Isle of attraction

clutched his phone, its screen the only source of light in the otherwise darkened hallway. My breath caught

u, they killed her, watch

, united by our contract marriage, had only begun to navigate the murky waters of Amelia's death. The official story of a kitchen

en carrying this burden alone. Shame pricked at me – all this time, I'd been focused on finding the truth

own gut. My usual journalistic focus sharpened into a laser beam. Buried s

, I saw a child robbed of his mother, force

lway, a primal fear flickering behind his usually steady eyes. It was the fea

owards me, the tension in his posture mirroring the turmoil in hi

aid, my voice firm but reassuring

t someone knew too much, someone who was willing to silence anyone who dared to dig de

and a building manager with a reputation for being a hawk. Lucas hesitated

arm. "We can deal with everything else lat

ed within me. This wasn't just about uncovering Amelia's death or crafting a gripping story. This was about protecting Lucas, about giving him the closure he

I set out to the Winston

ing through decades of his mother's belongings, hoping for a clue, a hidden diary entry, anything to expl

d our call with my boss, Sarah. The official police report stated Amelia

involving a faulty pressure cooker. The inconsistency gnawed at me. Was Luna si

began, his voice thick with emotion, "thank you for doing this with

rn out of desperation for both of us. Yet, as we delved deeper in

, offering a small smile. "We'

ce, courtesy of the old photographs, flickered behind my eyelids. I wo

. Lucas, bless his stubborn heart, was determined to visit the acc

it: a small, two-paragraph article on Amelia's death. It confirmed the car accident, but one detail sent chills d

sk drawer, pulling out a stack of business cards from a recent press even

r accident witnessed by a prominent city councilman. My gut chur

hing," I blurted, quickly explaining about Arthur Davies. Lucas was a

'm coming to get you. We nee

ry road, was filled with a tense silence. When I saw Lucas

sked, stepping

t a guardrail. No skid mar

y eye caught my attention. A weathered, abandoned

that?" I

ke an old farmhouse. Prob

towards it. "Let's check it out," I suggested

it the farmhouse appeared. Broken windows, peeling paint, and overgrown weeds painte

. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight filtering through the grime-coate

Each creaking floorboard sent a jolt of nervous energy throu

ing a doorway at the end of a narrow hallw

hift office. A dusty desk held a cracked computer monitor, stacks of y

, and flipped the picture over. Our breaths ca