Chapter 142
Elara's POV
I didn't wait for the villagers to finish their explanations. My legs were already moving, carrying me toward the forest edge where they said the cemetery was.
The woman called after me. "Wait! You shouldn't go alone—"
I ignored her. My boots hit the muddy path hard, each step driven by something I couldn't name. Hope? Dread? I didn't know anymore.
The forest swallowed me quickly. Trees pressed in from both sides, their branches forming a canopy that blocked most of the afternoon light. I pushed through undergrowth, following what looked like an old footpath.
Then I saw them.
Scattered between the trees were maybe a dozen small mounds of earth. Simple graves. Most had wooden markers, weathered and crooked. Some had nothing at all.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing, my chest tight. Not from my lungs—those were fine now. This was different. This was my heart trying to claw its way out of my ribcage.
The newest grave was obvious. The earth was still dark, freshly turned. A wooden board had been driven into the ground at one end. Someone had carved words into it: "Drowned. Rest in peace."
I dropped to my knees in front of it.
The dirt was damp under my hands. I pressed my palms against it, feeling the cold seep through my skin.
"I'm here," I whispered. "I came for you."
Nothing answered. Just the wind moving through the trees.
I don't know how long I knelt there. Long enough for my knees to go numb. Long enough for the light to shift, throwing different shadows across the grave.
Then I started digging.
My fingers sank into the soft earth. I didn't have tools. Didn't care. I clawed at the dirt, pushing it aside in handfuls.
I had to see. Had to know.
"I'll bring you home," I said, my voice cracking. "I'll give you a proper burial. With family. With—"
My nail caught on a rock and tore. Blood welled up, warm against my cold fingers. I didn't stop.
The hole grew deeper. My hands were caked in mud and blood, my shoulders burning from the repetitive motion. I'd dug graves before, in my past life. I knew how deep they went. This would take hours.
I didn't care about hours.
Two hours later, my fingers finally hit something that wasn't earth. Rough fabric.
I froze.
My hands were shaking as I cleared away more dirt, exposing the edge of white cloth. The kind of cheap shroud these villagers probably used for unknown dead.
I pulled it back carefully. Gently. Like I was afraid of hurting whoever was underneath.
A face appeared.
Female. Young, maybe early twenties. Pale skin. Eyes closed. Dark hair matted with river water.
Wearing a red and black plaid jacket—but the fabric was so waterlogged and stained with mud that the pattern was barely visible. I could see why the villagers had thought it matched. To someone who wasn't looking closely, who hadn't been staring at that scrap of yellow plaid for weeks, any checkered pattern would look the same.
I stared at her. At this stranger. At this girl who wasn't Lynette.
Then I sat back on my heels, mud-covered hands falling into my lap.
Wrong grave. Wrong person. Wrong plaid pattern—though I couldn't blame the villagers for not noticing. The river had destroyed most of the detail.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat. It came out strangled, half-sob. I'd just spent two hours digging up some poor girl's grave because the villagers had seen plaid fabric and assumed—
I pressed my dirty hands against my face. The smell of earth filled my nose.
She might still be alive.
The thought hit me like a physical blow. All that despair, that certainty of death—it had been based on a mistake. A simple mistake.
But if she wasn't here, where was she?
I forced myself to breathe. To think. I'd been trained for this—to stay calm under pressure, to analyze situations logically. I needed to use that training now.
I looked down at the dead girl again. I should probably cover her back up. Give her back her rest.
But my hands wouldn't move.
"You looking for someone?"
I spun around, my hand automatically going to my waist where a weapon should have been. Nothing there. I'd lost everything in the river.
A boy stood at the edge of the cemetery. Maybe seven or eight years old, with curly brown hair and eyes that were too knowing for his age.
He watched me with complete calm, like finding a mud-covered stranger digging up graves was perfectly normal.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice rough.
"Kiki." He took a step closer, studying my face. "You're the one from the river. The one asking about the plaid cloth."
I pulled the piece of fabric from my pocket. It was still there, somehow. Damp and muddy but intact.
"Can I see it?" Kiki asked.
I hesitated, then held it out. He took it carefully, turning it over in his small hands. His expression was serious, concentrated.
After a long moment, he looked up at me. "Who are you?"
"Elara." The name came out automatically. "I'm looking for someone. My sister. She was wearing clothes like this."
"Your sister." He said it like he was testing the words. "Really?"
"Yes. Really."
His eyes moved over my face, taking in details I couldn't guess at. Then he nodded, like he'd made some kind of decision.
"She's at my house."
The world tilted.
I grabbed his shoulders—probably too hard, because he winced. "What did you say?"
"The girl you're looking for. She's at my house." His voice stayed calm despite my grip. "She's been sleeping mostly. Sometimes she wakes up a little, but she doesn't talk."
"She's alive?" My voice broke on the last word. "You're sure? She's—"
"She's alive." Kiki gently pulled away from my hands. "Come on. I'll take you to her."
I stumbled to my feet. My legs had gone stiff from kneeling, and I nearly fell. Kiki caught my arm with surprising strength for a kid his size.
"Careful," he said. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine." I wasn't fine. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt. "Take me to her. Now. Please."
He studied me for another second, then nodded. "Follow me."
We left the cemetery behind, moving back through the forest toward the village. I kept my eyes on Kiki's back, afraid that if I looked away he'd disappear and this would all turn out to be some kind of hallucination.
The village came into view. Small stone houses clustered together, smoke rising from chimneys. Kiki led me to one of the larger homes near the center. A woman was in the yard, scrubbing clothes in a wooden basin.
She looked up as we approached. Her eyes went straight to me, then to Kiki.
"Kiki!" She stood quickly, moving between us. "What are you doing? Who is this?"
"Mama, this is the sister!" Kiki's voice rose with excitement. "The sister of the girl we found! She came to find her!"
The woman's face went pale. "Kiki, we talked about this. You can't just—"
"She IS the sister!" Kiki insisted. "Look at her face! Look at her eyes! They're the same!"
I stepped forward. "Please. If you have someone inside, someone you pulled from the river—I need to see her. I've been searching for weeks. I need to know if it's—"
"We don't have anyone here," the woman said firmly. "You should leave."
"Mama, no!" Kiki grabbed his mother's arm. "You said we should help people! She's family! Look at her eyes—they have the same color! That strange amber color, just like the girl inside!"
The woman's gaze shifted to me. Really looked at me this time.
I saw the moment she noticed it. My eyes. The unusual amber color that apparently matched the girl inside.
Her expression changed. Softened slightly. But suspicion remained.
"What's your name?" she asked quietly.
"Elara Grey." My throat was tight. "Please. If there's any chance the person inside is my sister, I need to see her. I need to know she's safe."
The woman looked at Kiki. At me. At the house behind her.
"You really her family?" she asked.
"Yes."