Agent Roland made his way back to the Iron Hill Sheriff's Station, the tape from WCLV-TV 58 weighing heavily in his briefcase. The sheriff's office was dimly lit and quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the radio. Sheriff Dawson looked up from his cluttered desk as Roland entered, his face lined with the exhaustion of a man grappling with too many unsolved questions.

"Sheriff," Roland greeted him, closing the door behind him. "I thought you should know—we found something at the station. A tape. It's evidence, and it confirms that Candle Cove is connected to the murders."

Dawson's eyes narrowed. "Connected how?"

Roland hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The program is more than just a kids' show. It's a short example of an ongoing Altered World Event. We don't know the full extent of its influence yet, but it's clear it's affecting the children who watched it."

Dawson sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So what happens now?"

"We're bringing in more agents and a research team to investigate further. For now, we need you to keep things quiet. The last thing we need is to worsen the town panic." Roland's tone was firm but not unkind. "I appreciate your cooperation on this, Sheriff."

Dawson nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Just get to the bottom of it, Agent. These people deserve answers."

Back at the motel, Trench paced restlessly in Lewis' room, his unease growing by the minute. Lewis sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the case folder.

"You're going to wear a hole in the carpet," she said, not looking up.

"Something's not adding up," Trench muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Why did we talk to the Cutter family first? The kid we need to know about is Eddie Painter—the one who wasn't found."

Lewis frowned, setting the folder aside. "You're right. Eddie's disappearance is the key. But Roland's got the car, and he's the one calling the shots."

Trench grabbed his coat, a determined look on his face. "Then I'll go on foot. Someone has to talk to the Painters."

"You know Roland's going to lose it when he finds out," Lewis said, raising an eyebrow.

"Let him," Trench replied. "Stay here and wait for the backup team. I'll be back before he even notices."

The walk to the Painter house was long and cold, the chill seeping through Trench's coat. By the time he arrived, the modest home was illuminated by the warm glow of porch lights. Marla Painter answered the door, her face lined with worry and sleepless nights.

"Mrs. Painter, I'm Agent Trench with the Federal Bureau of Control," he began, showing his badge. "I'd like to ask a few questions about Eddie."

Marla hesitated, then nodded. "You can talk to Mike. He was closer to Eddie than anyone."

She led Trench to the backyard, where a boy sat on a creaking swing, his head bowed. Mike Painter looked up as Trench approached, his eyes wary.

"Hey, Mike," Trench said, his tone soft. He sat on the swing next to the boy, letting the silence linger before speaking again. "I'm Zachariah. Your mom said I could talk to you about Eddie."

Mike stared at the ground, his hands gripping the swing chains. "What do you want to know?"

Trench smiled gently. "Well, for starters, your mom said you and Eddie were twins. That's cool. I've got a March birthday, too. When's yours?"

"March twelfth," Mike mumbled.

"That's a good month," Trench said. "Your mom mentioned you and Eddie had it tough after your dad left. That must've been hard."

Mike nodded, his voice barely audible. "Kids at school made fun of us. Said our dad didn't want us. Gary Yolen's older brother used to beat us up about it too; he even broke Eddie's finger once."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Trench said, his tone empathetic. "Do you remember anything about Eddie before he… before he went missing?"

Mike's grip tightened on the chains. "I don't know what happened to Eddie. Or the other kids. And I don't know what Candle Cove has to do with it."

Trench studied the boy's face. He'd learned to read people during his training, and Mike's hesitation told him there was more to the story. But pressing him now wouldn't help.

"That's okay, Mike," Trench said, standing up. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen."

As he walked back toward the motel, Trench's mind raced. He couldn't shake the feeling that Mike was holding something back. He made a mental note to try again, away from Marla's ears, when the boy might feel more comfortable opening up.

By the time the investigation was over, Trench resolved to get the truth from Mike—no matter what it took.