It was moving day, but Mark was nowhere to be found, when Sophia stopped by on Monday morning. It was strange that he hadn't answered his phone, or buzzed her through, downstairs. Now he wasn't answering the door.

She felt an unmistakable dread, uncurling slowly in her gut, as she opened the unlocked door and surveyed Mark's empty apartment.

An overturned chair blocked the path towards the small kitchen.

Her heart was pounding, she was a river of adrenaline flowing unchecked. "Oh my God," she whispered. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone and dropped it, clattering, to the floor.

She dialed the White House, as she walked towards the bedroom, fairly quivering with fear. The room was empty, the bed still made. He'd never packed. Mark's computer was missing. The paint on one wall was blistered and slightly darkened, in an odd aurora. There was a slightly acrid smell. What in the hell had happened here?

"Good morning, the White House," a friendly voice answered.

"This is Sophia Roberts," she whispered shakily. "This is an emergency. Put my father on the line."

"Voiceprint?"

She choked out the emergency password, as she heard the computerized line coupler transfer click.

"Sophia?" President Roberts answered.

"Mark's been taken." Her legs were trembling, as she tried to stay calm and collect her thoughts. The line coupler was transferred multiple times, click, click, click, as the wheels began to turn in her mind.