In July of 2014, 26-year-old Selena Heroway and 28-year-old Sirin Hails set out on the littleknown Wolf Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

An experienced guide and a novice photographer planned to spend 3 days capturing unique views inaccessible to ordinary tourists.

Their car was found in the parking lot, and in the camp, the tent and most of the equipment remained intact.

They simply disappeared.

3 years later at dawn on September 1st, 2017, German tourists noticed a lone figure on the edge of a cliff near the Leipan Point viewpoint.

It was Sarin, emaciated with wild eyes and a long beard.

Found alive 3 years after his disappearance, he refused to speak, only repeating one phrase.

I couldn’t save her.

He took her.

What happened to Selena? And who was the mysterious he that the man who knew the canyon like the back of his hand was so afraid of? On July 21st, 2014, at in the morning, Selena Harowway put her cup of coffee on the counter of the Pine Brew coffee shop in Flagstaff.

She had just finished her morning shift and was getting ready for the most important meeting of the month.

In 5 minutes, Siren Hails, a local legend among Grand Canyon guides whom she had been convincing for 3 weeks, was due to show up.

“You can’t talk him into it,” Josh, the coffee shop owner, said as he wiped down the coffee machine.

Selena just smiled.

Her phone already had 26 travel journal rejections, but she knew her photos were worth more than typical tourist snaps.

The door opened and Siren walked in, tall, tanned, with penetrating gray eyes.

He sat down at the counter in silence and ordered a black coffee.

“Did you bring the map?” Selena asked, sitting down next to him.

Instead of answering, he unfolded a worn map of the park on the counter.

“Wolf Ravine,” his finger touched the zigzag line that wound through the eastern part of the canyon.

is the most difficult route to take without special permits.

We’ll lose contact after the first turn.

3 days without a shower and comfort and no guarantee of photos worthy of National Geographic.

That’s why I need you, Selena put the album with her photos on the table.

Siren flipped through the pages and his face gradually changed.

Okay, he finally said, but you follow my every instruction without question.

They met the next day at Canyon Edge Outfitters, a hiking equipment store.

Siren methodically checked every piece of their equipment, double-checked their water supplies, and tested the strength of their ropes.

He rejected half of the items Selena had packed, replacing them with lighter counterparts.

“Your pack shouldn’t weigh more than a quarter of your body weight,” he explained.

“Every extra pound will feel like 10 on the fifth day.” “But we’re only going for 3 days,” she objected.

At the visitors center, Ranger Mike Cortez took a long look at their papers and itinerary.

Wolf Creek in July.

He looked at Sirin with suspicion.

You know there’s not a drop of water from the Black Ridge to Grey Eagle Canyon.

I know these places better than you do, Mike.

Siren smiled.

The ranger reluctantly stamped the permit.

Stay on the main trail.

Signal every night.

If you are not back by 25, we will send a search party.

As they walked back to Siren’s car, Selena stopped at the mall exit and called her sister.

Kate, it’s me.

We’re on our way.

Are you sure about this Siren? Her sister sounded concerned.

You hardly know him.

He was recommended by everyone here.

He’s been fixing the trails in the park for 15 years.

They say he walked the canyon from east to west.

Okay, but text me as soon as you get a signal and don’t do anything stupid for a photo.

They left Siren’s blue Chevy Tahoe in a small parking lot at the trail head.

It was still quite early, only 7 in the morning, but the sun was already starting to get hot.

Sarin made sure both of their GPS units were working, then double-checked their walkie-talkies and satellite phone.

“We’re sticking to the route,” he instructed Selena.

No deviations, no shortcuts.

The slightest mistake could cost us our lives.

If the other one doesn’t show up within 2 hours, activate the emergency beacon.

The first day of the hike was perfect.

The trail winded through the red rocks, offering breathtaking panoramas.

Selena took hundreds of pictures, changed lenses, and experimented with filters.

Sarin waited patiently for her to finish each photo shoot, showing her the best angles, telling her the story of the canyon.

“These layers of purple,” he said, running his hand over the rock, “weremed two billion years ago.” “Just think, you are photographing the oldest rocks in North America.

They set up camp on a small plateau just as the sun was beginning to set.” Siren quickly set up a tent and lit a small fire.

Selena enjoyed watching the beans and bacon frying in their pot.

When dinner was ready, they sat down next to each other, watching the last rays of the sun turned the rocks into hot gold.

Look.

Siren pointed to the far edge of the eastern horizon.

I think there’s something flashing.

Selena squinted.

It looks like a light.

Maybe another group of hikers on this trail.

I don’t think so.

Probably a glare from the rock.

But during the night, Siren left his tent several times and looked at that distant horizon.

There was indeed something flashing there, a faint light that disappeared and reappeared as if transmitting a signal.

He tried to push his anxiety away, but his instinct honed over the years in the wilderness was sounding the alarm.

The next day, Selena suggested a change of route.

I heard there’s a stunning view at dawn at the eastern tip of Crow Rock,” she said, tracing her finger over the map.

“We can leave more stuff at camp and take only the essentials.” Siren hesitated.

“The slope is very steep there, and we didn’t register this part of the route, but we’ll be back in camp by evening, and you know these places.” In the end, he agreed.

They left their tent, most of their food supplies, and Sarin’s backpack at the camp, taking only their photography equipment, water, some food, and a first aid kit.

Selena did not know that this was the last time she would see their camp.

They were returning from Raven Rock around in the afternoon.

Selena was beaming with success.

She had managed to take some pictures that she was sure would be accepted by the most prestigious magazines.

She was walking a little ahead when she suddenly froze in her tracks.

“Sire,” she shouted.

“Someone has been in our camp.” The tent had been cut open and turned over.

Food was scattered, and Siren’s backpack was gone, as was the first aid kit and most of their water.

Siren’s notebook was lying on the ground, several pages torn out.

“Back to the trail,” he commanded.

But when they turned around, they saw him.

a tall figure in a worn khaki jacket with a hood pulled over his face.

The man stood motionless, watching them from a distance of about 50 yards.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” he said loudly.

“If you want our supplies, we’re on our way,” the figure didn’t answer, just watched.

And then, as if vanishing into thin air, it disappeared behind the rocks.

“Run,” Siren commanded, grabbing Selena’s hand.

They ran, but the path that had seemed so clear in the morning looked completely different now.

The sun was already sinking.

The shadows lengthened, and every turn seemed unfamiliar.

On July 25th, at in the morning, Kate Heroway called the National Park Service.

Her sister had not returned at the appointed time and was not in touch.

An hour later, rangers found Siren’s car in the parking lot, untouched.

At in the afternoon, helicopters with search teams took off for the Vauvchi Yar route.

They found the destroyed camp in the evening of the same day.

The dogs picked up a trail that led east, but it broke off at a large rocky area.

The search lasted 8 days.

They combed all the gorges, caves, and ledges for 15 mi around.

Helicopters flew as long as the weather permitted.

Thermal imagers, drones, and the best investigators were involved.

But Selena Heroway and Siren Hails seemed to have vanished into thin air.

No signs of a struggle, no personal belongings, just a torn tent and footprints in the camp.

And one more thing that investigators kept secret.

On the surviving page of Sirin’s diary found on the ground, there was a creepy eye clumsily drawn by someone else’s hand.

The operation was called off on August 2nd.

The official wording read, “Disappearance under unclear circumstances.” Over time, the story disappeared from the news.

For everyone but family and friends, Selena and Siren became just two names in a long list of those swallowed up by the majestic and ruthless Grand Canyon.

Three years have passed.

Three anniversaries of the disappearance.

Three birthdays that Kate Heroay celebrated without her sister.

Selena and Siren had not yet been legally declared dead.

It took 7 years.

Their cases were in the archives of the Cookanino County Missing Persons Unit, periodically reviewed, but no new leads were found.

Kate moved to Flagstaff, renting a small apartment not far from the coffee shop where Selena once worked.

She often traveled to the Grand Canyon, talking to rangers and posting new flyers, even though she knew it was feudal.

Siren’s parents, an elderly couple from Utah, had long since given up hope and only prayed that at least the remains would be found.

The morning of September 1st, 2017 was unusually cool.

A group of tourists from Germany arrived at the Leipan Point Lookout before sunrise to photograph the first rays of sunlight over the canyon.

Hans Vber, a 60-year-old professor from Munich, moved a little further away from the group, looking for a better angle.

At first, he thought it was a fancy rock.

Against the sun on the edge of the cliff stood a motionless human figure.

It was dirty in tattered clothes with long hair and a beard.

Hans hesitantly approached.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked in broken English.

The man turned slowly.

His eyes, blood red from prolonged exposure to the sun, looked somewhere through Hans.

I His horse voice sounded as if it hadn’t been used in a long time.

I, Cyrus, he staggered and would have fallen off the cliff if Hans hadn’t caught him under his arms.

Schnel, the German shouted to his companions.

Quickly, Siren, and it was he, was taken first to the Ranger Station and then by helicopter to Flagstaff Hospital.

Doctors diagnosed him with severe dehydration, exhaustion, numerous infected cuts, two broken ribs that had not fused properly, and serious inflammation in his left leg.

His arms were covered with strange thin scars as if from blades or sharp stones.

On his shoulder was something that looked like a burned mark.

a crude image of an eye almost the same as the one found in his diary 3 years ago.

Sarin hardly reacted to external stimuli.

He did not answer questions and was in a state close to Catatonia.

The only emotion he showed was when the nurse tried to bring him to the window of the ward.

He screamed in terror and cowered in the corner, covering his head with his hands.

When the news reached the county sheriff, he personally informed Kate Heroay.

She arrived at the hospital 2 hours later, barely able to stand on her feet from the excitement.

“Where’s Selena?” were her first words when she stepped into the room.

“Is she alive?” Sirin slowly looked up.

Selena’s name seemed to break through his numbness.

His lips trembled and something like realization appeared in his eyes.

“Kate,” he whispered, recognizing her.

She came closer, took his hand.

Siren, where is my sister? What’s wrong with her? His face was distorted with pain that went deeper than physical.

He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders trembling.

I couldn’t save her, he whispered.

He took her.

Who took her? Where is she now? But Sarin sank back into himself.

His eyes became absent.

His hands trembled.

He just kept repeating the same phrase.

I could not save her.

He took her.

A doctor entered the room.

Dr.

Ellis, an elderly man with a graying mustache.

Ms.

Heroay, we need to talk, he said, pulling her aside.

Mr.

Hails’s mental state is extremely unstable.

He’s been through something so horrific that his mind is blocking those memories to protect itself.

But he’s alive, Kate insisted.

And he’s been there for 3 years.

He’s the only one who knows what happened to my sister.

Yes, but we can’t push him.

It might make him worse or make him create false memories.

We need to be very careful.

The news of Sarin’s return spread like wildfire.

The press surrounded the hospital demanding interviews.

The sheriff of Cookanino County, Robert Jenkins, held an urgent press conference.

Everyone wanted to know one thing.

What happened to Selena and where she was now? Siren’s parents arrived in Flagstaff, a graying Mr.

Hailes and his wife, a tired woman with kind eyes.

They sat by their son’s bedside for a long time, holding his hands.

He recognized them but could not hold a conversation.

On the third day of his stay in the hospital, Siren met with a psychiatrist for the first time, Dr.

Meredith Chang, a specialist in trauma.

She used gentle techniques, no pressure, just trying to establish a connection.

Sarin, she said quietly, “You are safe.

No one will force you to talk about anything you’re not ready for.

But if you want to say something, I’m listening.” He was silent for a long time, then suddenly said clearly and calmly, “It was not a lost tourist.

It was a hunter.

He was waiting for us.” “A hunter?” Dr.

Chang asked gently.

Can you tell me more about him? Siren fell silent again, but after a few minutes he continued.

I call him the shadow hunter.

He lives in a canyon.

He never spoke.

Never.

He just watched.

Was he alone there? Yes.

Alone.

Always alone.

He Cyrus tensed suddenly.

His eyes.

His eyes.

And then something happened that the doctors feared.

Sarin screamed piercingly terribly.

He fell off the bed, crawled under it, trembling all over.

Nurses ran into the room with a sedative.

After this incident, Sarin withdrew again.

Doctors forbade any interrogation, but Sheriff Jenkins insisted.

The case became publicized, and now his reputation was in question.

If there really was a maniac operating in the canyon, it could explain not only the disappearance of Selena and Siren, but also other unsolved cases in the region.

The sheriff called a special meeting with the FBI.

The case was reclassified from missing persons to suspected murder and kidnapping, and Siren was still in his own world.

Every night he screamed in his sleep, calling for Selena, begging someone to stop.

And every morning he woke up forgetting these nightmares, but with dark circles under his eyes and the same question to the nurses.

How long? When they answered him, 3 years, he closed his eyes and whispered barely audibly, “It’s too late.

It’s too late.” For Kate, these words sounded like a sentence.

But deep down, she still believed that her sister was alive.

She took an indefinite leave of absence from work and checked into a cheap motel near the hospital, spending all her time at Sirin’s bedside.

On the 10th day, his condition improved slightly.

He started eating on his own and answering simple questions.

The doctors reduced the dose of sedatives, and it was then during one of Kate’s visits that he suddenly grabbed her hand.

I have to tell you something, he said clearly, although his voice still sounded horsearo and uncertain before he before he takes her somewhere else.

Listen carefully, Kate.

I saw his face, and when I get out of here, I’m going to find him.

I’ll recognize him.

Who is he, Cyrus? Kate could barely contain her excitement, but Cyrus pulled away again as if frightened by his own boldness.

This time, however, he did not scream or hide.

He just looked out the window at the distant outline of the canyon, barely visible on the horizon.

His eyes were no longer empty, but full of determination.

The mystery was deepening.

The only person who knew the truth was teetering on the edge between oblivion and horrible memories.

And somewhere out there, perhaps Selena was still waiting to be rescued.

During the third session with the psychologist, Sarin began to speak.

“He was no ordinary criminal,” Sarin whispered, holding a glass of water with trembling hands.

“He was part of the canyon, like a spirit in human form.” Dr.

Chang listened patiently.

She and FBI agent Richard Gant sat across from each other, not interrupting, giving Sarin time.

“How long has he been living there?” Gant asked carefully.

“Years, maybe decades.” I called him the shadow hunter because he could blend into the rocks, become invisible.

He never spoke, not a single word, only gestures and a look.

This time, Siren did not break down.

Something in him seemed to have grown stronger over the past week.

I can show you where he originally held us, he said suddenly.

An old mining barracks in a side canyon 15 mi east of our camp.

The locals called it Witches Pass camp.

Sinclair, the Cookanino County detective, who had been standing silently by the window, came closer.

Do you recognize this place on the map? Siren nodded, leaning over the map he had laid out here.

but it’s not marked on the official maps.

The only way to get there is through a narrow passage between these rocks.

He quickly drew a detailed diagram on a separate sheet of paper.

His hands trembled slightly, but the lines were confident and precise.

He kept us connected, but in the first days, I managed to hide my diary under the bunks in the barracks.

If it’s still there, you’ll find a map of the other places.

Other places? Gant asked.

So there were more.

The barracks was only a temporary shelter.

Siren nodded.

Then he moved us deeper into the canyon to a place called the Devil’s Quarry.

This is where his real home is located.

The team set off the next morning.

Six experienced rangers, Detective Sinclair, Agent Gant, two mountain rescuers, and against everyone’s protests, Kate Harrowway.

That’s my sister, she said.

I’m coming.

The journey was grueling and dangerous.

They wandered among identical red rocks until one of the rangers spotted the inconspicuous passage Cyrus had described.

“Now I know why they weren’t found 3 years ago,” Sinclair said as he squeezed through a narrow opening.

After 6 hours of grueling marching, they saw the barracks, a dilapidated building wedged between rocks.

The green paint had long faded.

The doors were missing and the windows were boarded up.

The team entered.

Weapons at the ready.

Inside, chaos rained.

Overturned furniture, empty cans, strange markings on the walls.

Someone lived here, Gant said, looking around the room.

And relatively recently, Sinclair walked over to a wooden bunk exactly as Sirin had described.

There’s something, he said, putting his hand in the opening wrapped in plastic.

The detective pulled out a small leatherbound notebook with the initials SH.

Kate held her breath.

The first few pages contained the usual notes of the trip, but then the nature changed.

Day three, night.

Something is wrong.

I saw strange lights.

Selena says it’s glare, but I feel like we’re being watched.

The last entry was made in a shaky handwriting.

He grabbed us.

I don’t know who he is.

He does not speak.

If you are reading this, we are trapped.

See the map on the last page.

He is taking us there.

Selena thinks he’s a collector.

He takes souvenirs from the canyon.

Sometimes things, sometimes people.

On the last page was a map labeled Devil’s Quarry and an arrow.

his primary residence.

In the far corner of the barracks, the ranger found a few other things.

A torn camera strap with a unique weave that Kate immediately recognized as her sister’s work and a homemade tripod stick.

This finally confirms Siren’s story, Gant said.

The ranger accompanying the group studied the map carefully.

Devil’s Quarry is the unofficial name.

On the maps, it’s called the Red Labyrinth.

It is one of the most dangerous places in the park.

Sharp stones, snakes, landslides.

There are no tourist routes there.

If this shadow hunter has been living there for years, he knows every nook and cranny, Gant said.

That explains why Siren and Selena couldn’t escape.

Kate, who had been silent until then, suddenly asked, “But how could Siren escape on his own? And why now after 3 years?” This question remained unanswered.

The team set up hidden cameras around the barracks, hoping that the hunter would return and headed back to prepare for the main operation, an expedition to the Devil’s Quarry.

“We need someone who knows the area,” Sinclair said.

As Kate left the barracks, she touched the wall where her sister might have been sitting.

“We’ll find you,” she whispered.

“I swear.” The investigation finally had a concrete direction.

Now they knew where to look.

They had evidence and a map.

And somewhere in the depths of the Devil’s Quarry, answers were waiting for them and maybe Selena.

The expedition to the Devil’s Quarry was organized within 3 days.

The group was led by Ernest Wilkins, a 70-year-old former senior ranger who had spent more than 40 years in the canyon.

His face, riddled with deep wrinkles, was as dark and dry as the desert itself.

This is no ordinary walk, he warned the team during the briefing.

If you lose contact with me, consider yourself dead.

The team consisted of eight rangers, three mine rescue specialists, Detective Sinclair, Agent Gant, and Wilkins.

Kate Heroay had begged to be included, but this time she was turned down.

Too dangerous.

They set off at dawn on September 12th, the day the temperature in the canyon dropped below 90° for the first time in a month.

Each carried full equipment, water for 4 days, walkie-talkies, and GPS navigators.

The GPS doesn’t always work there, Wilkins warned.

The signal bounces off the canyon walls, giving you false coordinates.

Just follow the sun and my marks.

They walked the first 10 mi on a regular trail.

Then Wilkins led them sideways over an unmarked pass into a narrow passage between rocks.

The gap was so tight that some of them had to take off their backpacks and drag them along.

This is the Needle, the safest way into the quarry, Wilkins explained.

“You have to go out the other way.” When they got out of the crevice, a completely different world opened up before them.

A huge pit surrounded by sheer red cliffs.

a chaos of sharp stones, deep cracks, and shaky supports.

“Jesus,” whispered one of the rangers.

“How can we even navigate here? Local miners used to mine here for mercury in 199,” Wilkins replied.

“Then they left when the landslide started.

Since then, few people have come here.

They moved slowly, checking every step.” Wilkins stopped from time to time, sniffed the air, listened.

“Someone was here recently,” he said in the afternoon.

Fresh tracks, broken branches, the team went on high alert.

The rangers had their weapons ready and negotiations were kept to a minimum.

In the evening, they reached the entrance to a small valley surrounded by rocks.

In the center was a wooden hut with a thin stream of smoke rising above it.

That’s not him, Wilkins said, looking at the hut through binoculars.

That’s Jake Faraday, an old hermit.

He’s lived here for over 30 years.

Peaceful, but strange.

Maybe he knows something.

They approached cautiously.

When they were about 50 yard from the hut, the door opened abruptly.

An old man with a rifle stepped out onto the porch.

“Don’t move a step further,” he shouted.

“This is my land.” “Jake!” Wilkins shouted, stepping forward.

Remember pulling you out of that mudslide back in the ‘9s.

The old man lowered his rifle, peering at him.

Ernie, why the hell did you bring these people here? It took half an hour to convince Jake to let them in.

The inside of the cabin was unexpectedly tidy with wooden furniture, a collection of minerals on the shelves, and old books.

“We’re looking for a man,” Sinclair explained.

“He might live around here in the quarry.

No one else lives here, Jake said.

Sinclair showed a sketch of the shadow hunter based on Siren’s description.

Have you ever seen this man? Jake looked at the portrait for a long time, then nodded slowly.

I’ve seen him a few times.

He never gets close, but he watches.

I call him the ghost.

He’s been here for 10 years, maybe more.

Do you know where he lives? Jake pointed north.

In the old Mercury mine, the silver ghost.

It’s a shitty place.

I don’t go down there.

It’s too dangerous.

How long ago was the last time you saw him? A week ago, he was coming up the valley from the east carrying a big bundle.

Alone? Gant tensed.

Alone as always, Jake confirmed.

He’s always alone.

I’ve never seen him with anyone.

They spent the night in the valley setting up posts.

The next morning, Jake showed them the path to the silver ghost mine.

“I’ll take you to the entrance,” he said.

“But I’m not going in.

There are sink holes, poisonous gases, and the phantom.

He knows every corner, every crack.” The journey took 3 hours.

The path winded among sharp rocks, sometimes disappearing altogether.

Finally, they reached a large hole in the rock above which hung a rusted plaque.

Silver Ghost 1912 1923.

You guys go on from here, Jake said.

Wilkins handed out protective masks and flashlights to everyone.

We move only in groups of three.

No one leaves.

Keep in touch.

If you come across him, don’t shoot right away.

Try to take him alive first.

They entered the mine.

The main tunnel was wide enough for a truck, but soon split into dozens of smaller passages.

The air was musty with a tangible smell of sulfur.

On the walls were old charcoal inscriptions, warnings, directions, sometimes just names.

500 yd later, they came across the first signs of life.

A recent fire, food scraps, and empty cans.

The expert investigator crouched down, looking at the ashes.

It burned last night.

It is here.

They moved on, passing through abandoned drifts, halls with rusty equipment, collapsed passages.

On some of the walls were strange symbols, circles with dots inside, zigzags, primitive drawings of people.

He’s marking his territory.

Wilkins whispered.

Deep in the mine, they found a branch that led to a small cave.

The entrance was disguised by old boards and rags.

When they were pushed aside, the team froze at what they saw.

The cave was equipped as a primitive dwelling.

A metal bed with a mattress, a table with tools, shelves with books, a generator in the corner connected to several lamps.

On the walls are dozens of photos, newspaper clippings, and maps.

But the most horrifying discovery was a wall of photos of people.

Dozens of pictures taken from afar with long lenses.

tourists of different ages, genders, in different conditions.

Most of them didn’t even realize they were being photographed.

Among them were several shots of Selena and Siren during their hike.

“Oh my god,” Sinclair whispered.

“He’s hunting them.” A leatherbound diary lay on the table.

Agent Gant opened it carefully.

Inside were pages of scribbled notes, drawings, diagrams.

He skimmed a few paragraphs and frowned.

We’re dealing with a madman, he said.

He writes about cleansing the canyon from invaders and protecting the Holy Land from desecration.

He considers himself a defender of nature.

Among the photographs on the table, there was one that stood out, a picture of a building that looked like an abandoned observatory on a remote plateau.

Someone had drawn a red circle on it and written, “Last place, end.” At that moment, the voice of a ranger on duty outside came over the radio.

We have movement from the south entrance.

Someone is approaching.

Everyone froze.

The sound was especially loud through the mine.

Everyone to your positions, Gant ordered.

The tension in the air was almost palpable.

The team split up.

Two rangers stayed at the exit.

The rest spread out along the main tunnel.

Sinclair and Gant hid behind a stack of old crates, keeping their weapons ready.

Wilkins disappeared into the darkness of the side passage, his experience telling him that the pursuer might try to escape there.

The footsteps were approaching, slow and rhythmic.

Whoever was walking was not in a hurry and was not trying to be quiet.

It was as if he knew what was waiting for him.

First, a shadow appeared stretching along the tunnel wall.

Then a silhouette appeared.

A tall man in a worn jacket with a backpack on his shoulders and what looked like a rifle in his hands.

“Police!” Sinclair shouted, jumping out of his hiding place.

Everything happened in a flash.

The man reacted instantly.

He threw away the rifle, which turned out to be an old hunting rifle, and ran to the side tunnel, but Wilkins was already waiting for him, and he knocked him down with one precise move.

“Don’t move!” The old ranger barked, pressing his knee on the shadow hunter’s back.

The man stopped resisting as suddenly as he had tried to run away.

When he was turned over, everyone saw the face that had haunted Siren’s nightmares for 3 years.

Tan to bronze with deep wrinkles, gray eyes, and a long white scar from temple to chin.

He looked 50, maybe 60 years old, but his body was wiry and strong.

While the rangers were handcuffing him, Wilkins noticed a strange detail.

Look at his shoes.

The man was wearing expensive hiking boots, much newer than the rest of his worn clothes.

And as Sinclair looked at them, he noticed a familiar logo.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“Those are Cyrus’s boots.” The shadow hunter did not resist being lifted and led through the mine to the exit.

He didn’t say a word, just looked at each of them with the same piercing gaze that Siren had described.

The look of a predator assessing its prey.

When they brought him out into the daylight, old Jake recoiled.

“Oh my god, that’s” he trailed off, staring in horror.

“Do you know him?” Sinclair asked.

“That’s Robert Cutter.

He worked as a geologist for the National Park Service.

Everyone thought he died in a landslide 15 years ago.

The shadow hunter, now RobertQ, looked at the old man, but showed no emotion.

His face remained calm, almost serene.

They set up a temporary camp near Jake’s hut.

Cutter was thoroughly searched, stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon and tied to a tree.

Still speechless, he calmly watched the team’s actions.

Sinclair and Gant returned to the cave for a more thorough search.

Among Cutter’s belongings, they found what they were looking for.

A small notebook that Siren said belonged to Selena.

On the first page was her name and the date the trip began.

The last entry was dated August 20th of this year, just 2 weeks ago.

It seems that he decided to move me permanently.

He mentioned some kind of observatory.

He says it will be my last home.

Sarin, if you’re reading this, please know that I don’t blame you.

You did everything you could.

She’s alive, Sinclair whispered.

At least she was 2 weeks ago.

They also found a collection of trophies, personal belongings of various hikers who had likely been victimized by Cutter during his years of reclusiveness.

Each item was labeled with a date and place, like a sinister museum of his achievements.

When they returned to the camp, they faced the same problem.

Cutter did not speak.

He did not respond to questions, threats, or promises of leniency.

“He won’t talk,” Wilin said.

“I’ve seen them before.” “But we need to know where Selena is,” Sinclair insisted.

“This observatory could be anywhere.” “Not anywhere,” Jake suddenly interjected, looking at a photograph he had found in the cave.

It’s an old astronomical station on the Black Mesa Plateau.

It was abandoned 30 years ago.

It’s hard to get to.

There’s only one path through a rocky outcrop.

Gant reported the findings on the radio.

They were ordered to immediately bring Cutter to Flagstaff.

A helicopter was called in to transport the prisoner.

“We can’t take any chances,” he said.

“If she’s up there in that observatory, we have to go now.” It was decided to split up the group.

Three Rangers and Gant would stay with Cutter waiting for the helicopter while Sinclair Wilkins, the rest of the team, and old Jake as a guide would go in search of the observatory.

This will be the most difficult part of the trip, Jake warned.

Many have tried, but few have made it.

Before he left, Sinclair walked over to Cutter, who was still sitting silently tied to a tree.

“Is she still alive?” he asked, looking directly into his prisoner’s eyes.

For the first time ever, the shadow hunter reacted.

A subtle, almost imperceptible smile slipped across his lips and faded as quickly as it had appeared.

But Sinclair realized it was the answer.

The road to the Black Mesa Plateau was exactly as difficult as Jake had warned.

a narrow path, almost invisible in places, winded among sharp rocks and deep crevices.

They had to use climbing equipment to overcome particularly difficult sections.

The sun was already sinking when they reached the first ascent to the plateau.

A wide panorama opened up before them, black like charred earth, cut by deep cracks, in the middle of which stood a lonely white stone building with a domed roof.

An old astronomical station, Jake pointed out, built in the 30s to observe meteor showers abandoned after the war.

How could he get here with a prisoner? One of the rangers wondered.

There’s another way, the old man replied.

From the north, it’s longer but gentler.

You can go even with a load.

They began to descend to the plateau.

When they were about a mile from the observatory, Sinclair ordered everyone to stop.

Wilkins and I will go ahead and reconoid the situation.

The rest of you provide support and security.

They slowly move toward the building using natural shelters.

The observatory seemed abandoned.

No signs of life, no movement.

But something told them it was not.

When they were about a 100 yard from the entrance, Wilkins suddenly stopped Sinclair.

“Look,” he whispered, pointing away from the main entrance.

There, hidden behind a rock outcropping, was another smaller entrance.

“Someone has been through here recently,” the old ranger said more than once.

They approached the side entrance.

The door was a jar.

Sinclair pulled out his pistol and flashlight, took a deep breath, and moved forward.

Darkness rained inside.

The beam of the flashlight snatched out of the gloomed, dusty scientific instruments, broken furniture, and crumbling plaster.

But then, deeper in the room, something made Sinclair’s heart sink.

Clear footprints were visible on the floor.

Two sets, one large male, the other small female, and the second set of footprints were fresh, very fresh.

Sinclair turned off the flashlight and leaned against the wall.

“She’s here,” he whispered into his radio.

“All teams surround the building.

A corridor covered with primitive drawings led them to a large wooden door.

The moaning sound intensified.

They burst into the room, shining their flashlights forward.

This was once the main hall of the observatory with a large telescope.

Around it was scattered makeshift furniture, water cans, and boxes of canned food.

In the corner, on the floor, a woman lay tied to a metal pipe.

“Selena,” Sinclair approached cautiously.

“Selena Harrowway,” she lifted her head.

Her face was emaciated, dark circles under her eyes, her hair tangled.

“Your Rangers,” she whispered in a horse voice.

“He’ll be back soon.

We’ve got him,” Sinclair replied, cutting the ropes.

“He’s alive.” “Yes, he led us to you,” Selena cried quietly, almost silently, as if afraid to be heard.

The medical team arrived, wrapped her in a blanket, and gave her hot tea.

“He was holding me to cleanse me,” she said after she had recovered a bit.

“He said that I had desecrated his shrine.

He made me study his crazy records about the spirit of the canyon and Siren.

What happened to him? The first months we were together.

Then Sarin tried to run away from me.

The hunter caught him, beat him, and then forced him to leave.

He said that if he came back, he would find me dead.

The helicopter arrived an hour later.

Selena was carefully placed on a stretcher.

You know, the worst part was not the physical suffering, she said before being lifted on board.

The worst part was the feeling that you no longer exist for the world.

Meanwhile, the team searched the building thoroughly.

They found numerous shadow hunter records, diaries, maps, plans.

They painted a terrifying picture.

The geologist who survived the landslide had gone mad and decided that the canyon had chosen him to be its protector.

Sinclair froze as he opened one of the folders.

Inside were dozens of photos of tourists, rangers, expeditions.

Many of them had red crosses on them, and the dates coincided with the dates of the disappearances over 15 years.

This is not just a kidnapper, he whispered.

This is a serial killer.

A large-scale operation was launched based on the maps.

Teams combed the remote areas of the Grand Canyon, finding human remains, personal belongings, and cutters trophies.

Preliminary estimates indicated at least 12 victims.

Only Selena and Sarin survived.

Their meeting at the Flagstaff Hospital was the culmination of a story that stunned America.

Siren stood up from his chair when the gurnie with Selena was wheeled in.

They didn’t speak.

They just looked at each other.

Two people who had been broken but not destroyed.

Then Siren took her hand.

I came back for you just like I promised.

I knew you would come back.

That’s why I survived.

Later, Sinclair came to visit them.

He’s going to prison.

Life without parole.

Siren looked out the window at the distant outline of the canyon.

You don’t understand.

For him, prison is just another cave.

He’s already spent his life in isolation.

The only thing that matters is his mission and it is not finished.

He will wait for what? For the moment when he can return her to the canyon because he believes that she belongs to him and he won’t rest until he finishes what he started.

A month has passed since Selena’s rescue.

Her physical recovery was faster than her psychological recovery.

The doctors were amazed at her endurance.

After 3 years in captivity, she retained a clear mind, but the nightmares did not let go.

Sarin’s recovery was slower.

His body was severely exhausted after the escape and wandering through the canyon.

However, a new strength was born inside him, a determination he had never felt before.

One day, Sinclair brought them news.

The investigation had uncovered new details.

Robert Cutter, a former geologist, had experienced more than just a landslide.

15 years ago, his expedition was caught in a sandstorm.

Two of his colleagues died, and Cutter spent 5 days without water, hallucinating.

When he was found, he spoke of talking to the spirit of the canyon, who had allegedly chosen him to be a guardian.

He was fired from the National Park Service because of his unstable mental state.

But instead of seeking treatment, Cutter returned to the canyon and disappeared.

“We expanded the search,” Sinclair said, and found four more bodies.

“That’s 16 victims in 15 years.” “Is he saying anything?” asked Sirin.

“Not a word.

Psychiatrists think his silence is part of a ritual or vow.” When Sinclair left, Selena talked about the captivity for the first time in a long time.

He thought I was special, she whispered, looking out the window.

He said my photos saw the soul of the canyon.

That’s why he didn’t kill me right away.

He wanted to teach me.

Siren took her hand.

I’m sorry.

I should have.

No, she interrupted.

You made the only right decision.

You left so you could come back.

Otherwise, we would both be dead.

A week later, Selena was discharged from the hospital.

Standing in front of the hospital for the first time in 3 years, she felt real freedom and an indescribable fear of it.

Kate suggested that her sister returned to California away from Arizona and her nightmares.

“I can’t,” Selena replied.

“Not now.

It’s not over yet.” She went back to the hotel room Kate had rented.

She turned on her laptop and began to look through the photos she had saved on the memory card that Cutter kept as an heirloom.

In one of the pictures taken on the first day of their hike, she noticed something strange, a distant figure among the rocks that they hadn’t seen before.

It had been following them from the very beginning.

At night, Selena received a call from Sinclair.

The DNA and dental results just came back.

Two of Cutter’s victims were rangers who went missing in 2009.

They were looking for him.

The next morning, she found out that Sarin had secretly met with Cutter’s lawyer.

“Why?” she asked when he came to see her.

“I wanted to look him in the eye,” he replied to make sure he really couldn’t hurt anyone else.

“And Siren was silent for a few seconds.

His eyes the same.

He hasn’t changed.

He’s waiting, planning, but he’s in prison under 24-hour surveillance.

That won’t stop him.

He’s part of the canyon, Selena.

And the canyon is patient.

That night, Selena had another nightmare.

She saw Cutter stepping out of the shadows with the same cold stare.

And she heard his voice, the only time he ever spoke.

The canyon always gets its way.

The year after Selena’s rescue was spent fighting not only nightmares but also the justice system.

The cutter trial was one of the most high-profile in Arizona history.

16 proven murders, two kidnappings.

The judge handed down 16 life sentences.

Selena and Siren testified, reliving the nightmare over and over again.

She testified calmly and clearly, and he held back his rage.

When it was all over, they stood outside the courthouse holding hands.

“What now?” Siren asked.

“Now we go back.” They returned to the Grand Canyon, not as tourists or victims, but as guides.

Siren founded a small company specializing in safe hiking and educational programs.

Selena was a photographer, but now her pictures told not only about the beauty, but also about the dangers of the canyon.

They told each group their own story, not for sensationalism, but as a warning to make tourists realize that wild places are beautiful, but require respect.

Cutter was serving his sentence in a separate cell, just as Sarin had predicted.

He never spoke, becoming a legend in the prison, a prisoner whose eyes made even the guards tremble.

Sometimes Sarin woke up from nightmares, but now Selena was by his side.

They realized a simple truth.

True healing is not in forgetting, but in turning pain into a force that helps others.

We won, Selena once said, taking pictures of the sunset from a safe observation platform.

Siren smiled as he put his arm around her shoulders and will never disappear