Rain always felt strange in Port Haven—like it carried whispers of sins buried long ago.
Tonight was no different. The wind howled against the windows as if someone outside was desperately trying to get in.
Maya Collins stood in front of her childhood home for the first time in ten years. The porch light flickered above her, casting long shadows across the abandoned-looking house.
She exhaled shakily.
Tonight marked exactly ten years since her mother disappeared.
No clues. No suspects. No body.
Just silence—forced silence—from the Collins family.
Maya was now twenty-six, working in New York as a forensic artist. She had built a new life, but the past never released its grip.
Especially not after the letter that arrived last week.
A yellowed envelope, old and brittle, addressed to her in a handwriting she didn't recognize:
"For Maya.
Open only when you're ready to learn the truth."
— L. C.
L.C.
Someone from the family?
Or someone who knew too much?
Inside the house, dust coated every surface. Family portraits lined the hallway—faces frozen in cold, empty smiles. The Collins family had always looked perfect… almost unnaturally so.
Maya sat beside the fireplace and finally opened the letter.
Her eyes widened with each trembling word:
"Your mother didn't disappear.
She was taken."
The air grew heavier.
"And the person who took her
…is one of you."
Thunder shook the house.
Before Maya could fully process the message, she heard it—
The front door creaked open.
Footsteps. Slow. Controlled. Inside the house.
Heart racing, she grabbed a metal candle stand and moved cautiously toward the living room entrance.
A tall shadow stretched across the wall.
She raised the weapon—ready.
"Relax, Collins. I'm not here to kill you."
She froze.
Standing in the doorway was a man she recognized only from distant childhood memories:
Jackson Cross.
The son of her mother's private investigator.
Now he looked older, sharper, carrying secrets in his eyes.
"Jackson? What are you doing here?"
He placed a small wooden box on the table.
His voice was low, urgent.
"Because your mother left this for you.
And because whoever took her… knows you're back."
Maya's pulse hammered.
"You know something."
Jackson nodded once.
Too calmly.
"Your family isn't what you think it is, Maya."
Before she could question him, a loud crash echoed from upstairs—like furniture violently overturned.
Maya stiffened.
Jackson stepped closer and whispered:
"Whatever you do… do NOT go upstairs alone."