Three years later, the house still looked new.
The paint was fresh, the furniture perfect, the kitchen spotless. It was a place waiting for a life that had never started.
James stood in the bedroom doorway and stared at the bed.
The sheets were the ones Elizabeth had circled in a catalog. The wallpaper was the pattern she'd sent with a message—Tell me this isn't too much.
He had written back, Nothing with you is too much.
Now the room felt like a joke he didn't laugh at.
His phone buzzed.
He answered without checking the screen. “Yes?"
“Evening, sir," Noah said. “I have the latest report."
“Let me guess," James said. “Nothing."
A pause. “No confirmed sightings," Noah admitted. “We rechecked travel records from the month she disappeared. The facial-recognition flags were false. Ag
