ch4

Chapter 4: The Vanishing Truth

The cold night air burned in Claire's lungs as she ran.

She didn't look back.

Whoever had been watching her from the edge of the woods wasn't just a trick of the shadows. The figure had moved—stepped toward her with deliberate intent.

Her boots pounded against the damp earth as she sprinted through the overgrown graveyard behind the chapel, the twisted trees looming overhead. The wind had died, and the stillness of the night made every sound sharper—the rustling of leaves, the snap of a branch, the rapid pounding of her own heartbeat.

She reached the old iron fence that separated the chapel grounds from the forest. Without thinking, she gripped the cold metal bars and climbed over, her bag catching slightly on the top. She yanked it free and dropped to the ground on the other side, breath coming in short gasps.

Then, she turned.

The figure was gone.

The clearing where it had stood was empty, the shadows stretching long in the moonlight.

Claire swallowed hard.

"Had they been toying with her? Or was she losing her grip on reality?"

She forced herself to breathe. She needed to think. Whoever—or whatever—was in Blackwood Manor didn't want her uncovering the truth.

Which meant she was getting close.

She had to find Samuel Finch again.

By the time Claire made it back to The Hollow Oak, dawn was breaking over Ravenshade. A dull orange glow spread across the sky, bathing the village in soft light. The streets were still empty, save for the occasional flicker of movement behind shuttered windows.

She pushed through the door of the inn, her fingers numb from the cold. The innkeeper, Mr. Henshaw, looked up from behind the counter, his bushy brows drawing together in concern.

"You look like hell," he muttered.

Claire ignored the comment. "Have you seen Samuel Finch?"

Mr. Henshaw's frown deepened. "Samuel Finch? No one's seen him in years."

Claire stiffened. "That's not true. I met him last night at the chapel."

The innkeeper's expression darkened. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Listen to me, Miss Westwood. If you did see him, forget it. Forget all of this. It's not safe poking around in Blackwood business."

Claire held his gaze. "Eleanor Blackwood's disappearance was never solved. You know that."

Mr. Henshaw exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Aye. And it's best left that way."

But Claire wasn't backing down. "Samuel left me a note, and now he's vanished. Where would he go?"

The innkeeper hesitated. Then, in a low voice, he muttered, "If he's in trouble, there's only one place he'd hide."

Claire leaned in. "Where?"

Mr. Henshaw glanced around as if making sure no one was listening. Then he whispered—

"The Blackwood family crypt."

Claire stood at the entrance to the crypt, gripping her flashlight.

The underground tomb was built into the side of the hill behind Blackwood Manor, its stone doorway covered in ivy, half-hidden beneath decades of overgrowth. The entrance was sealed by a rusted iron gate, but the lock had long since broken.

She pushed it open, wincing at the creak of metal against stone. A damp, musty smell filled her nostrils as she stepped inside.

The walls were lined with burial plaques, each bearing the names of Blackwood ancestors. Dust covered everything, and cobwebs stretched between the arches overhead. The air was thick, heavy, as if the crypt itself was holding its breath.

Claire moved deeper, her flashlight casting long shadows.

Then, she saw him.

Samuel Finch was slumped against the far wall, barely conscious, his face pale, his clothes covered in dirt.

Claire rushed forward. "Samuel!"

He stirred at the sound of her voice, his eyes fluttering open. He tried to speak but coughed violently instead.

Claire knelt beside him. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Samuel swallowed, his voice hoarse. "They know… I talked to you."

Claire's stomach tightened. "Who?"

Samuel's gaze flickered toward the shadows. "The ones who guard the secret."

She didn't understand. "What secret?"

Samuel grabbed her wrist, his grip weak but desperate. "Eleanor never left Blackwood Manor."

Claire felt her blood turn to ice.

"What do you mean?"

Samuel's breathing was ragged. "She's still there."

A sudden noise—footsteps echoing down the crypt's entrance.

Claire whipped around, heart hammering.

They weren't alone.

A figure stood at the entrance, blocking the only way out.

Claire couldn't see their face, only the silhouette against the dim light from outside.

Samuel struggled to sit up, gripping Claire's arm. "Run," he whispered.

Claire pulled out her pocket knife, her mind racing. The figure took a slow step forward.

Then—

A whisper echoed through the crypt.

"Help me."

Claire froze.

The same voice from the manor. Soft. Desperate.

Samuel's eyes widened in terror. "She's calling you."

Claire turned back to him. "Eleanor?"

Before he could answer, the figure lunged.

Claire ducked, pulling Samuel with her as the attack missed by inches. The figure staggered but recovered quickly, reaching for them again.

Without thinking, Claire grabbed a broken stone from the ground and swung it hard.

The figure let out a grunt, stumbling back.

"Go!" Claire shouted, dragging Samuel to his feet.

They ran deeper into the crypt, past the burial plaques, past the broken tombs, until they reached a dead end.

Claire's mind raced. Trapped.

Then she saw it.

A narrow passage hidden behind a collapsed wall, just big enough to squeeze through.

"Come on," she whispered, helping Samuel through first. She followed, pulling her bag after her just as she heard footsteps approaching.

The moment she was through, she turned and pressed against the rough stone, holding her breath.

The footsteps stopped just outside.

Silence.

Then—

The figure walked away.

Claire exhaled shakily. Whoever they were, they hadn't seen them escape.

She turned to Samuel, who was still struggling to catch his breath.

"We need to get out of here," she said.

Samuel shook his head. "Not yet."

He pointed toward the far end of the narrow passage.

Claire lifted her flashlight.

The passage led downward, toward an ancient stone doorway. Unlike the rest of the crypt, the entrance was well-preserved—untouched by time.

Something about it felt… wrong.

Samuel's voice was barely a whisper.

"This is where they kept her."

Claire swallowed hard. "Kept who?"

But she already knew the answer.

Samuel took a shuddering breath.

"Eleanor Blackwood."

Claire felt the weight of the moment settle over her. The truth was within reach.

But the closer she got, the more dangerous it became.

And something told her that whatever was behind that door…

Wasn't meant to be found by her,by anyone.

To be continued…

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A/N:Next chapter tommaro. save this book pls.