. My eyelids flutter closed, and darkness envelops me. *** I awake to the rhythmic rocking of a vehicle and the sound of Brock's voice, frantic and urgent. He's talking to someone on the phone, explaining our situation. "She's been shot in the chest," he says, his voice breaking. "We need help. Please, hurry." I try to open my eyes, but the pain is too intense. I groan softly, and Brock's hand finds mine. "It's okay, Patrice," he whispers. "We're almost there. Just hold on." I cling to his words, the only anchor in this sea of agony. I don't know how much time passes before the rocking stops and I'm lifted out of the vehicle. I hear the clang of metal doors, the muffled sounds of voices, and then the cool sensation of antiseptic on my skin. I'm vaguely aware of hands probing my wound, of needles piercing my flesh. A doctor's voice cuts through the fog, "She's lucky. The bullet missed her heart, but we need to get her into surgery now." I cling to those words, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. I'm alive. I made it. But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the betrayal and the loss. I drift in and out of consciousness, the world a hazy blur of beeping machines and hushed voices. Then darkness for who knows how long. When I finally open my eyes, I find myself in a sterile hospital room, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. Brock sits beside my bed, his face pale and drawn. He reaches for my hand, his eyes filled with relief. "You're awake," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I was so scared." I try to speak, but my throat is dry and raspy. Brock gently helps me sip water from a straw, his eyes never leaving mine. "What happened?" I manage to croak out. "Lisa shot you," he says, his voice barely audible. "But you're going to be okay. The bullet missed your heart, and they were able to go in and remove it." I look down and see a white piece of gauze with sterile tape holding it in place. The memories come flooding back, the fire, the labyrinth, Lisa's betrayal. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I close my eyes against the pain. "She's gone," Brock continues, his voice filled with sadness. "She and her partner disappeared." I open my eyes and look at him, my heart aching. "Why, Brock? Why did she do this?" He shakes his head, his expression pained. "I don't know, Patrice. I don't understand it." We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of what has happened hanging heavy between us. Finally, Brock breaks the silence. "We have to tell someone," he says, his voice firm. "We can't let Lisa get away with this." I nod, knowing he's right. We must expose the Shadows, and we have to bring Lisa to justice. But first, I have to heal. The days that follow are a blur of medical procedures, pain medication, and restless nights. Brock stays by my side, his unwavering support a constant source of comfort. When I'm finally released from the hospital, I'm weak and battered, but my spirit is unbroken. We return to the hotel in Athens, the scene of our initial encounter with the Oracle Collective. We need their help now more than ever. It’s been over two weeks now that we’ve been here, but we can’t leave now. Thankfully, Brock has enough vacation saved that we can stay for a while longer, and I put a hold on my consulting and gardening videos. We meet with Athena, Hermes, and Hestia in a secluded café, the tension thick in the air. We recount the events at the ruins, the fire, Lisa's betrayal, and my near-death experience. They listen intently, their faces etched with concern and anger. When we finish, Athena speaks, her voice calm but resolute. "We’ll help you," she says. "and try and find Lisa and her partner and expose the Shadows for what they truly are." A glimmer of hope flickers in my heart. With the Oracle Collective by our side, we might actually have a chance. But we’re running out of time.