For a moment, the air in Amara's room seemed to thicken, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Mrs. Thorn sat at the edge of the bed, her wrinkled hands folded tightly on her lap. Her eyes — tired but steady — watched Amara like someone evaluating how much of the truth she could bear.
"Your mother was brave," she began softly, "and too curious for her own good."
Amara nodded slowly. "She was looking into something… something dangerous."
Mrs. Thorn looked out the window, the morning light catching her profile like a ghost from the past.
"She was a nurse here. Hired after Silas had a stroke. Your mother… she started seeing things, hearing things, piecing them together. But she wasn't the only one."
Amara's heartbeat quickened.
"Who else?" she asked.
"Me," the woman whispered. "And another staff member. He's long gone now."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
"We were going to help her report it. She had documents. Evidence. The night before she vanished, she told me she was meeting someone who could protect her."
"Silas?"
Mrs. Thorn shook her head.
"No. Someone she never named. Someone who promised her safety. She never came back."
Amara blinked rapidly, her hands clenched at her sides.
"Do you think she's dead?"
Mrs. Thorn looked down at her lap. "I don't know. But if she's alive… someone's kept her that way for a reason."
Later that day, Amara sat in the sunroom, her eyes on the worn photo she'd hidden in her sweater sleeve — her mother, Eli, and Silas.
Her thoughts tangled like wires.
She didn't hear Eli approach until he was beside her, two cups of tea in his hands.
"You've been quiet today," he said, offering her one.
"I've had a lot on my mind."
He sat beside her, watching her carefully. "Want to talk about it?"
"Would you tell me if I asked you something hard?"
Eli arched an eyebrow, his body tense but composed.
"Try me."
Amara turned to him, the photograph now burning a hole in her pocket.
"Who was Silas Ward to your family?"
A pause.
Too long.
Eli leaned back slowly.
"A ghost," he murmured. "A mistake my father never forgave himself for."
"You knew him?"
"Barely. I was a teenager. He disappeared after some… trouble with the board. My father called it a betrayal. Said Silas stole things he shouldn't have."
Amara pulled the photo from her sleeve and laid it on the table.
Eli flinched at the sight of it.
"Where did you get this?"
"Does it matter?"
He ran a hand through his hair. His jaw clenched. "That picture was never meant to exist."
"Why?"
His voice dropped, a hoarse whisper.
"Because it's the last day I saw your mother."
Amara froze.
"What?"
"She came to the manor. There was a confrontation. I don't remember all of it. My father made me leave the room. That night… there was blood on the floor of his study."
Amara stared at him, the edges of her vision going cold.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because I wasn't sure what was real. I was fifteen. My father swore she was a trespasser. But I remembered her face. I remembered you, even though I didn't know it then."
Silence.
Eli reached out, hesitating.
Then his fingers gently grazed hers.
"I wish I had known. I wish I had done something."
And for the first time, his voice cracked.
Amara looked down at their hands. His touch wasn't cold. It wasn't rehearsed. It was shaking slightly. Honest.
"You were a kid," she whispered.
He leaned in slowly, their foreheads almost touching.
"I'm not anymore."
And then, he kissed her.
Not with urgency, but with a quiet ache.
A need to feel something real.
Amara didn't stop him.
Not because she had the answers.
But because for the first time in days, something didn't feel like a lie.