Angela Rivers sat at the kitchen table. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against her eardrums, amplifying every creak in the silence. Carla's absence was a physical thing, a hollow space that seemed to grow larger each day. Bella's disappearance only deepened the ache, a wound that refused to heal.
Angela's hands trembled as she sifted through a box of Carla's belongings, her sister's scent, lavender and a citrus perfume, clinging faintly to the fabric of a worn sweater.
It had been weeks since she'd last heard from Bella, and the official letter from Whitethorn Academy claiming her niece was "on an extended field study" felt like a lie the moment she read it. Carla's death, ruled a heart attack by the coroner, was another lie, one Angela couldn't accept.
