Chapter 1: Missing

The rain hadn't stopped for days. It was the kind of weather that seeped into your bones, that made the world feel smaller, darker, like it was closing in around you. The fog had rolled in this morning, thick and white, wrapping the town in a haze of wet gloom. It felt like Loron had forgotten what sunlight was. And inside the mansion, it felt the same.

Elliott sat by the window in his room, staring out at the bleak landscape. The mansion, a grand but aging building on the outskirts of town, loomed dark and quiet. Its once-vibrant gardens were now untended and overgrown, the flowers his mother used to tend to now wilting in the rain. Elliott's mind kept drifting back to the same thought, the thought that had consumed him for the past month.

Where had she gone?

His mother.

She had vanished without a trace.

Elliott couldn't remember the exact day it started, the day his mother disappeared. She had been gone for weeks, with his father offering little more than vague explanations. "She's on business," his father would say when Elliott asked about her. "She'll return soon." But Elliott knew better. His mother had never gone on business trips before. She always stayed home, always found a way to be there, whether it was in the garden, in the kitchen, or curled up by the fireplace with a book. But now—nothing.

"Young Master," came a soft voice from the doorway.

Elliott didn't turn to face the butler. He had heard Dyllan's footsteps a moment ago, the old man’s creaky bones announcing his arrival. He wasn’t surprised. Dyllan had been trying to get him to eat for days. "Your father asks that you come down for dinner," the butler added gently.

Elliott sighed, his gaze still fixed on the rainy world outside. "I'm not hungry."

Dyllan's steps echoed softly as he walked into the room and came to stand by the window. The butler's thin frame seemed even frailer in the dim light of the room, his age showing in the slowness of his movements. "It's been days since you've eaten, Young Master," Dyllan said, his voice strained with concern. "Please. You must eat."

Elliott shook his head, pushing himself off the window sill. He didn’t want to eat. He wanted answers. The world outside felt so... empty. And the mansion, once filled with warmth and love, now felt as empty as the town below.

"When do you think they'll find her?" Elliott asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the question that had been on his mind for so long. He hadn't asked anyone else. He hadn’t dared to. But he needed to ask Dyllan—he was the only one who seemed to still care.

Dyllan sighed and ran a hand over his balding head. His shoulders drooped as he searched for the right words. "I... I don't know, Young Master," he said softly. "Your mother’s face is in the papers. The police are searching, but... no one knows where she is."

Elliott’s chest tightened. His heart felt heavy, suffocating. "A month," he whispered bitterly. "It’s been a month. Shouldn't they have found something by now? A clue? Anything?"

Dyllan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lowered himself into a chair beside the bed. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable.

"I know it's hard," Dyllan finally said, his voice strained. "But there’s nothing we can do but wait."

Elliott wanted to argue. He wanted to shout that waiting wasn't good enough. But instead, he simply looked at Dyllan, his eyes clouded with confusion and pain.

His father.

The thought of his father made his skin crawl. Dr. Samuel Delacroix was a well-known surgeon in Loron. His expertise in medicine and his skill in saving lives had earned him a reputation, both in the town and beyond. But Elliott hadn’t seen much of his father lately. He’d locked himself in his study, disappearing for hours on end, drowning in the work that never seemed to stop. Even before his mother’s disappearance, Dr. Delacroix had always been distant, always lost in his medical journals, his work, his patients.

Elliott had spent most of his childhood trying to earn his father’s approval, trying to make him proud. But no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. His mother had been the only one who had ever truly understood him. The only one who had ever seen the good in him. And now... now she was gone.

Elliott stood up abruptly. "I can’t just wait anymore," he said, more to himself than to Dyllan. "I need to do something. I need to find her."

Dyllan’s gaze softened with concern. "Young Master," he began, but Elliott was already moving toward the door.

"I’m going out."

"Out?" Dyllan’s voice quivered. "Where are you going?"

Elliott didn’t answer. He just pulled on his coat, the familiar weight of it settling over his shoulders. He wanted to go to the florist in town, the same place his mother had visited every week. It was a small shop near the center of town, tucked between two larger buildings. He could picture it clearly in his mind—the faded sign that hung above the door, the sweet scent of flowers wafting through the air, the old woman who ran the shop with a quiet grace.

The one place that still felt like it had a connection to his mother.

"Young Master!" Dyllan called after him, his voice rising in panic. "Please. Don’t go alone."

Elliott stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the butler’s eyes. There was a silent understanding between them—one that Elliott couldn’t quite explain. Dyllan had been with his family for as long as he could remember, and although the old man had been quiet since his mother’s disappearance, there was still something about him that made Elliott trust him.

"Just for a little while," Elliott said quietly. "I won’t be long."

Dyllan gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t stop him.

The rain beat down harder as Elliott stepped outside, the chill of the evening air biting at his skin. His boots splashed in the puddles as he made his way down the long driveway. The mansion loomed behind him, its silhouette barely visible in the growing darkness.

Ava, the young caretaker, appeared at the foot of the stairs leading from the kitchen entrance. She had a troubled look on her face, her hands wringing the edges of her apron.

"You’re going out again, Young Master?" she asked, her voice hesitant but not surprised.

Elliott nodded, not bothering to explain. Ava had been around the house for as long as he could remember, ever since he was a child. She was close to his mother, always there when Elliott needed her. She’d never been as distant as the others in the house.

“I’ll be fine, Ava,” Elliott said, trying to reassure her with a weak smile. “I’m just going to the florist again. I won’t be gone long.”

Ava’s eyes lingered on him, a flicker of concern flashing across her face. But she didn’t protest. Instead, she nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Just be careful," she said softly.

Elliott made his way down the cobbled path toward the center of town, his mind swirling with thoughts of his mother. He could still remember the way she would smile when she bought her hyacinths from the shop, the way her eyes would light up as she picked out the perfect bouquet. She had always known which flowers to choose—how to bring the life and color back into the house with something so simple.

The town square was empty, the only sound the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the cobblestones. As he reached the flower shop, the flickering light inside offered a small comfort.

When he pushed open the door, the familiar chime of the bell echoed in the stillness.

"Back again for your usual?" the old woman behind the counter asked with a knowing smile.

Elliott nodded. "Yes, please."

The woman moved to the back to prepare his order, and Elliott wandered around the small, dimly lit shop. He ran his fingers over the delicate petals of the flowers, trying to calm the storm inside his chest.

"You know," the old woman said, returning with the hyacinths in hand, "your mother was always such a bright soul. She used to tell me stories about you. How proud she was of you."

Elliott swallowed hard. "She’s... gone." His voice cracked as the words left his mouth.

The old woman’s face softened. "I know. It’s hard, isn’t it?"

Elliott nodded, unable to find the words. His throat tightened with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

The woman handed him the bouquet. “Take these. They’re on the house. A gift, for your mother.”

Elliott hesitated for a moment, but then he accepted the flowers with a soft thanks. His hands clenched around the stems, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.

He walked out into the rain again, the flowers held tightly against his chest. And for the first time in a month, he felt something other than grief. Something like hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he would find her.

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