A Thread of Clues
By morning, the house was quieter than ever. Clara sat in Eleanor's study again, staring at the torn paper they'd found. The names still haunted her — Marcus, Isabella, Clara.
She had been trying to make sense of it for hours when Victoria entered softly, carrying tea.
"You've barely slept," Victoria said, setting the tray down. "You need to rest."
Clara shook her head. "Eleanor was trying to tell me something before she was taken. She knew something about Isabella — I can feel it."
Victoria hesitated. "Clara… Isabella has influence. Even Ethan can't—"
"Then I will." Clara's voice surprised even herself — steady, sharp. "I'm tired of watching people disappear."
Victoria looked at her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "You're more like Eleanor than you realize."
At that moment, a knock came at the door. Damien stepped in, eyes calm but alert. "I think we found something."
Ethan followed behind him, holding a printed image. "The footage from the west road. Damien recovered it."
He laid the photo on the table. A black van — its license plate half obscured by mud — but the faint reflection of a person near it caught Clara's attention. She leaned closer.
"That's…" She frowned. "Isabella's driver."
Ethan nodded grimly. "We're verifying it. But if this connects, Isabella won't be able to hide behind her charm anymore."
Clara met his gaze, determination burning in her chest. "Then let's expose her."
Damien smiled faintly, the edge of his old confidence flickering back. "That's the Clara I remember — fire under silk."
Ethan's eyes flicked toward him briefly, but instead of anger, there was respect. They were all on the same side now — and the enemy was no longer a rival, but the shadow within their own walls.