Chapter Ten: Still Watching

Detective Marcus Hale left Ethan’s apartment with far more questions than answers. The hallway outside was dead quiet, but his mind wasn't; he replayed the conversation as he walked toward the elevator, lingering on Ethan’s description of the strange woman from the construction site.

"Do you believe people can disappear without leaving?"

It wasn't a threat, and it wasn't even a warning. To Marcus, it sounded much more like someone testing whether Ethan was paying attention. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Marcus stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor while watching his reflection in the brushed steel walls.

After twenty-three years on the force, he’d learned to trust an instinct he could never fully justify in written reports. Cases spoke to him in different ways. Some were straightforward, leaving behind a trail of physical evidence that required nothing more than patience.

Others seemed almost alive, revealing only what they wanted to reveal, precisely when they wanted to reveal it. This case belonged to the second kind.

By the time he reached the parking lot, a heavy dusk had settled over the city streets. His phone buzzed in his hand before he could even unlock his car, the screen flashing with Officer Lena Brooks’s name.

"Marcus, are you free?" she asked, her voice tight with professional focus.

"I am now," he replied, opening his car door. "What happened?"

"I think we've found something."

Marcus paused, his hand hovering over the ignition. "About the fingerprints?"

"No," Lena said. "The wedding photographs."

He frowned, leaning back against the headrest. "What about them?"

"I'd rather show you the monitors than try to explain it over the phone."

"I'll be at the precinct in fifteen minutes."

Across town, Amelia sat alone in her apartment for the first time since the wedding. The silence felt completely unfamiliar. Just yesterday, this place had been filled with unopened wedding gifts, colorful honeymoon brochures, and a handwritten list of things she and Ethan still needed to pack before leaving for Italy. Now, every single object in the room seemed to belong to another person's life.

She wandered aimlessly into the living room and stopped in front of a framed photograph resting on the bookshelf. It had been taken two summers earlier on a hiking trail, catching them both laughing after getting caught in an unexpected storm. Neither of them looked prepared for the rain, their clothes were soaked and their hair was an absolute mess, yet it remained one of her favorite memories because nothing about it had been planned.

She picked up the silver frame, her eyes anchoring on Ethan's smile. "You were happy," she whispered.

The thought immediately unsettled her. She didn't doubt the authenticity of the photograph; she doubted her own judgment. Had she spent years mistaking a surface-level happiness for actual honesty?

Her phone vibrated against her palm, displaying a message from her editor: *Take all the time you need, Amelia. Your desk will be here when you're ready.* She smiled faintly, appreciating the first message in two days that asked absolutely nothing from her.

But another notification appeared almost immediately after. This one came from an unknown, untraceable sender. There was no accompanying text only an attached image file.

Amelia hesitated for a few seconds before tapping the screen. The image loaded slowly, revealing the interior of St. Andrew's Cathedral only minutes before the ceremony had been scheduled to begin. She recognized herself standing near the heavy oak entrance with her father, surrounded by pews filled with guests while the minister waited patiently at the altar. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place.

Then she zoomed in on the back row.

Near the very exit of the church stood the woman in the cream-colored hat. She wasn't looking at Ethan, and she wasn't watching the guests settle into their seats. Instead, she was looking directly toward the camera lens, almost as if she had known the exact moment the photograph was being taken.

Amelia's heartbeat quickened. She checked the sender's number, but it was marked private with no name and no previous message history. A second text popped up beneath the image, containing only six words: She wasn't there by accident.

Amelia stared at the screen. Someone had deliberately sent her this file, not to frighten her, but to ensure she noticed the woman's presence. She enlarged the image even further, until the pixels began to blur.

Something small caught her eye. The woman was holding a slender object in her right hand, barely visible beneath the elegant sleeve of her jacket. It was a faded pink ribbon the exact same ribbon Lily had worn in her hair at the altar.

Amelia's pulse hammered against her ribs. Without another thought, she grabbed her keys, slipped on her jacket, and headed straight for the front door. She didn't know where she was going yet, only that waiting around for answers was no longer an option. Somewhere out there, someone wanted her to follow this trail.

The only question left was why?