The air outside the library felt sharper than it should have, as if the past they had dug up clung to them like dust. Mara tightened her coat, pulling it close as she walked beside Alec toward the narrow street where he'd parked his car. The city wasn't large; its roads twisted like a quiet maze where everyone knew everyone else — or, at least, thought they did. But the truth had its own way of hiding in plain sight.
Alec waved over a taxi , slid into the car, and exhaled slowly. Not the shaky, exhausted breath of someone drained — but the controlled release of a man preparing himself for something heavier than the day had the right to contain. Mara settled beside him, placing Elara's sketchbook gently on her lap.
"So." She flipped through the old newspaper prints they'd taken from the library copier. "Three cases from years ago, one more recent. All the victims women, all in their twenties, all—"
"Warm-hearted," Alec finished quietly. "Individually remarkable."
Mara nodded. "And connected to the lake in some way."
"Which means," Alec said, signaling the taxi driver to start the car, "we need to talk to someone connected to one of the older cases. Someone who actually remembers what happened back then. Someone who hasn't let time soften the details."
The taxi man drove them toward the outskirts of town, where the houses grew older, smaller, each with its own history carved into peeling fences and leaning porches. Mara rubbed her fingers along the cover of the sketchbook — not to comfort herself, but to feel closer to Elara. Even now, the pages held her warmth, her mind, her warnings.
"She tried to tell us," Mara whispered. "She really did."
Alec didn't answer. But Mara saw the way his jaw tightened. Saw the guilt riding him like a shipwrecked ghost.
After twenty minutes, they pulled up in front of a narrow, weather-beaten house. The yard was tidy but old, the windows framed with lace curtains, the porch sagging slightly under the weight of time.
"This is her?" Mara asked, tightening her grip on the sketchbook.
Alec nodded. "Mrs. Evelyn Grant. She's the aunt of the third victim. Lost her niece sixteen years ago."
Mara inhaled. "And she agreed to talk to us?"
"She said she hasn't spoken about it in years. But when I mentioned Elara…" His voice dropped. "…she said she recognized the description."
That unsettled Mara more than anything.
They approached the door. Before Alec could knock, it opened.
Mrs. Evelyn Grant was small but sharp-eyed, her posture straight despite the years etched into her skin. Her silver hair was pinned back neatly, and her hands were folded in front of her as if she'd been waiting long before they arrived.
"You must be Rowan," she said, her voice steady, carrying an undertone of something unsaid. She turned her gaze to Mara. "And her friend?"
Mara nodded. "Mara Hale."
Evelyn stepped aside. "Come in."
Inside, the house smelled of lavender and old books. Framed photographs lined the walls — families, graduations, ordinary moments frozen in time. But one photograph, placed above the mantel, drew Mara's attention: a young woman with soft dark curls and gentle eyes, smiling as if she had the whole world ahead of her.
"That's her?" Mara asked.
"My niece," Evelyn said quietly. "Dawn."
A name like the promise of a new day.
They sat at a small round table in the kitchen. Evelyn poured tea with practiced motions, setting the cups in front of them. Alec didn't touch his. Mara wrapped her hands around hers, grateful for the warmth.
"You're here because of the girl at Crescent Lake," Evelyn said, sitting opposite them. "Elara, yes?"
Alec nodded. "We… loved her."
Something softened in Evelyn's expression. "The ones taken… they always seemed deeply loved. Dawn was the same. Gentle, soft-spoken, the kind of girl who helped stray animals and wrote poetry when the world felt too loud."
Mara's throat tightened.
Evelyn continued, her voice steady but carrying the weight of memory. "The police dismissed it. Called it a drowning. But I saw her."
She looked at Alec now, and her voice gained a quiet certainty:
"She wasn't drowned."
Mara leaned forward. "We know. Elara… she was the same."
Evelyn exhaled shakily. "I thought I imagined it. The color. Her skin… that unnatural shade… like the warmth had been pulled out of her. And something else—"
Alec's voice was careful. "Something connected to the lake."
Evelyn's eyes flickered. "Yes. There were rumors then. Silly to most, frightening to a few. Stories about… something old. Something that didn't belong."
Mara exchanged a look with Alec. "And the others believed that?"
"Not publicly," Evelyn said. "People here don't like to be afraid out loud. But the mothers whispered. The sisters whispered. And I listened."
A quiet fell, heavy but necessary. Mara's fingers brushed the edge of Elara's sketchbook.
"Mrs. Grant," she said softly, "did Dawn ever show signs… before she died? Anything unusual?"
Evelyn hesitated. "She mentioned feeling watched. Cold spots in her house. Waking up early — always before dawn — hearing something outside her window. A kind of humming. Said it felt like the lake calling."
Mara stilled.
Elara's journal had said something similar.
Alec leaned forward. "Do you think… Dawn knew what was coming?"
Evelyn's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I think she feared it. And I think she was alone in that fear."
Mara felt the words stab straight through her. She blinked hard and turned the page of Elara's sketchbook, revealing the jagged circle again — the symbol she'd seen repeated over and over.
Evelyn's breath caught. "That."
Alec looked sharply at her. "You recognize it."
Evelyn stood slowly, walked to a drawer, and pulled out a small, yellowed envelope. She handled it delicately, as though it might break.
"This," she said, opening it. "Was found in Dawn's things."
She pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the table.
Mara gasped.
Same circle. Same jagged slash through the center.
Almost identical to Elara's sketch.
"She drew it," Evelyn whispered. "Over and over. She tried to tell me it meant something. But I didn't listen. And I lost her."
Alec's hand curled into a fist.
Mara closed the sketchbook softly, her brown eyes meeting Evelyn's. "You didn't fail her. You loved her. That mattered."
Evelyn looked down at the two symbols lying side by side — nearly twenty years apart. "Whatever took them… hasn't stopped."
Alec's voice was quiet, controlled, and determined:
"We're going to find it. And we're going to stop it."
For the first time, Evelyn smiled — thin, fragile, but real.
"I hope you do," she said. "Before another kind heart gets taken."