Prologue

The rain came down in a steady rhythm, tapping against the tall arched windows of the mansion. It was the kind of night that pressed against the walls, wrapping around the estate like a shroud. The darkness beyond was endless, swallowing the town below and bleeding into the vast hills that framed the property. The mansion itself stood atop the highest hill, a silent guardian over Loron, its blackened towers rising like skeletal fingers toward the storm-laden sky.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of aged wood, candle wax, and the lingering perfume of a woman who no longer walked these halls. The corridors stretched endlessly, their ornate rugs muffling even the faintest footfalls. But there was no one moving about. No laughter echoing through the grand halls. No soft humming from the parlor. No delicate clinking of teacups in the sitting room.

Elliott sat by his bedroom window, his blue eyes staring out at the nothingness beyond. The candlelight flickered beside him, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. He hadn’t left this room much since it happened—since she disappeared.

It had been a month now. Thirty long days. The town had begun to move on, as if she had never existed at all. A few neighbors whispered about it, murmuring their sympathies when they passed him on the street, but none of them truly cared. His father had dismissed it entirely, throwing himself into his work with a cold efficiency that made Elliott’s skin crawl.

And then there was Dyllan.

The old butler had been with their family since before Elliott was born. He had always been there—steady, reliable, unwavering. And yet, even he would not speak of her disappearance. He would not answer Elliott’s questions. He would not look him in the eye when he asked about the investigation.

“You must eat, Young Master,” Dyllan’s voice came from the doorway. It was soft, but firm, the way it always was when he was trying to coax Elliott out of his thoughts.

Elliott did not turn. “I’m not hungry.”

“You have not eaten in two days.”

The rain outside blurred against the glass, like ink bleeding into water. Elliott rested his chin against his knee, pulling himself further into the corner of his window seat. “When do you think they’ll find her?”

There was silence.

Then a sigh. The sound of footsteps as Dyllan entered the room fully, his old bones creaking as he lowered himself into the chair across from Elliott’s bed.

“I do not know, Young Master,” Dyllan admitted. His voice was tired, weighted with something that Elliott could not place. “But the police have not stopped searching. Her face is in every newspaper. Someone will find her.”

Elliott finally turned his gaze toward the butler. His throat burned with unshed frustration. “She’s been gone for a month, Dyllan. Not a day. Not a week. A month.” His voice cracked, his fingers curling against his arms. “Shouldn’t they have something by now? A clue? A lead? Anything?”

Dyllan closed his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself. When he opened them again, they were unreadable. “These things take time.”

Elliott scoffed. He hated that answer. It was the same one his father gave. It was the same one everyone gave.

But he knew—deep down, in the marrow of his bones—that they weren’t telling him something.

They knew.

And they were keeping it from him.

Dyllan stood slowly, placing a hand on the armrest to steady himself. “I will inform your father that you are not hungry. But I will bring you food later. Whether you eat it or not is your choice.”

Elliott didn’t respond. He merely watched as the old man made his way to the door, his shoulders sagging slightly as he shut it behind him.

And then, once again, he was alone.

The house was quiet now. Too quiet. It had been this way ever since his mother disappeared. The laughter, the warmth—the life—had been stripped away, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell of what once was.

Elliott slid out of his window seat, his bare feet making no sound against the cold wooden floor. He moved toward his wardrobe, pulling it open to retrieve his coat. He didn’t know why, but he needed to leave. Just for a little while. The air in here felt too thick, too suffocating.

He grabbed a bowler hat from the shelf, slipping it over his golden hair before tugging on his overcoat. His fingers moved with practiced ease, buttoning it up as he moved toward the door.

He would go to the florist.

It was a habit now—a ritual, almost. Every few nights, he would sneak out and buy the same flowers his mother always loved.

Purple hyacinths.

They were an apology. A silent plea. A memory of something he could no longer hold onto.

As he reached for the door handle, a voice cut through the silence.

“Young Master.”

He froze.

Turning slowly, he found Ava standing at the bottom of the stairs. The young caretaker had been with them for years, a close friend of his mother’s. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid, her sharp hazel eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

“Are you going out again?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Elliott hesitated, but nodded. “I won’t be long.”

Ava’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Dyllan won’t like it.”

“Dyllan doesn’t need to know.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Elliott frowned. “Ava—”

“No arguments.” She was already reaching for her coat, slipping it on with ease. “If you’re going into town this late, you’re not going alone.”

Elliott exhaled sharply, but said nothing more. It wasn’t worth the fight.

Together, they stepped out into the rain, the cold immediately biting through their clothes. The streets were quieter than usual, the storm keeping most people indoors. The gas lamps flickered dimly, their golden light barely piercing through the downpour.

The flower shop was just as he remembered—small, tucked away in the heart of town, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the wind. The old woman behind the counter greeted him with a warm, knowing smile.

“Back for the usual, I assume?” she asked, already reaching for the hyacinths.

Elliott nodded. “Yes, please.”

The woman disappeared into the back, and for a moment, there was only silence. Ava wandered through the shop, her fingers trailing along the petals of various blooms.

“So,” the woman’s voice cut through the quiet. “Have you found her yet?”

Elliott’s breath hitched.

“No,” he admitted. His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. “She’s still gone.”

The woman returned, placing the bouquet on the counter. Her eyes softened. “You look just like her, you know.”

He swallowed hard.

“I know.”

As he took the flowers, the woman placed a gentle hand over his. “Your mother was a wonderful woman. Whatever happened—wherever she is—she loved you.”

Elliott nodded, unable to find the words.

He turned, making his way toward the door, but something inside him whispered that this wasn’t over.

That this wasn’t just a disappearance.

That something else had happened to her.

And deep in his gut, he knew—

The answers were inside that mansion.

Waiting for him.

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