The towering windows of the French Ministry of Magic office offered a panoramic view of Paris under a pale, overcast sky. Gray clouds hung heavy, muting the city's colors, as if the weather itself mourned the uncertainty that had settled over the magical community. Inside, the air was thick with tension.
Isabella Voclain paced restlessly across the vast marble floor of her office. The sound of her polished heels echoed sharply beneath the vaulted ceilings, a staccato beat marking the rhythm of her turmoil. Her blue eyes, normally sharp and commanding, flickered with a storm of emotions—worry, frustration, and a simmering anger barely contained.
Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, betraying the effort she put into maintaining composure.
Since Eira's disappearance, a shadow had fallen over her, and every second she spent here in the Ministry felt like a betrayal of the promise she made to her only daughter-figure—the one she felt was the last remaining piece of her beloved sister.
Isabella stopped abruptly and turned toward the heavy oak door. She expected news, any news.
The door swung open with a soft creak, and Emma Bloom stepped into the room.
Emma's face was drawn, but her expression was composed—professional, yet burdened. She carried the weight of a thousand sleepless nights, but no hint of defeat. Her keen eyes met Isabella's without hesitation.
"Have you found her?" Isabella's voice was sharp, urgent. "Have you found anything? Anything at all?"
Emma shook her head slowly, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "No. I haven't found her yet."
She took a breath, steadying herself before continuing. "I spoke with Madame Maxime. She's been searching as well, following every lead. And I spoke with Fleur Delacour—she was with Eira the last time anyone saw her, two nights ago in Paris."
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "And? What did Fleur say?"
Emma hesitated, then said, "Fleur told me that after they parted ways, she didn't hear from Eira. She's worried and insists on joining the search herself. Her father also said they will discreetly look for her whereabouts."
A thick silence fell between them.
Isabella's gaze hardened, and her tone dropped to a near whisper. "What about the emergency artifact she carries with her? The device she was to use if anything went wrong?"
Emma's lips pressed into a thin line. "It hasn't been activated."
She reached inside her robe and pulled out a small enchanted crystal, its surface dull and lifeless.
"I traced the artifact's last known magic signature," Emma said, her voice tinged with frustration. "The last trace was when Eira was teleported using the Floo Network at that small shop in Paris. That's the last location I can confirm her presence."
Isabella's knees wobbled as if the floor might give way beneath her. A sharp breath escaped, and her body trembled uncontrollably.
Emma caught her swiftly before she could collapse.
Holding her tightly, Emma whispered, "We'll find her, I promise."
Tears began to spill from Isabella's eyes as she rested her head against Emma's shoulder.
"I just… I only recently came to know her," Isabella said, voice cracking with emotion. "After all the pain between our families, after the hatred… Eira was the last piece of light left. I cannot lose her. Not now."
Emma gently stroked Isabella's hair, grounding her. "Don't worry," she murmured soothingly. "I believe in Eira. She's the strongest person I've ever known. Nothing will happen to her."
The sobs subsided into quiet breaths as Isabella's body relaxed, if only a little.
After a pause, Isabella lifted her head, her eyes fierce with determination.
"It's time to involve the British Ministry of Magic," she declared. "We must send out search parties. I will mobilize every resource available."
Emma shook her head firmly. "No," she said with conviction. "We have to wait."
Isabella looked at her sharply. "Wait? How can we wait when a girl's life is at stake?"
Emma met her gaze steadily. "If we act too soon, we risk alerting whoever took her. They might move her, or worse. We don't know who's behind this yet. And if news leaks to the British Ministry too early… there will be chaos, public fear, and political upheaval. The White family will be destabilized. And the last thing Eira needs right now is more chaos."
Isabella's expression darkened. "Enough talk of families and power. What matters is her life. Not politics."
Emma's embrace tightened. "I know. But we must be patient."
She lowered her voice to a whisper, eyes closing for a moment. "Eira is alive. I feel it deep in my core. My contract with her is magical and binding. If she were gone, it would have broken by now. She's still fighting."
Isabella exhaled slowly and leaned into Emma, letting the warmth of her friend and ally calm the storm inside.
"I hope you're right," she said softly.
Emma nodded. "I am. And I have a suspicion about who's behind this."
Isabella's eyes flashed. "Who?"
Emma's voice was low and steady, the weight of certainty in every word. "Alina Trévér. The last time we met on the beach in Normandy, her words were strange—angry, unfocused. I'm convinced she orchestrated this."
Isabella's jaw clenched with fury.
"If anything happens to my niece," she said coldly, "I will raze the Trévér family to the ground. No matter the cost. No matter the consequences. I will not rest."
Emma smiled faintly, placing a gentle hand on Isabella's shoulder.
"You won't be alone."
The room fell silent save for the distant hum of the Ministry beyond the door.
Two women bound by grief and resolve, standing together in the eye of a gathering storm.