That night, Karel went back to the quarry. He brought a thermal camera, a voice recorder, and a pistol loaded with standard 9mm rounds—useless against folklore, but comforting. He descended into the chamber again. The children’s belongings were gone. In their place, written on the floor in what looked like charcoal but smelled like ozone, was a single word in archaic Czech: VYMĚNA —Exchange.

“They are home. You are the visitor. You took my tooth. I will take your years.”

“Lukáš,” Karel said softly. “I’m here to take you home.”