Roman Sterling and his wife, Violet, could not find rest. Sleep had long abandoned them, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread that gnawed at their insides like a slow, relentless poison. Violet's thin frame moved anxiously back and forth across the grand living room of their old family home. In just a few short days, her normally poised figure had withered, and her usually radiant face had grown gaunt and lined with worry. She clutched her hands together, the tips of her fingers white from the pressure, as she muttered prayers under her breath, hoping against hope for some miracle that would bring her son back to her.