The biker slowly turned toward the stranger.

“What’s her mother’s name?”

The man in plaid stepped backward.

The girl answered first.

“Sarah.”

The biker’s hands began shaking.

Sarah was his daughter.

He hadn’t heard her voice since the night she vanished.

He crouched beside the child.

“What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

His eyes filled.

Sarah had once told him that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Ellie after her grandmother.

The stranger suddenly moved toward the exit.

Three bikers stood up and blocked the door.

The Road Captain looked at him.

“Where is Sarah?”

The man said nothing.

Ellie started crying.

“He keeps her in a house with no windows.”

The old biker’s face drained of color.

Then the girl reached into her pocket.

“I stole this before we left.”

She handed him a folded photograph.

Sarah was in it.

Older.

Terrified.

But alive.

On the back, in shaky handwriting, were six words:

Dad, if she finds you, believe her.

The biker pressed the photograph against his chest.

Then Ellie whispered,

“Mom said you’d come for us.”

He looked at the granddaughter he had never known existed.

And for the first time in nine years, he smiled through tears.

“I’m coming for both of you.”