Chapter 1: The Letter That Started It All

The hum of the newsroom buzzed faintly in the background, but Aarav Mehta barely noticed. He sat at his cluttered desk, his eyes fixed on the aged envelope in his hands. It had arrived that morning, slipped under his apartment door without a return address. There were no stamps, no official markings—just his name, scrawled in shaky, elegant handwriting.

He hesitated, running his fingers over the brittle edges. Something about it felt… old. Not just in the way the paper had yellowed with time, but in the way it smelled—a faint trace of sea salt and damp earth clung to the envelope, as if it had been plucked from a forgotten place.

Aarav had received many anonymous tips in his years as an investigative journalist, but this one carried an eerie weight, as if it were whispering a secret meant only for him.

Finally, he broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly, the ink slightly smudged.

“If you seek the truth, come to Ravenshore. The past was never buried—it was only forgotten.”

That was it. No name. No explanation. Just those cryptic words.

Aarav’s brows furrowed. Ravenshore. The name struck a distant chord, though he couldn't immediately place it. He set the letter aside and reached into the envelope again. This time, his fingers brushed against something stiff.

A Polaroid photograph.

Slowly, he unfolded it.

His breath caught.

The image showed a mansion, perched at the edge of a cliff, the sea raging beneath it. Fog curled around its crumbling walls, and the windows, dark and hollow, gave the house a ghostly presence. But what truly sent a chill down his spine was the woman standing in front of the mansion.

She wore a flowing dress, her dark hair whipping around her face as if caught in the wind. Her features were blurred, partially hidden by shadows, but something about her was unnervingly familiar.

Aarav flipped the photo over.

Scrawled in faded ink was a single word:

"Aisha."

The name hit him like a punch to the gut.

Aisha Verma. The woman who had vanished twenty years ago.

Aarav’s pulse quickened as old memories surfaced—news articles, whispered theories, and a case that had once gripped the country. Aisha Verma had disappeared without a trace from Ravenshore, leaving behind only unanswered questions. No body was found. No ransom notes. No leads.

And yet, here she was. In a photograph that couldn’t possibly exist.

His instincts roared to life. Someone wanted him in Ravenshore. Someone wanted him to chase this mystery.

Aarav leaned back in his chair, staring at the letter and the photograph. Every logical part of his mind told him to dismiss it, to ignore what could easily be a cruel hoax. But something deeper—a feeling in his gut—told him otherwise.

The past was calling. And Aarav had never been one to ignore a mystery.

Later That Night

The train to Ravenshore rattled along the tracks, the dim glow of the overhead lights flickering every few minutes. Aarav sat by the window, watching as the city lights faded into open fields, then dense forests, and finally, a long stretch of nothing but darkness.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was walking into something much bigger than he had anticipated. Who had sent the letter? Why now, after two decades of silence? And, most importantly—who was the woman in the photograph?

His laptop sat open on the small foldable table before him. He had spent the last few hours digging through old archives, refreshing his memory on Aisha Verma’s disappearance.

She had been twenty-five years old when she vanished—a promising journalist, much like him, known for investigating corruption and scandals. Some said she had been working on something big before she disappeared. Others believed she had left on her own, running from something no one knew about.

But the strangest detail?

Her body was never found.

No remains, no belongings, not even a single trace of where she might have gone. It was as if the earth had swallowed her whole.

Aarav frowned, rubbing a hand over his face. The deeper he went into the case, the more unsettling it became. He checked the last known photo of Aisha, taken shortly before she disappeared. The grainy newspaper image showed a woman with piercing dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a determined expression.

He pulled the mystery Polaroid from his pocket and compared it side by side.

The resemblance was uncanny.

Aarav exhaled sharply. No. It wasn’t possible. The photograph had to be a manipulation, a trick of some kind. But if it was fake, why send it to him?

A low murmur of voices drifted through the train car, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced around. Most of the passengers were asleep, the rhythmic motion of the train lulling them into slumber.

But one person wasn’t asleep.

A woman, sitting two rows ahead, staring directly at him.

Aarav’s spine stiffened. Her face was partially obscured by shadows, but something about her presence set him on edge. She wasn’t looking away, wasn’t even pretending to be subtle. She wanted him to notice.

Then, as if satisfied, she rose from her seat and disappeared into the next train car.

Aarav’s heart pounded. Every instinct told him to follow.

So he did.

The moment he stepped into the next compartment, he felt it—the eerie silence.

The woman was nowhere to be seen.

Aarav scanned the rows of empty seats, his pulse thrumming. Had she gotten off? No, the train hadn’t stopped yet. Had she hidden somewhere? And more importantly—who was she?

His fingers tightened around the photograph in his pocket. Something told him this wasn’t just coincidence.

Someone knew he was coming to Ravenshore.

And they were watching.

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