Two nights later, Ethan Langley returned—alone, flashlight in hand, heart pounding against his ribs like a warning. He stood over the grave, the boy’s words echoing: “She’s still down there.”

Something about it wouldn’t let go.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not his assistant. Not the police. Not even his own therapist. Just brought a shovel and hope it was all a mistake.

But when metal scraped stone beneath too-shallow dirt, his blood ran cold.

Because what he found… wasn’t a coffin.

It was a box.

A wooden crate. Padlocked.

And moving.

His breath caught. He dropped the shovel, hands shaking as he forced the lock loose. The lid creaked open.

And inside—

A woman. Gasping.

Covered in bruises, wrists bound, lips blue from cold… but alive.

She looked up, blinking in the beam of the flashlight, and whispered one name.

“…Evan.”

The boy.

She had tried to escape the criminal syndicate she worked for. They faked her death when she threatened to expose them.

Buried her.

Alive.

And it was her son’s faith—his unwavering love—that saved her.

Because sometimes, children know truths the world refuses to believe.

And this time… one man dared to dig.