The shop was eerily quiet as we slipped inside. In the silver moonlight streaming through the windows, Elara's atelier looked like a ghost of itself—dress forms draped in half-finished creations, sketches abandoned mid-stroke on her worktable. I ran my fingertips over a bolt of silk she'd been excited to show me just weeks ago.
"This isn't right," I whispered. "Elara would never leave her work like this."
Alaric moved silently around the shop, examining drawers and cabinets with practiced precision. "They came for her suddenly. No time to prepare."
I opened a leather-bound sketchbook, Elara's distinctive handwriting filling the margins with notes about fabrics and fittings. The last entry was dated just three days after Alexander's christening.
"Alaric, look at this." I pointed to a hastily scrawled note at the bottom of the page. "Meeting with potential patron—G.M. Estate. Discuss exclusive commission."