Byron stared into the amber liquid swirling in the heavy crystal tumbler, the flickering candlelight reflecting in its depths but his focus was inward, troubled. He took a slow sip, the warmth doing little to ease the chill of anxiety.
"Anything to report?" Byron asked quietly, setting the tumbler down on the small table beside his leather armchair. His voice was low, weary.
His aide stood respectfully near the door. He looked uncomfortable. "No, my Lord," he replied, his voice hushed. "I've followed every lead, used every contact you suggested. But there is still no trace of her. It's as if she vanished completely."
Byron's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't specify who 'she' was but the lack of news was a constant, gnawing worry underneath everything else. He picked up the glass again, raising it to his lips.
