Sebastian.
The Winter Ascension was tomorrow.
By this hour, Vivian Ravenscroft should have been home.
Ravenscroft Manor had never known silence like this—not the dignified quiet of wealth, nor the peaceful stillness of night. This was a waiting silence. The kind that pressed against the walls, crawled under the skin, and tightened around the heart.
The iron gates stood wide open, guards lined in rigid formation along the snow-dusted driveway. Their faces, usually blank with discipline, were fractured by urgency. Radios crackled. Boots shifted. Every second dragged like a threat.
Inside the manor, panic wore many faces.
"The flight has landed."
The announcement sliced through the grand hall like a blade.
One of the guards stood before the family, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. "British Airways flight BA 082 from London Heathrow landed at Valenridge International Airport one hour ago. Miss Vivian Ravenscroft's name was on the passenger manifest. She checked in. She boarded."
A pause followed.
A dangerous one.
"But…" His throat bobbed. "She never came out."
The words dropped.
Heavy. Final.
"She's missing."
The world cracked.
Mrs. Helena Ravenscroft staggered backward, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her hand flew to her chest. "No—no, that's impossible," she cried, her voice trembling with precision. "Vivian called me. She called me just before boarding. She said she was on her way home!"
Her knees buckled slightly as she clutched the arm of a chair, tears spilling freely. "God… nothing must happen to my daughter. Nothing!" she wailed. "If anything has happened to Vivian, I will hold that airport responsible. Every single one of them!"
Her breakdown was flawless—raw, frantic, devastating.
A mother unraveling.
Beside her, Mrs. Elara Montclair sank onto the sofa as though her bones could no longer support her. She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking violently as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"She called me too," Elara sobbed. "My baby said she would see me soon. She said she missed me." Her voice cracked into something broken and helpless. "Oh God… what kind of mother loses her child the night before destiny?"
She rocked slightly, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. "Please, Lord. Please bring my daughter back to me. A mother should not bury her child."
Anyone watching would swear the women were destroyed.
No one would imagine they were the architects.
Mr. Ravenscroft paced the length of the hall like a man being torn apart from the inside. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, tie loosened, hair no longer pristine. He dragged a hand through it repeatedly, breath uneven.
"How does a grown woman disappear from a secured international airport?" he demanded. "How does that happen?"
No one answered.
Juliet sat frozen near the fireplace, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, eyes wide, lips parted as though words had deserted her entirely. Shock—or something that looked like it—had rooted her in place.
I stood near the staircase, chest tight, heart pounding violently.
Vivian.
Missing.
The word echoed again and again in my head, louder each time.
I turned sharply toward Juliet.
"Vivian is missing," I said, my voice slicing through the room. "And all you can think about is the Winter Ascension."
Her head snapped up. "What are you talking about?"
"You're not shaken," I continued, fury rising uncontrollably. "You're not terrified. Because you're happy, aren't you? Vivian gone means you get to stand alone at the Ascension."
"That's not true!" Juliet cried, rising to her feet. "Sebastian, I swear—"
I stepped closer, eyes blazing. "Listen to me carefully. If Vivian is not found within the next twenty-four hours, you will be questioned. And you will be sent back to Montclair to answer for yourself."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.
Before Juliet could speak again, Mrs. Elara Montclair cut in sharply.
"How dare you!" she shrieked, rushing to Juliet's side as if shielding her. "How dare you accuse my daughter of something so wicked!"
I turned to her slowly. "Your daughter was desperate about this Ascension."
Juliet shook her head wildly. "That's a lie!"
"She was the only one who spoke to Vivian harshly yesterday," I continued, my voice cold and precise. "The only one."
"That's enough!" Mrs. Elara snapped. "You are crossing a line!"
"In fact," I pressed on, ignoring her, "you told Vivian not to come into my presence."
Silence slammed into the room.
Juliet's face drained of color.
Mrs. Elara's eyes flashed. "Sebastian Ravenscroft, you have lost your mind!"
"Now Vivian is missing," I said, every word landing like a blow. "And you expect me to believe Juliet knows nothing?"
Mr. Ravenscroft's voice thundered across the hall. "Enough!"
He turned on me, eyes blazing. "Juliet is your biological sister. She is still a child. She is incapable of such evil."
I clenched my fists. "Evil doesn't wear horns anymore, Father. It wears desperation."
"Enough!" he roared again—then his voice cracked. "I have lost my daughter." His shoulders sagged. "Give me peace to process this. Give me space to find her."
The room fell silent.
Inside me, fear bloomed—wild and suffocating.
It felt as though my entire world had tilted off its axis.
Vivian.
My chest tightened painfully. My hands trembled.
Please, I prayed silently. Nothing must happen to her. Please.
Just then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A violent knock exploded against the manor doors.
Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Guards stiffened instantly. Mrs. Helena Ravenscroft gasped dramatically, clutching her chest once more. Mrs. Elara Montclair froze mid-sob, eyes gleaming with something sharp—something calculating—before she masked it with fresh tears.
Mr. Ravenscroft straightened. "Open it."
The doors swung wide.
Cold air rushed in.
A man in a dark coat stepped forward, flanked by two uniformed officers. His expression was grave.
"Mr. Ravenscroft," he said evenly. "We're from Valenridge Security and the Heathrow Airport Authority."
My heart slammed violently.
"We have information regarding Miss Vivian Ravenscroft's disappearance."
Mrs. Helena cried out, nearly collapsing into a chair. Mrs. Elara followed with anguished wails, gripping the armrest as though her strength had abandoned her entirely.
"What information?" Mr. Ravenscroft demanded.
The officer hesitated.
"Miss Ravenscroft never passed through immigration."
The world tilted.
"She boarded the flight," he continued carefully, "but surveillance confirms she never disembarked. Her seat was found empty. Her belongings remain unclaimed."
A chill swept through the hall.
"It appears," he said slowly, "that Miss Vivian Ravenscroft vanished before the aircraft landed."
Juliet gasped.
My knees nearly gave way.
Mrs. Helena sobbed uncontrollably now, pressing her face into her hands. Mrs. Elara Montclair's cries echoed through the manor—agonized, shattered, convincing.
Too convincing.
My instincts screamed.
This wasn't an accident.
This was a war.
And Vivian Ravenscroft had just become the prize.