The house had never felt this tense before. Not when Aria first disappeared. Not even when Lucas had nearly died. But now—two weeks later—the silence inside the family home felt heavier than grief. Aria’s mother stood by the living room window for the third time that morning, pushing the curtain aside just enough to look down the empty street. Nothing. The same quiet road. The same morning light. The same absence. Behind her, the room was full of people who were pretending not to feel the same dread. Lucas sat on the couch, his injured side still stiff from the hospital wound that hadn’t fully healed. A faint bruise spread along his ribs beneath the loose shirt he wore. Dante leaned against the far wall near the fireplace, arms crossed tightly across his chest, staring at a map spread acr
