The authorities had already initiated a baseline search, but the wait was driving Rachel to the brink. Her mind kept dragging her back to that single memory outside Adrian's villa — Elena standing in the moonlight, her wedding dress ruined, her hands moving through the air with those sharp, silent accusations:
My sister. The man I loved. My own family. All of you.
Guilt tore at Rachel's chest. If she hadn't drugged her own sister, if she hadn't let her desperation blind her to the cruelty of stealing Elena's wedding, none of this would be happening.
The house phone rang, shattering the quiet room. Her father answered instantly, his posture rigid. His expression stayed controlled at first. Then the color drained from his face.
Rachel stood up so fast the world tilted. "What happened? Is it her?"
Her father didn't answer right away. His hand shook so badly the phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he lowered it.
"Dad?" Rachel stepped forward, her heart hammering.
Her mother rose too, her voice tight with fear. "Michael, what is it?"
Her father's voice came out hollow. "They found a body."
The room seemed to lose its air. "...Where?" Rachel managed.
"In a ravine near the cliff road, just outside the city." His eyes were glassy. "They believe it's Elena."
Rachel stared at him, rejecting the words before they'd even landed. "No." It came out as a ragged whisper. "No!"
Her mother covered her mouth, a sharp sob breaking through her tears. Rachel just kept shaking her head. "That's not possible. She's not dead."
Later that evening, the heavy iron doors of the city morgue opened, releasing a wave of freezing, sterile air. Rachel followed the officer down the quiet concrete hallway, her parents on either side of her, moving like people carrying something too heavy to hold.
"We recovered the body at the base of the ravine," the officer said quietly. "Tire tracks show a vehicle went over the edge during the storm."
They stopped outside a heavy steel door. Her father's hand landed on her shoulder, his voice breaking. "Rachel... we need you to confirm the identity."
Her legs nearly buckled, but she kept walking.
Inside, under the harsh fluorescent light, a body lay on a metal table beneath a white sheet. Rachel stared at the shape beneath the cloth, the hum of the refrigeration unit fading into nothing beneath the sound of her own pulse.
The officer pulled back the sheet.
Rachel screamed.
"That's not her." Her voice tore apart. "That's not my sister."
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the ruined, water-swollen features of a stranger. The officers exchanged a glance, checking their clipboards.
"You're wrong," Rachel said, backing away. "That's not Elena."
Her mother grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her into an embrace. "Rachel, look at the clothes—"
Rachel fought against her grip. "My sister isn't dead. She's not on that table."
"Miss Venzagrase," the officer said gently, "the height, the hair, the dress — everything matches what your family described."
Rachel sank to her knees, sobbing into her hands. "No. I know she's not."
Her parents looked down at her, their faces heavy with grief. To them, this was simply the first violent stage of mourning — the trauma of losing a daughter, compounded by the guilt of everything they'd done to drive her away.
"She's in denial," her mother whispered to the officer, kneeling to hold her.
Her father closed his eyes. They had ignored Elena's feelings. They had supported the stolen wedding. They had taken the man she loved and handed him to her sister — a betrayal no apology would ever undo. And now, in their minds, their quiet daughter was gone, swallowed by the mountain.
Rachel buried her face in her mother's chest, her shoulders shaking. But underneath the grief, something else stirred — quiet, stubborn, impossible to explain.
That body did not belong to Elena.
Somewhere out there, her sister was still breathing. Rachel could feel it, a thin thread pulling taut between them.
Elena was alive.
And she was out there, completely lost to the dark.