February 9th
Morning

The squad's unmarked SUVs rumbled over the rutted gravel road leading to the isolated property. The farmhouse loomed ahead, its peeling paint and sagging porch like the opening act of a nightmare. As the vehicles came to a halt, Elliot leaped out, his pulse pounding in his ears. Every nerve in his body screamed for action, for answers. Olivia was here—or she had been. She had to be.

"How sure are we this is it?" Fin asked, stepping up beside him and scanning the property, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

"Sure enough," Huang replied, emerging from the second car. "Larson's purchase records for supplies matched up with the nearest stores in this area. And the cell tower pings from his burner phone put him in a two-mile radius as recently as last night."

Elliot's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. "Let's move."

Cragen nodded, his face set in grim determination. "Keep it tight. Munch, Fin, you take the barn and outbuildings. Stabler, you're with me. Huang, stay with the vehicles and monitor for backup."

The squad split up quickly, their movements precise despite the undercurrent of urgency. Elliot followed Cragen up the creaking porch steps, his gun drawn. The door gave way with a single shove, swinging open to reveal the suffocating stench of sweat, filth, and something coppery that turned Elliot's stomach.

Inside, the house was a wreck. Broken furniture littered the floor, and shards of glass sparkled beneath their boots. Cragen motioned for Elliot to take the stairs while he secured the main level. With each step, Elliot's heart hammered harder. His mind cycled through every possibility—what Larson might have done, where Olivia might be. The thought of her in pain, in fear, clawed at his insides. And the darker thought, the one he couldn't suppress, haunted him: What if they were too late?

At the top of the stairs, Elliot found a small hallway leading to a single bedroom. He pushed the door open cautiously, his breath catching in his throat. The scene before him struck like a physical blow.

The bed was a mess of twisted sheets and broken restraints. Blood smeared the mattress and pooled on the floor in uneven stains. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the world tilted. Olivia. He forced himself to breathe, to focus.

"Up here!" Elliot shouted, his voice raw. Within seconds, Cragen was at his side, his face pale as he took in the sight.

"She was here," Elliot said hoarsely, his fists clenched. "She fought."

Fin and Munch appeared in the doorway moments later. Munch's usual sardonic demeanour was replaced with grim silence as he scanned the room. "No sign of her downstairs," he said quietly. "Or in the barn."

"She's not here," Cragen said, his voice steady but tight. "He moved her again."

"Where?" Elliot snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Where the hell did he take her?"

Munch's sharp eyes landed on the window, where faint drag marks could be seen in the snow outside. "Looks like the woods," he muttered, motioning for the others to follow him outside.

Huang joined them, clutching a tablet displaying a topographical map of the area. "The woods behind the property are dense," he said. "If he took her this way, he's got the terrain on his side."

Elliot was already moving. "Then we go in," he said grimly. "Every second counts."

Cragen placed a steadying hand on Elliot's shoulder. "Stabler, take a breath. We need to do this right. If he's in there with her, we can't risk driving him to do something rash."

Elliot nodded reluctantly, though the tension in his body didn't ease. Fin clapped him on the back, his voice low and steady. "We'll find her, man. We've come too far not to."

The group moved into the woods. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of leaves and snow underfoot. Elliot's thoughts churned, the image of Olivia on that bloodstained bed searing into his mind. The idea of her suffering, of her being afraid, tightened his chest like a vise.

As they pressed deeper into the forest, Munch called out, "Tracks!" He pointed to a set of boot prints leading toward a denser thicket.

Elliot's grip on his weapon tightened. "Let's move."

The February morning was bitterly cold, and Olivia's body trembled uncontrollably as she sagged against the rough tree trunk. The bark dug into her raw skin, each shift of her weight like sandpaper against an open wound. Her arms were stretched above her head, wrists cuffed so tightly the cold metal had bitten into her flesh, leaving dark bruises. She tried to move her fingers but they were numb, stiff from the icy air. Her breath came out in short, ragged gasps, every exhale visible in the frosty morning air.

Pain pulsed through her with every shallow breath, but it was the deeper, more intimate agony that made her groan in despair. Between her legs, she could feel the slow, warm trickle of blood, sticky against her skin, a constant reminder of the violation that had left her shattered. The humiliation, the brutality of it—it hollowed her out. There was no way to push it aside, no way to compartmentalize as she had done so many times before.

Lewis.

Her mind flickered back to that terrible memory, the torture of her darkest days. She had been broken then, yes, but she'd fought—because that was who she was. She was a fighter. Was.

Olivia didn't feel like a fighter anymore.

The Olivia who could face monsters and come out scarred but whole felt like a stranger. Now, she was just…broken. Stripped bare of her identity, reduced to nothing more than a victim, someone who had been powerless in the face of cruelty. She lay still against the tree, tears of shame and frustration trailing down her cheeks, too cold to register on her frozen skin.

Would they find her?

A part of her wanted to believe Elliot and the team were out there somewhere, combing through the woods, closing in on Victor. She had always trusted Elliot to have her back, to come through for her no matter how dire the situation. But it was too late now to save her from what she feared most. She had already endured the worst. The damage was done.

What could Elliot save now? Her life?

Was it even worth saving?

The thought echoed darkly in her mind as fatigue and blood loss pulled her deeper into a haze. She was so weak now, her strength spent long ago. Her body felt foreign to her, a vessel of pain. The cold seeped into her bones, dulling the ache in a way that should have been comforting but only made her feel further disconnected from herself. She couldn't tell if she was still shivering or if her body had simply given up trying to stay warm.

She tried to picture Elliot's face, his fierce determination, his stubbornness. He would never give up on her. She knew that.

But part of her wondered if, when he found her, all he would see was what she had become—a broken woman, no longer the strong, unyielding Olivia he had fought beside for so many years. How could she face him after this?

A sob broke free from her throat, the sound muffled in the cold air. She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Please, Elliot. Find me. Please.

The cold February air bit at Elliot's face as they trudged deeper into the woods, the barren trees casting long shadows over the frost-covered ground. His breath formed misty clouds in front of him, but all he could think about was her. Every second that passed felt like a blow to his gut.

Olivia was out here, somewhere. Hurting. Alone. The images his mind conjured, of her bruised, bloodied, and afraid, gnawed at his sanity. He couldn't let those thoughts take over, not yet. He had to stay focused. But underneath the layer of determination was a fear so sharp it threatened to split him open.

"Tracks are fresh," Fin muttered beside him, his eyes sharp despite the biting cold. He pointed to the prints leading them deeper into the woods. "He's close."

Elliot's jaw clenched as they pressed forward. His eyes flicked to the ground, following the trail of disturbed leaves and broken twigs, the only clues to where Larson had taken her.

In his mind, Huang's words from earlier played on a loop. "He'll keep her alive as long as he feels in control, but the moment he feels threatened..."

Olivia was a fighter. She always had been. She wouldn't go quietly. That very strength that had gotten her through hell before—it was what made him respect her, made him...love her—but now, it was what terrified him most. She would fight, and that would put her in more danger.

And then there was the other unspoken fear, the one that twisted in his gut like a knife. The possibility of what Larson had already done to her. Sexual assault.

He couldn't let himself dwell on it. If he did, he wouldn't be able to breathe.

Ahead, Munch's voice cut through the silence. "There's something up ahead—looks like a clearing."

The squad moved faster, breaking into a run. They emerged from the tree line into a small clearing, the morning sun filtering weakly through the canopy. But Olivia wasn't there.

Instead, they found a single tree, its thick trunk scarred from where Olivia must have been cuffed. The marks were unmistakable—rust-coloured smudges of blood where her wrists had strained against the metal. Rust-coloured stains in the snow below.

Elliot's heart stuttered. The cuffs were gone, but the signs were all too clear: she had been here, and she was hurt. He stumbled forward, his fingers brushing the tree bark as if he could somehow feel her presence. His stomach churned as he imagined her shackled, bleeding, waiting for them.

"She's not here," Fin said grimly, circling the area, his eyes scanning for further tracks.

What unnerved Elliot most was the nagging sense that Larson wanted them to find this. The trail he'd left was too easy to follow—the fresh tracks, the handcuff marks, the bloodstains. It was as if Victor had deliberately laid breadcrumbs for them. The thought sent a shiver down Elliot's spine. What was Victor's endgame? Was this some twisted game to buy himself time, or had he orchestrated something worse? Elliot's mind churned with the possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last.

Elliot's throat felt tight. He turned toward the others, his voice rough. "She's close. She has to be."

"We need to move fast," Cragen said, his tone urgent but measured. "Munch, Fin, sweep east. Elliot and I will head north. We'll cover as much ground as we can."

Elliot nodded, his mind racing. Time was running out. If Larson had already moved her, she could be anywhere. But they weren't going to stop. Not until they found her.

Not until he found her.

Because losing Olivia wasn't an option. Not again. Not ever.