The rain lashes against my apartment windows as I stare at the encrypted files on my screen. Three girls, all under sixteen, reported missing from Stockholm in the past month. The police have done nothing beyond filing standard reports - another case of runaways, they say. But the patterns I've uncovered tell a different story.

My fingers move across the keyboard with practiced precision, bypassing the security systems of the local police database. The dim blue light of my monitors casts shadows across the small apartment, illuminating stacks of books and takeout containers in my otherwise sparse living space. The hum of my server racks provides the only background noise besides the storm outside.

A notification pings on my secondary screen - I've been granted access. Files begin downloading, filling my screen with case details, witness statements, and what passes for evidence in this half-hearted investigation. Something catches my eye - a name that appears in all three cases, mentioned briefly in passing by each victim's friends.

I lean forward, my pulse quickening slightly. This isn't just random. There's a connection I can almost see, like a faint digital signature hidden in the data.