TWENTY-ONE: A WHILE AGO.

A few days ago, after the death of Resa and Annie's disappearance, the Broadways went silent. It's a tradition to mourn the death of a loved one for seven days before laying them to rest, but Resa's body was nowhere to be found, nor was Annie's.

Clary, now all alone, hadn't left her room for two days. She was devastated. It's funny how things can change in a split second.

Every day she wished she would just wake up and find her two sisters next to her, as if it were all a dream. But each time she woke up in the morning, it was the same nightmare relived.

For two weeks, she did not eat, drink, or get out of bed. She was down, and her phone rang a few times, but she was too downcast to pick it up.

The weight of missing a loved one is so heavy; you can't afford to bear it alone.

This attitude went on for the next three days. Her parents, Cela and Dave, were worried sick about their daughter.

"Should we check on her?" Dave asked, his voice laced with worry as he paced the length of the dining room. The floor creaked softly under his slippers. He wore a silver bathrobe that shimmered faintly under the warm lights, a matching hair wrap concealing his short brown hair. In one hand, he clutched a steaming mug of tea, the other hand stirring absentmindedly as if the motion could calm his nerves.

Cela looked up from her chair, her expression calm but tired. "No," she said gently, rising to her feet before he could take another step toward the stairs. "I think we should give her time." She reached out, resting a hand on his arm to stop him. Her touch was firm but soothing. "It's going to be hard for her, Dave. You know that."

She stood there in her long pink nightgown, its silky fabric brushing the floor like rose petals. The dim glow from the chandelier caught the strands of her loose hair, framing her face with a softness that contrasted the tension in her voice.

Dave sighed, staring up at the staircase that disappeared into the shadows above. His knuckles whitened against the mug. "But it's been seventeen days now. You said seven days ago. We need to help our baby girl."

"I know," Cela whispered, giving his arm a light squeeze. "let her grieve; it's part of healing. She'll come around when she feels better."

Dave sighed and sat down on a chair next to the glass table, his hand rubbing his forehead as he sighed continuously. Cela stood beside him, trying to hold him together.

On the fourth day, it was the same result. Although they were worried, they had to give her some space.

That night, the full moon was out. Its light shined brightly on Clary's room through the window. She used her blanket to shield herself from the rays of moonlight.

By midnight, she was fast asleep. A few minutes later, she woke up to find herself in a thick, dark forest. It was so dark, you could hardly see, even with bat's eyes.

The sky was covered with dark clouds. She looked around, scared. How did she get here? She took one step forward and found herself standing next to a wooden cottage with strange inscriptions written all over it.

She squinted to read the inscriptions; it was written in an ancient language she happened to understand.

"Wend þinne andweard to me, þinne hweorf to þam wudu, ealdras treowa."

Which meant:

"Turn your face to me and your back to the forest, oh mothers of wood."

She said it out loud, and then the hut stood up. It slowly turned to face her, opening the door, and before she could process what was happening, she was inside.

Inside the cottage, the air was thick with heat and the sharp, bitter scent of herbs. Shadows danced across the wooden walls as the flames beneath a massive iron pot crackled and hissed. Annie stood in the center, her silhouette framed by the wavering glow, both hands gripping a long wooden spoon as she stirred the bubbling liquid inside. It was black as midnight, swirling thick and slow, releasing curls of smoke that curled toward the low ceiling like restless spirits.

She dipped the spoon into the pot, lifted a small measure of the dark brew, and poured it into a cracked clay cup. The liquid steamed violently, spitting tiny droplets that burned her fingers, but she didn't flinch. Her eyes were cold.

Across the room, on an old crooked bed that groaned under the weight of time, lay two lifeless bodies: Resa and Alexa. Their faces were pale, lips drained of color, as if sleep had stolen too much from them and refused to give it back.

Annie moved toward them with deliberate steps, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet. Standing at the foot of the bed, she raised the cup high, her voice slicing through the heavy silence as she chanted words in a language older than the wind. The sound was sharp, like bones grinding together. Power throbbed in every syllable.

The room seemed to dim, the flames shuddering as though afraid. Annie lowered the cup to Resa's lips, tilting it slowly. The black liquid slipped past the edges of her mouth, trailing like ink down her chin. She did the same for Alexa, her chanting never faltering, her voice growing louder, stronger, until the air trembled with it.

When the cup was empty, Annie turned away, her chest rising and falling like a storm at sea. She set the vessel aside and returned to the pot. A single gesture of her hand and the fire beneath it died with a hiss, smoke curling upward like a final breath.

Then, she stepped into the center of the chalk-drawn triangle etched into the wooden floor. Its edges were sharp and precise, marked with strange sigils. Three candles burned at each corner, their flames steady despite the restless air. Annie lowered herself to the ground, folding her legs beneath her, and pressed her palms together.

Her eyes closed. She inhaled deeply, the scent of ash, herbs, and blood lingering like a phantom in the air. And then, she began to breathe in something else, something invisible, as if the darkness itself was alive and answering her call.

"I know you're there. I can sense your presence."

Clary came closer, surprised to see her sisters. She kept coming closer, not saying a word, but before she could come any closer, Annie stopped her.

"Why are you here?"

With so much pain in her voice, Clary replied,

"My dreams led me here." Then she smiled, brushing away the tears that streamed down her cheek. "Come home, Annie. Mum and Dad are worried sick about you."

Annie sighed.

"Tell Mum and Dad I'm fine out here. I can't go back and pretend nothing happened."

Clary dropped to her knees, uncontrollable tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Please, Annie, we can make Raymond pay. He'll rot in jail."

"And what good will that do? At least he gets to keep his life? No! I'll make him pay my way."

Then she stood up and went to her sister, who wept like a baby. She bent down before her, cupping her hair to the side.

"In here, I'm already at home."

Then she hugged her, dried her tears with her thumbs, and made her stand. She kissed her on the cheek and leaned in to whisper,

"Don't come looking for me." And she knocked Clary out.

...

The next morning, Clary woke with tears already stinging her eyes. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the heaviness in her chest pressed down like a weight she couldn't shake. The grief hadn't loosened its grip in three weeks, not since Resa's death. Not since Annie vanished without a word.

She wiped her face with trembling hands, but the tears kept falling, silent and unrelenting. For three long weeks, her room had been her prison. Curtains drawn. Meals barely touched. Words, none at all. But today, for the first time, something inside her pushed her to move.

Clary swung her legs off the bed and stood, her body weak and stiff, like it had forgotten what living felt like. When she walked into the dining room, Cela and Dave froze mid-conversation. Surprise flickered in their eyes, quickly softening into relief.

"Clary…" Dave whispered, as if saying her name too loud might scare her back into hiding.

She managed a faint smile, and for a moment, hope returned to the house like sunlight breaking through clouds. They ate together, quietly, carefully, as though the fragile peace could shatter at any second.

Later, Clary found her mother on the balcony. The breeze carried the scent of morning dew and distant flowers. Cela was perched in a white plastic chair, a thin ribbon of smoke curling from the pipe in her hand.

"Hey, Mum… can I join you?" Clary asked, her voice low and hesitant.

Cela looked up and smiled gently. She set the pipe aside and stretched her arms toward her daughter.

"Of course."

Clary stepped forward, and for a moment they stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the quiet street below. Cars drifted by. A man walked his dog. Life moved on as if nothing had happened. They stayed silent for a while, the air thick with everything unsaid.

Finally, Cela broke the stillness.

"Is something bothering you, dear?"

Clary let out a long, shaky breath.

"Yes," she whispered. "I… I know where Annie is."

Cela turned sharply, her brows knitting in confusion. She sank back into her chair, eyes fixed on Clary with a weight that made her throat tighten.

"Where?"

"In the Dark Forest."

A sharp sigh escaped Cela as she pressed a hand to her forehead. Clary's heart clenched. That reaction was too quick, too knowing.

"You knew?" Clary's voice trembled with disbelief.

"Yes." Cela's tone was calm, but her eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Then why didn't you do anything about it?" Clary's voice cracked, the anger in it raw, jagged.

"Because…" Cela met her gaze steadily. "She doesn't want to be found, Clarissa."

The truth landed like a stone in Clary's stomach. She sank into the chair opposite her mother, silent, staring at the floor as the wind played with the ends of her hair.

Cela reached for her hand, her voice softening.

"But sweetheart… how did you know?"

"I had a dream," Clary said after a long pause. She told her everything, every detail that burned in her memory like fire, every image that refused to leave her mind.

When she finished, Cela simply nodded, her face unreadable. Then she leaned over, placing a hand on Clary's shoulder.

"Let's give Annie time," she murmured. "She'll come around." She pulled Clary close, wrapping her arms around her like a shield. Her voice was warm, but her eyes, Clary couldn't see them, held a flicker of doubt.

"I hope so," Cela whispered against her daughter's hair.

...

That afternoon, Clary retreated to her room. The moment the door clicked shut, the silence pressed in again. She collapsed onto her bed and reached for her phone, its screen lighting up with dozens of missed calls and unread messages. Notifications flooded her feed, like the world had been screaming while she'd been drowning in silence.

She scrolled through them slowly, her hands trembling as her heart thudded against her ribs.