The cemetery was small, almost quaint, tucked between narrow streets and low hills. It wasn't the kind of place where strangers lingered; here, every stone had a name, a story, a memory. And today, it held the one name that had shattered two lives: Elara Myles.
Mara stood beside Catherine, both of them dressed in black, their faces pale beneath the soft gray light of late afternoon. The air was heavy—not with storm clouds, but with quiet grief that pressed down like a tangible weight.
Catherine's hands were folded tightly in her lap. Even in mourning, she carried herself with that natural elegance that had made Elara so striking. Mara noticed how the mother and daughter mirrored each other—same sharp cheekbones, same posture, same gaze that seemed to absorb everything around it.
When Alec appeared at the edge of the gathering, Catherine's hand went to her chest. She froze, eyes widening slightly as she took him in. There was a recognition there—a flicker of memory, something buried deep.
"You… Rowan," she said softly, almost a whisper, but enough that Mara heard.
Alec's jaw tightened, but he nodded respectfully. "Mrs. Myles." His voice was calm, low, carrying a weight of sorrow that mirrored her own. He stepped forward, offering only a slight bow before standing back to give the family space.
Catherine's eyes lingered on him longer than polite. "I… I remember you," she said finally. "From… years ago. You… you photographed her."
"Yes," Alec replied. "I knew her. She… she was important to me." His gaze shifted to the freshly dug grave, the casket now lowered gently into the earth. "And she was important to everyone who knew her."
The service was quiet. Mara recited a short poem she and Elara had loved as girls, her voice trembling yet strong. Catherine read a letter she had written in the night, words that spoke of love, pride, and the unbearable pain of losing someone so young, so vibrant, so irreplaceable.
People from the town whispered among themselves, glancing at the fresh mound of earth. It wasn't just the most recent tragedy—there had been others, years ago, cases that still lingered in memory. They murmured about Crescent Lake, about the blue mark, about the strange pattern no one could explain. Some shook their heads, others crossed themselves, but all looked at the casket with a shared unease.
After the crowd dispersed, Alec lingered at the grave. Mara stayed by Catherine's side, noticing how the older woman's hand trembled slightly as she touched the soil.
"She… she was my light," Catherine whispered. "And I can't believe she's gone."
Mara placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She's gone from our world, but not from ours. We'll carry her with us."
Alec finally approached. Catherine looked up at him, and for the first time, there was no wariness—just a quiet acknowledgment of shared loss.
"She was remarkable," Alec said softly, his gaze unwavering. "And I… I wanted to protect her. I failed."
Catherine's lips quivered. "We all did. But she… she had love. She had friends. And she had you."
Alec lowered his head, thinking of the photographs, the mist, the lake, the strange blue mark—and the presence that had haunted Elara until her final breath. "I will… I promise I'll find out what happened. I'll find the truth."
Catherine's eyes softened. "I hope so. For her sake… and for ours."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky bled gold and gray over the small town. Mara, Catherine, and Alec stood together at the edge of the grave, an unspoken bond forming between them—a shared determination to honor Elara, to uncover the mystery, and to protect the living from the same fate.
The wind stirred lightly, carrying only the rustle of leaves, and for a fleeting moment, it almost felt like Elara was there—watching, smiling, telling them not to give up.
And somewhere in the quiet of the evening, Alec felt it: the first spark of the hunt, the pull toward the truth he could no longer ignore.
Elara was gone. But the story, the mystery, and the danger… were just beginning.