The antique grandfather clock in the Black family hallway struck seven mournful chimes. Each hollow tone vibrated through Rose's ribs as she stood frozen by the living room window, her fingernails leaving crescent marks in the velvet curtains. Outside, the last amber streaks of sunset bled across Blackwood's skyline, painting the quiet neighborhood in eerie, elongated shadows.
Mia was late.
Not fashionably late. Not "stuck in traffic" late.
*Missing.*
Rose's phone felt like a brick in her trembling hands. The lock screen showed Mia's grinning face from just last weekend - flour dusting her nose as she attempted James's famous cinnamon roll recipe. That same phone now refused to connect to its owner.
**First call:** Rang four times before dumping to voicemail.
**Second call:** Three rings.
**Third. Fourth. Fifth.** Each attempt was shorter than the last until the robotic female voice didn't even bother ringing before announcing, *"The number you are trying to reach—"*
Rose stabbed the end call button so hard her thumb ached.
The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt toast and the lavender detergent Mia used on her sweaters. Rose's bare feet stuck slightly to the tiles where spilled orange juice hadn't been fully wiped up that morning. She could still hear Mia's sleep-rough voice mumbling, *"I'll clean it after school, Mom."*
Zaire's contact photo flashed on screen - him and Mia making ridiculous fish faces at last month's winter formal. Her thumb hovered for only a heartbeat before pressing the call. Mia's best friend always answered. *Always.*
One ring. Two. Then—
Silence so complete, Rose wondered if she'd imagined the dial tone.
Her next breath came too fast, the air scraping her throat like sandpaper. The refrigerator hummed suddenly louder, the ice maker clunking in a way that made her jump.
Sebastian's name blurred through her unshed tears. He answered before the first ring finished.
"Rose?" That polished prep school voice, but tighter than usual. Papers rustled violently in the background, like he'd been mid-document-shuffle when she called.
"Have you seen Mia?" The words tumbled out in one frantic gasp. "Or Zaire? They're not—their phones just keep—"
A sharp inhale. The unmistakable sound of a leather chair squeaking as someone stood too fast. "I saw them." Sebastian's voice dropped an octave. "At school. The cafeteria around noon."
Rose's grip made the phone case creak. The clock ticked three deafening seconds before she realized he'd stopped talking.
"And?" she pressed.
A car key jingled through the speaker. "They left after we... had words."
"What kind of words?"
An engine roared to life, Sebastian's next words nearly drowned by the purr of his car's expensive horsepower. "I'm coming over."
---
The crunch of gravel under tires announced Sebastian's arrival just as James's battered Ford pickup rolled in behind him. Rose watched through the window as her husband emerged, still wearing his work boots, the left one untied like he'd kicked them off at the shop and shoved them back on in a hurry.
James's calloused hands caught Rose's shoulders the moment he crossed the threshold. "Hey now," he murmured, his voice rough from a day of shouting over machinery. His flannel shirt smelled like motor oil and the spearmint gum he always chewed. "I'm sure they're just—"
"They're gone."
Sebastian stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the porch light. His usually immaculate uniform shirt hung untucked, the first three buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of the silver chain he always wore. The one with his father's old Yale ring dangling from it.
"Just like the others," he finished quietly.
James's hands tightened on Rose's shoulders. She watched his throat work as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing above the collar of his faded Blackwood Auto shirt. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and stepped onto the porch, already dialing.
The house smelled suddenly like the storm brewing outside - ozone and wet earth creeping through the screens. Rose counted James's footsteps on the wooden deck. One. Two. Three. Pause. Then his low, measured voice:
"Sheriff? Yeah. It's James Black. We've got a situation."
---
The first fat raindrops hit the porch roof just as Sheriff Hallowe's cruiser rolled into the driveway, its headlights cutting through the gathering dark. Rose watched from the window as the hulking silhouette emerged—his broad shoulders blocking out the glow of the streetlamp, his badge catching the light like a warning flare.
James's work-roughened hand found hers, squeezing tight enough to grind her knuckles together. "Steady now," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. The scent of his aftershave—something woodsy and cheap—mixed with the petrichor rising from the dampening pavement outside.
Hallowe's boots made the floorboards groan as he stepped inside. Water dripped from his oilskin jacket, forming dark constellations on the hardwood. His eyes, pale as river stone, swept the room before landing on Sebastian.
"Calloway." The name came out like an accusation.
Sebastian's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. The firelight caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, turning them molten. "Sheriff."
Hallowe shrugged off his coat, revealing a sweat-darkened shirt beneath. The fabric strained over his belly as he pulled out a notepad, its pages warped from humidity. Rose could smell the coffee on his breath when he spoke.
"Start from the beginning. Don't leave anything out."
Rose's voice sounded foreign to her ears as she recounted the failed calls, the silence, the growing dread. The sheriff's pen scratched across paper, each stroke deliberate. When she mentioned the cafeteria, the nib froze mid-word.
"Cafeteria," Hallowe repeated. Ink bled through the page where his pen lingered. "Same as Andrew. Same as Hannah. Same as Chad. They are missing."
Sebastian took half a step forward, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "Then you know—"
"I know that girl leaves a trail of trouble wherever she goes." Hallowe snapped the notebook shut with a sound like a gun cocking. "Why is that, you reckon?"
The grandfather clock ticked three times before Rose realized her nails were drawing blood from her palms. James's arm slid around her waist, his grip almost painful.
Sebastian moved with predator grace, closing the distance between himself and the sheriff in three silent strides. "She's missing," he said, each word a shard of ice. "Not on trial."
Hallowe's chuckle rasped like sandpaper. "What'd you fight about?"
The silence thickened. Rose watched a bead of sweat trace the line of Sebastian's throat before disappearing beneath his collar.
"A school project," he said at last. Too quick. "Mia wanted to add..." His fingers twitched toward his pocket before aborting the motion. "Some details. We argued. It was nothing."
The sheriff's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing worth disappearing over?"
Something in Rose snapped.
The coffee table rocked when her knees hit it, sending Mia's half-finished crossword book sliding to the floor. The pencil—teeth-marked from Mia's worrying rolled into the shadows beneath the couch.
"Just find them!" The words tore from her throat raw as fresh meat. "Please."
For three heartbeats, no one moved. Then Hallowe sighed, the sound whistling through his crooked nose. He tucked the notebook away with deliberate slowness.
"I'll put out an alert." The screen door whined as he shouldered it open. Rain gusted in, spattering the entryway tiles. "But if they had been taken like the others..." His pause spoke volumes. "Ain't much left to find after forty-eight hours."
The door slammed.
Rose's legs gave out.
"Mrs Black!!"
Sebastian caught her before she hit the ground, his arms like steel bands. His shirt smelled of expensive detergent and something darker beneath—fear sweat. James knelt beside them, his work pants torn at the knee, his big hands fluttering uselessly.
The house breathed around them—the fridge humming, the pipes knocking, the relentless clock counting seconds they couldn't afford to lose.
Somewhere upstairs, Mia's bedroom window rattled in its frame.
Sebastian stood abruptly, his silhouette cutting a black shape against the storm-lit window. Rain streaked the glass behind him like tears.
"I'll start at the school," he said.
Rose didn't ask if he meant alone. The set of his shoulders told her everything.
She already knew the answer.
Sebastian loved Mia.
And love made people reckless.
James helped her to the couch, his touch gentler now. His wedding band caught the light as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "We'll find her," he whispered. But his eyes, usually so steady, darted toward the staircase where Mia's favorite sweater still hung from the newel post.
Sebastian was already at the door, his hand on the knob. He didn't look back when he said, "I'll call when I know something."