The attic air, thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten dreams, was Elara Vance's sanctuary. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight piercing the grimy window, illuminating the grand, albeit neglected, piano that dominated the room. Its ivory keys, yellowed with time, felt like an extension of her own fingers as she coaxed a haunting, incomplete melody from its depths. It was her mother's song, a whisper of a tune that had never been fully written, a beautiful, melancholic echo of a life cut too short. Elara closed her eyes, letting the notes wash over her, losing herself in the bittersweet embrace of memory.
A sudden, jarring crash from downstairs ripped through the fragile peace. It was sharp, violent, followed almost immediately by a muffled shout that sent a jolt of ice through Elara's veins. Her hands froze mid-chord, the last note hanging in the air, trembling. Then came the sound that truly shattered her: Lily's scream.
"Lily!" Elara's voice was a choked gasp. She scrambled off the piano bench, her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror. She stumbled down the narrow attic stairs, her bare feet barely registering the cold wood. The shouts grew louder, more urgent, mingled with the sound of splintering glass.
She burst into the living room, her breath catching in her throat. The scene was a chaotic tableau of violence. The antique grandfather clock, a family heirloom, lay toppled on its side, its glass face shattered. Cushions were strewn across the floor, lamps lay askew, and the small, delicate porcelain figurines her grandmother cherished were in pieces. But her eyes immediately found Lily, huddled in a corner behind the overturned sofa, her small body shaking, tears streaming down her face.
And then she saw him. A shadowy figure, tall and lean, was halfway out the broken living room window, one leg already over the sill. He moved with a practiced fluidity, a dark silhouette against the fading afternoon light. Elara's mind screamed, but no sound escaped her lips. She lunged forward, driven by an instinct to protect, but he was too fast. With a final, agile push, he was gone, disappearing into the overgrown bushes of their backyard.
Silence descended once more, but this time it was heavy, suffocating, filled with the ringing in Elara's ears and Lily's soft, terrified sobs. Elara rushed to her sister, pulling her into a tight embrace. "It's okay, Lily, it's okay," she whispered, though her own voice trembled. She scanned the room, her gaze sweeping over the wreckage, searching for a clue, anything that could explain this senseless violation.
Her eyes landed on it then, glinting faintly on the worn rug near the broken window. Small, almost insignificant, but starkly out of place amidst the chaos. It was a guitar pick, sleek and black, with a stylized crimson echo design etched onto its surface. A chill, colder than any fear, settled deep in Elara's bones. She knew that symbol. Everyone in town did. It was the signature emblem of "Crimson Echoes," Liam Thorne's band.
This wasn't a random break-in. Someone had been looking for something specific. And a terrifying, impossible thought began to form in Elara's mind: could it have something to do with her mother's music?