Morning crept in quietly, soft and golden, spilling across the pale curtains and the empty desk where the invitations still lay untouched.
Clara entered Ava's room just after eight. She had a tablet tucked under one arm, her heels muffled by the thick carpet. She expected to find Ava asleep, perhaps still in bed after the long day before. But the bed was perfectly made, the sheets smooth and undisturbed.
Ava was gone.
Clara frowned slightly and moved closer to the desk. That was when she saw it, the open envelope, the pen resting beside it, and the single card lying apart from the rest.
She picked it up carefully.
Lily Sinclair.
The name was written in soft, trembling ink. Clara stared at it for a long moment, the air leaving her lungs without her realizing. The rest of the cards were still blank, untouched, white and perfect, except for this one.
Her fingers tightened around it before she set it back down gently, as though it might break.
