“Breakfast is served, come eat your meal,” I said, expecting a tiny pair of hands around my waist—but I received nothing. I was hugged by perfect silence. That silence? It wasn’t peaceful. It was wrong. Since Diane was partially okay now. I expected her usual shuffle, the soft patter of her feet, or her humming some made-up tune about bunnies and pancakes. But there was nothing. I set the tray down and walked out into the hallway of the hotel suite. The walls were too clean, too polished, too… still. Too sterile. I could only hear the distant hum of the old lady staying opposite our room, the low murmur of voices from other rooms, but none of it mattered. Because Diane's voice wasn’t here. My breath hitched. My legs moved before my mind caught up. I stormed back into our private suite—feet loud against the floor, heart even louder in my chest. The room was still empty. The bed was neatly made. The bunny—her bunny, which she named Cotton—was gone. The chair w
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