The sun rose over the city, soft and ordinary, but inside Elara's apartment, the air was thick with worry. Her mother paced the living room, phone clutched tightly in her hand, brow furrowed.
"It's been two days, James. Two whole days! She hasn't answered a single call or text," she said, her voice tight with panic.
Her father, sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, ran a hand over his face. "Maybe she stayed late at work? Or went on a trip? She didn't say anything, though…"
"She never goes anywhere without telling us!" her mother snapped. "I've called everyone at her office. No one's seen her since Monday morning. And her phone… it's off!"
The apartment felt too quiet. Too empty. Every small sound—the ticking of the clock, the faint hum of the refrigerator—felt sharp against the absence of Elara.
Meanwhile, across town, her coworkers were gathering around her empty desk. The chair was pushed in neatly, her coffee cup still half-full, spreadsheets left open on her screen. No emails, no messages, no notes explaining her absence.
"Where is she?" one whispered.
"She hasn't shown up for two days," Claire said, brows furrowed. "I've called her emergency contacts. No one's heard from her. I… I think we need to file a missing person report."
The worry was contagious, spreading quickly through the office. Each unanswered email, each silent phone call, tightened the knot of panic in everyone's stomach.
Back at her parents' apartment, the worry twisted into anger. Her mother slammed her hand against the counter. "Why her? Why did this have to happen to her?"
Her father's face was pale. "We have to stay calm. Panicking won't help. We'll find her—we have to."
And somewhere far away, in Thalorien, Elara pressed her face to the pillow, listening to the storm outside Rowan's cabin. She had been gone for five days, though in the modern world it had only been two, and the thought of her friends and family searching for her made her chest ache.
She forced herself to sit up, hugging her knees to her chest. Calm down, Elara, she whispered. Breathe. You can't fix this. You just… survive.
Anger flared, sharp and bitter. Why me? Why now? Why here? She imagined her parents pacing, her friends calling frantically, coworkers wondering where she'd vanished. I can't reach them. I can't explain. I'm… alone.
She pressed her hands to her face, wishing fiercely to be home, to hear her mom sigh and scold her lightly for sleeping through breakfast, to scroll through her phone, to see the world she knew moving on without her.
"I just… I just want to go home," she whispered into the empty cabin, letting the frustration roll off her in shaky breaths.
The storm outside rattled the walls and pounded against the roof, but it was nothing compared to the storm in her chest—a storm she would have to weather alone.