Chapter 50. The Return

The rain began sometime around noon, as if the clouds had finally surrendered to a soft, unhurried rhythm. It wasn’t a dramatic downpour or a violent squall—it was a quiet, persistent patter that muffled the city’s usual roar, shrinking distant horns and footsteps into muffled echoes. The pavement gleamed darkly under slick tiles of water, and every lamp-post cast halos of amber light through the misty haze.

Inside Clara’s kitchen, the bright morning sun had long been swallowed by gray skies. Alyssa stood at the counter, her fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic teapot, as though its heat could reach deeper than her chilled skin. Steam curled upward in gentle spirals, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and lemon. Each time she inhaled, there was a sting in her chest—equal parts longing and fear—that had been nesting there ever since she saw the photograph.

She hadn’t slept much since Clara had shown her the image: the nursery’s mint-green walls, the single window fr