Countless photographs, all depicting candid shots of Eleanora, littered the ground. Soot painted dark smudges across her face as she assembled machine parts in one, while others showed her leaning on a chair, dozing on a couch, or hanging a completed blueprint with a satisfied smile. A glance at the bookcase nearby revealed files similar in size to the one I had accidentally knocked over. I opened them, revealing countless more images carefully tucked away. However, there was not a single photo of Adrian and Eleanora together.
I hesitated briefly before picking up Adrian’s personal notes once more. Without the panic and anxiety clouding my mind as it had the first time I’d opened the research journal, I was able to notice things I’d overlooked before. Gently, I opened one of the entries I’d already read.
04.17.578
Eleanora has passed.
