When I finally called Elise Grant, she answered on the first ring. I told her what I had found.
There was a pause on the line before she spoke. “You did the right thing,” she said quietly. “We’ve received reports of similar packaging in two other states. We’re investigating again.”
Her voice carried exhaustion, not surprise.
As I hung up, a cold realization settled in my chest. This wasn’t over. It never had been. Somewhere, someone was still testing, still watching, still perfecting the way to turn human bodies into living data.
And somewhere tonight, another woman might be pulling up her husband’s shirt, staring in disbelief at a row of tiny red marks, wondering what secret now sleeps beneath his skin.
