The Missing Piece
The rain began before dawn. It fell in thin, cold sheets against the mansion windows, the kind of rain that made the world seem quieter — or maybe just lonelier.
Clara stood by the balcony, her fingers tracing the mist on the glass. Below, the garden glistened in silver light, empty and cold. It had been three days since Eleanor vanished, and the silence in the house was suffocating.
Ethan entered the room quietly. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, his shirt still wrinkled from last night's search. "You didn't sleep," he said softly.
She didn't turn. "Neither did you."
He hesitated before stepping closer. "Damien found something."
That got her attention. She turned quickly. "What is it?"
"A bracelet," he said, pulling a small velvet pouch from his pocket. "Found near the forest road behind the estate."
Clara's breath caught when she saw it — a delicate silver bracelet she had seen a hundred times before. "Eleanor's…"
Ethan nodded. "It looks like she tried to leave us a trail."
Her chest tightened with hope. "Then she's alive."
"I hope so," he murmured, though doubt clouded his eyes.
For a moment, silence stretched between them — a silence filled with all the things they couldn't say. Then Ethan's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression hardened. "Isabella wants to see me."
Clara's face fell. "Now?"
"She says she has information."
Clara looked away quickly, hiding the hurt. "Of course she does."
He lingered for a second, as if wanting to explain — but didn't. When the door closed behind him, Clara felt the old ache rise again.
She whispered to the empty room, "You said you loved me, Ethan. But why does it feel like I'm losing you again?"