At the police station, Dad, Kallie, and I have told the same story again and again, to anyone willing to listen. I’ve frozen each frame to name every piece of evidence we’ve gathered from the latest video.

“It’s a great song,” this latest, younger cop says. “It’s got a strong beat, but I’m not sure what you mean about a secret message.”

It took long enough to convince Dad and Kallie, but even their arguments to the officers don’t seem to gain traction. There’s no action to take. We wait.

“My daughter is so smart. She takes her responsibilities seriously.” Kallie keeps talking like she’s helping Shea apply to college. She’s not helping our cause at all.

Standing in the doorway, the police chief, who Kallie demanded to see, nods politely. “Now help me understand, folks,” he says. “You suppose your daughter is being held captive by this other girl? You think she’s chained up but we can’t see those chains because the video has been edited? Do any of you recognize this young woman? The dancer in the back?”

I say, “Vaguely. I think she’s a follower.”

“This girl was following Shea?”

“Online. She was following online. But also, in person.”

The police chief looks perplexed.

Even my dad rubs his eyes. “Delancey can take you through the video and show you the visual effects. Once you see it—it’s clear as day.” The police officers do not leap at the chance to look at our evidence of invisible chains. Dad tries a different approach. “Has anyone reported this other girl missing?” The chief exchanges glances with the younger officer. Dad seizes on the moment. “Well? Then I take it that her people are worried for her too?”

“We do have word of another missing girl. From the western part of the state. Matching description, but then Shea also matches that same description.” The chief raises his hands as if to quell my dad’s enthusiasm. “It’s not an official report from a parent—just a phone call from a woman who hasn’t had eyes on her younger sister for a few days.”

“Did she give an address?”

The police chief glances down and shifts in his shiny black shoes.

Shea’s mom leans forward and grips the sides of the conference table in front of us. I thought Dad and I should have just come to the station on our own. But Kallie lost it when I explained why the dance team and I thought Shea might be chained up somehow. Dad didn’t think we could leave Kallie alone at the house. Now she’s got them fixated on this other girl. What I need is someone who knows Photoshop well, who can help undo some of the video’s doctoring.

Kallie asks, “Isn’t a wellness check in order? My daughter is ambitious. She would not simply disappear in the middle of the school term.”

“Ma’am, I can’t run wellness checks for unauthorized slumber parties. Here is the thing: The address provided to us is very remote. However, given this new information, we will consider the possibility of sending an officer out to check in on the address provided.”

“Give us the address. We’ll do it tonight,” Dad says. The atmosphere in the room changes. The younger officer, the one who likes grunge music, looks up at my dad with interest.

“Now you know I can’t authorize that,” the chief says. “We don’t know that these two issues are related. I—”

“Put me on the phone with the lady in California. Doesn’t matter if they’re related. We know exactly how she’s feeling. We’re happy to drive out to—”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

“What has to happen?” Kallie asks in her wistful way.

“Ma’am?”

“How badly does my child need to be hurt for it to warrant a drive out of Pierce County?”

“No one indicated that, ma’am. But, in fact, we would need some kind of probable cause—”

“Does she need to have a visible injury?” The younger officer looks down at his keyboard; the police chief coughs into his hand. Kallie keeps speaking: “I just want to be clear how badly my daughter needs to appear hurt on video to warrant your interest.”

“I’m really sorry, ma’am. I can imagine how frustrating and frightening this must be. I have to admit—I’m not seeing what y’all are seeing on this video. I see two girls dancing, having a good time goofing off, when maybe they should be thinking more carefully about the toll this has taken on their families.” He raises his voice, to ward off our arguments. “We’ve sent out the video. If our tech department lands on the same conclusion that you have about editing out relevant details, we will immediately reach out to you. At that point, we would certainly work a different angle in the case.”

Kallie sighs. She sinks back into her chair and opens her phone. “Maybe if you could just take a few moments to detect the way my vibrant daughter has faded over the past several days. She’s clearly not well. Her skin tone is sallow; she’s dropped weight.”

“I’m sure you understand that I cannot sit here and watch your daughter’s music videos. Again.”

“Does she need to be bleeding?” Kallie asks.

My father reaches down to pat her arm. “All right, honey, you’ve made your point. We’ve tried our best here. They’re going to pursue whatever leads they can. And you know we can look into hiring our own technicians. We’ll have the video privately analyzed if we need to …” Dad trails off, in problem-solving mode. Kallie raises her hand up with the phone open and the sound on. I can faintly hear the tinny sound of music.

“Is that the Pixies?” The younger cop sounds impressed.

Kallie’s voice drips with scorn. “How much blood before you make an effort to protect my daughter?”

We all swivel our heads to face Kallie then and the silver phone she holds up in the air. The younger officer seems to understand first and reaches for the cell phone. Kallie grips it tightly, but he says, more calmly and gently than any of the rest of us, “Ma’am, why don’t you let me bring this up on my computer? This is her TikTok account, correct? We all can watch on the larger screen.” A few taps on his keyboard and then Shea stands in front of us on the monitor.

This video looks very different from the earlier ones. It’s more makeshift, less polished. The other girl poses in the background, but only Shea dances. She’s wearing new clothes. The editing job on this one is more obvious. Someone hacked out a clear trail from the wall to Shea’s left arm. Whoever edited it didn’t take the time to hide any inconsistencies in the images. It’s just a blurred line. I tap the screen and trace it. “I see what you mean. It could be a rope,” the young officer says. “Or a chain.” He taps a combination of buttons and screenshots the image. He looks up at the chief. “Are you tracking this, sir? There’s something else worth considering; this song is called ‘Gouge Away.’ ” The young officer hesitates, glancing at his audience. “With that context, I want to draw your attention to this, sir.”

He highlights an area of the floor with his cursor. It’s got the same distortion. And then it’s like the video blinks. There’s a glitch where the editing didn’t quite take. Streaks of blood appear on the floor and then disappear in the next frame.

“Was that blood?” my dad asks quietly, his hand clasping Kallie’s shoulder.

“It looks like something. Someone tried to edit that part out. A small pool on the floor, right corner.” The officer takes more screenshots. The chief strides to a far desk and picks up a phone. More police stream into the small room. Around me, the station becomes busy.

I keep my focus on the screen. Both Shea and the other girl wear their hair in braids. Usually, I’m the one to braid Shea’s hair. She sits in front of me with the TV on to distract from all the tugging. When she dances in this video, she keeps touching her hair. Her hands flutter to her braids. I want to believe that means she knows I’m picking up her signals. I hope she understands she’s reaching me.

It’s difficult to watch now that we’re certain she’s being held, now that we believe she’s been hurt. We all see the dance differently now, understanding it as a sacrifice. Shea bares her teeth in an unwavering smile. She dances with determination. Her jaw is set, and she moves deliberately, almost robotically. Each time she jumps with her left foot, she appears to hesitate. Then she forces her foot down, completing the step.

We lean closer to the screen to see. In the corner behind the other girl, I notice scraps of paper crumpled on the floor. “Is that a newspaper? Maybe it’s local? Can you zoom in?” The assembled crowd bends forward and looks past the pain etched on Shea’s face. Instead, we watch the officer try to magnify the scraps of yellowed pages on the floor, one more visible clue.