1.2

The next morning broke slow and gray, the sun a faint glow behind thick clouds. Ravenswood was waking up, yet in the early light, everything felt muted, like the town itself wore a shroud too heavy for its own comfort.

I sat by the kitchen window, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee that had long ago lost its bite. The aroma was a distant comfort. Earthy and familiar but my mind was miles away, tangled in worry and restlessness. Outside, the faint rustle of leaves whispered secrets I couldn’t yet understand.

My eyes traced the shapes of the old oak tree in the yard. That tree had watched over countless moments. Childhood games, whispered confessions, tears, and laughter. I wondered if it had seen Eli wander away last night, if it’d watched him disappear into the mist.

The phone was silent. No messages, no missed calls, no sign from him.

I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the cup, listening to the scrape of the spoon against the ceramic. A mundane sound, yet oddly grounding.

Part of me wanted to believe this was some elaborate joke, a test of patience that Eli was already laughing about somewhere safe. But deep down, I knew better.

There was a tension in the air, like the calm before a storm rolls in and settles over everything, making even the familiar feel strange.

I pulled on my jacket, resolved to talk to anyone who might have seen him. The neighbors, coworkers, anyone who crossed paths with Eli. Every little detail mattered.

Stepping outside, the chill bit through my clothes, the streets still wet from last night’s rain. The scent of damp earth and pine filled the air, mingling with something else, something metallic and sharp I couldn’t place.

I walked toward the corner bakery where the owners had known Eli since we were kids. The bell above the door tinkled as I entered, and the warmth from the ovens wrapped around me like a thin blanket.

Mrs. Delgado looked up from kneading dough, her flour-dusted hands pausing mid-motion. Her eyes softened when she saw me.

“Aliyah, dear, you look like you haven’t slept,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

“I haven’t,” I admitted. “Have you seen Eli? Or heard anything unusual around town?”

She shook her head slowly, leaning closer. “He stopped by for his usual early morning coffee the other day but seemed... distracted. Kept glancing over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

I frowned. “Did he say who?”

She hesitated. “No, but he mentioned hearing strange noises near the old mill. Said it sounded like whispers on the wind.”

My heart skipped. The mill had been abandoned for years, steeped in rumors. Haunted, some said. A place no one ventured after dark.

“Thank you, Mrs. Delgado,” I said, feeling a flicker of hope. Every clue counted now.

Outside, the morning stretched thin, the clouds stubborn but the promise of clearing skies lingering. I breathed deeply, steeling myself for the days ahead.

Tonight, I’d return to the lake where it all began. Somewhere in that shifting fog was Eli’s trail and I wasn’t backing down, no matter how deep the shadows ran.

The bakery behind me bustled softly with the early morning rhythm. A comforting backdrop of clinking pans, the hum of the oven, and warm laughter from the few regular customers who’d already arrived. But none of that noise could mask the emptiness gnawing at my insides.

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