The sky over the city was grey, dull with a low-hanging fog that made everything feel heavier. The kind of sky that pressed down on the shoulders of those left behind.
Inside the small apartment near Juniper Street, the air was still. Only the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of footsteps from the apartment above broke the silence.
Alina stood by the window, jacket still zipped, her breath visible on the glass as she stared down at the street. She hadn't even taken her shoes off. She'd gone straight from work to the police precinct, then back home without eating. Everything felt off. The entire city felt wrong somehow, and none of it had felt right since Marcus went missing.
"Anything?" her mother asked from the kitchen doorway.
Alina shook her head. "Nothing. No texts. No new posts. No calls." Her voice was low, tired, but calm—calm in the way someone had to be when nobody else was.
Her mother sighed, running a hand through her short-cropped hair. "I called the college again. They said he hasn't been in class all week. Professors haven't heard a word."
Grandma Rosa, who was seated in the corner armchair with a knitted blanket over her lap, didn't say anything. She just watched Alina, eyes behind her thick glasses narrowed with quiet worry.
Alina turned away from the window, finally unzipping her coat. "Let's file the report."
Her mother looked up. "We don't have to wait?"
"No. It's been too long already. They'll push back, but we'll make them write it up. I'll handle it."
The precinct smelled like old coffee and rubber floor mats. The light buzzed overhead, flickering every few seconds. A young officer behind the desk barely looked up as Alina and her mother approached.
"Yes?"
"We're here to file a missing persons report," Alina said. "Marcus Rivera. He's been gone three days. No calls, no notes, nothing."
The officer's expression didn't change. "How old is he?"
"Twenty-two."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then technically, ma'am, he's not missing."
Alina blinked. "Excuse me?"
"He's an adult. If he wanted to leave, it's not illegal. Maybe he went out of town. Vacation, girlfriend, who knows?"
Her mother stepped forward, anger barely restrained. "He doesn't go on vacations. He doesn't disappear."
"Ma'am, if the person isn't showing signs of being in danger—"
"He's not answering his phone," Alina interrupted. "He missed college. His things are untouched. No one has heard from him. He wouldn't leave like that."
The officer typed slowly on his keyboard, unimpressed. "What's your relationship to the missing party?"
"I'm his sister."
"Biological?"
Alina's jaw tightened. "Adopted. What difference does that make?"
The officer shrugged. "Just need to know how close you really were. If he didn't say anything, maybe he didn't feel like he had to."
Alina inhaled, steadying herself. "We're close. He wouldn't leave like this. Not without a word. Especially not to Mom. Especially not to Grandma."
Her tone dropped at the end, almost imperceptibly. The truth was that deep down… she did care about Marcus more than she let on. She didn't tell the officer that. She wouldn't. Not here. Not like this.
She signed the papers when prompted. The officer input the report. Nothing felt resolved.
Back home, the silence had deepened. Alina stood in Marcus's room for the first time since he vanished.
The bed was made. His hoodie still hung over the chair. The desk was clean. No clutter. No signs of a hasty exit.
She stood there for a while, taking it all in. The bookshelf full of sci-fi paperbacks. The half-used sketchpad. The sneakers lined up neatly by the radiator. If someone had told her he'd just gone out for a walk, she might've believed it.
But he hadn't gone for a walk. He hadn't gone to class. He hadn't told anyone where he was going.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mom:
Try checking his Facebook. Maybe something's there?
She hesitated, then sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. Locked. Password protected.
She typed his birthday. Didn't work.
She tried again. Still nothing.
She leaned back in the chair, frustrated. The ceiling felt too low.
She picked up her own phone and opened Facebook, searching his profile. Nothing recent. His last post was a few days ago—a photo of a street mural. No caption. Just an image of a bird painted over a brick wall, its wings outstretched.
No status updates. No replies.
"Dammit, Marcus," she whispered, staring at the screen.
Alina switched apps, checking Messenger. All the chats were private. She couldn't see anything without his login.
She stared at the screen long enough for her eyes to sting. Her finger hovered over the screen, then she called a name from her contacts.
"Leona? It's me. Listen, I have a weird question… Do you know anyone who could break into a locked Facebook account?"
The voice on the other end hesitated. "Um… for what?"
"It's my brother. He's missing. I'm not trying to stalk anyone. I just… I just need to know if he was talking to someone. If someone knows where he is."
"I might know a guy. I'll ask."
"Thanks."
Later that night, Alina sat at the kitchen table with her mom and grandma. The kettle whistled in the background.
"We may have to hire a private investigator," her mom said quietly. "If the police aren't going to take this seriously."
Alina nodded slowly. "I can put some money down. We can start asking around tomorrow. Someone in this city has to know how to find people."
Her grandmother placed a hand over hers. "You're doing good, niña. He'll come home. I know it."
Alina didn't respond. Her heart ached with questions, none of which had answers. She stared out the window again, wondering where Marcus had gone.
That night, she curled up on Marcus's bed, unable to sleep. She pulled his hoodie over her legs, resting her head on his pillow. It still smelled like his cheap shampoo.
She let the tears fall then, just a few.
She whispered into the dark:"Where are you, Marcus? Please… just let us know you're okay."