Letters To The Lost Novels & Stories

She texted Eloise, "Is that your good plan? To fake your disappearance when you know you're about to lose? You know what—stay that way. Stay hidden forever, and don't let Jonathan find you. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't return alive." However, Sonia soon realized Eloise had blocked her number. Meanwhile, Jonathan rushed to the seaside, only to be told by his men that they couldn't find the woman who had jumped into the sea. Furious, he made a split-second decision to go out on the water himself. "Mr. Sheffield, the wind's picking up. There's a storm coming tonight! It's too dangerous to go now! Why don't we wait until the morning?" "Don't try to stop me!"

Just some lost parts of a war that wanted to kill us. I started searching. Quietly. One by one. Names scented through shattered cells and broken minds. I kept a list. I was planning a rescue. I just… ran out of time. Inside the letter, folded between its pages, was an older sheet, crumbled at the corners and written in ink that had smudged some in the rain. Twenty-seven names. Some were just first names. Others codenames. Some were scrawled through with annotations next to them: dead, relocated to the ministers’ quarter, sighted driving near Mirror Vale. And a few… some simply had one word next to them: Lost.

KAYA I was going for the letters like a hungry lion trying to gnaw at their prey. I could see that the pile of letters was reducing. “Have you found anything yet?” “Not at all. Do you think it's here?” From the look of things, I didn't think it was here. “How could this happen? We sent the letters out to everyone. And this is everything right? You're sure none of them went missing?” “Yeah, I'm sure. I asked the guards to put them all in a bag and deliver them together so everything will be accounted for. They didn't lose any.”

I'm truly sorry. I didn't reply. I deleted all his contact information. Along with it, everything from the past vanished into smoke. On my way home from work, I saw young people handing out flyers by the roadside. Every single one of them was shouting with all their energy. When I passed by, one held a flyer out to me, eyes wide and face full of hope. "Ma'am, apartments near the subway. They're really nice." They weren't wearing school uniforms, trying hard to look like adults, afraid someone would see through them.

I stared at it long enough to feel my chest tighten. My last attempt at redemption, and my last attempt at closure. I drop it in the mailbox outside, hands shaking, and heart pounding. Weeks later, I sat in the same spot staring at my bare hands as tears flowed down my eyes. I've been waiting for a response to my letter for days, but nothing came. I had no idea what happened to it. Probably somewhere at Esteban Global, my letter arrived. My words, confession and apologies, but ever reached her.

But they were there when I reached them, and they are real. She closed the notebook. Outside the windows, the city was moving through its evening. In the study, Lucien read and she sat with the weight of the letter she had written and the particular feeling of having said something true to someone who could no longer hear it but whom she believed, in the way of people who have loved and lost, could somehow still know.

It was a tide, in and out, and some nights the water came up higher than others. One evening the letter arrived, thin envelope with no return address, postmarked from a maximum-security prison somewhere in the outback. Cedric read it at the kitchen table while the others moved around him, quiet and busy, Lily doing dishes, Mia humming while she cleaned brushes, the dog snoring under the table like none of it mattered, which, in the end, was the point. The words were short, no games, no blame. [You won. I lost. But I don't regret anything. I loved you. I still do. That's the only truth I know.]

Hoping she’d understand that love, in its most broken form, can still mean care. He sent it through an old friend someone who claimed to know where Amara’s new art studio was. The friend promised to deliver it. “Give it a few days,” they said. “She’ll get it.” But days turned into weeks. And the letter never reached her. Somewhere between the noise and the news, it was misplaced tucked into the wrong pile, left at the wrong address, caught under the endless shuffle of gossip and misunderstanding. Someone might have opened it out of curiosity; someone might have tossed it aside. But for Amara, the words that could’ve mended her heart drifted away unseen, unheard, unfelt.

I muttered, clenching my jaw. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the limb,” he said, not looking up. “You have got a major injury in here..” he said as he messaged the lower part of my leg. Lucky? I didn’t feel lucky. My whole body ached, my mouth was sore, and every breath felt like I was being stabbed from the inside. But nothing hurt more than the thought of Lena. Of not knowing how she was doing and if she was even still breathing. I stared at the letter again. A letter to the Dark Armies. A group of Lycans more feared than death itself.

He didn’t know why the words of a man he couldn’t remember could make him so emotional, why the possibility of not ever being able to meet him would crush his soul into feeling an irreparable loss. Not knowing what to say or feel, he decided to process everything slowly, he didn’t know why, but he wanted to hold the letter close to his heart, as though it was a piece of his soul that could never be replaced. But just as he was about to fold, he saw a life-like portrait at the back of the page and turned around anxiously hoping to see the face of the person who made his heart feel so much loss. But what welcomed him was the life-like, yet miserable faces of the younger versions of the two men