Chapter 2 THE HOUSE THAT BURNED.

The mornings in Rosefield were quieter than Helena remembered. Birds chirped softly outside her window, and the scent of fresh bread drifted up from the bakery below. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the message Elias had sent the night before.

"Meet me at 9. There's something you should see."

Her fingers hovered over the screen, but she didn't reply. Instead, she slipped on her boots and grabbed her jacket.

Outside, the sun was rising slowly and golden, casting long shadows over the streets. Elias was already waiting by his truck when she arrived. He smiled when he saw her.

"Morning, detective," he teased gently.

Helena smiled back, but something in her chest felt tight. "You said you found something?"

He nodded. "Come on. I'll show you."

They drove out to the edge of town, where the trees grew thick and wild. The road twisted, climbing toward the hills that overlooked Rosefield. Eventually, they stopped at a rusted gate that led into an overgrown path.

"This is where the development project was supposed to be," Elias explained. "Your father was the only landowner who refused to sell. That made him... inconvenient."

Helena stepped out of the truck, her boots sinking into soft dirt. The air here smelled damp, earthy, untouched.

"Why didn't anyone tell me this before?" she asked.

"Because most people wanted to forget," Elias said. "But I remember. I heard my dad talking about it back then. He said your father was stubborn-too proud. He wouldn't give in, no matter the money."

She looked at him. "And what about your dad? Was he involved?"

Elias hesitated, just for a second. "He worked with the contractors. But he quit before the fire. Said it was getting too messy."

The pause in his answer stuck in her mind, but she didn't say anything.

They walked together through the field. Elias pointed out where the company had started to dig before the fire stopped everything. The place felt haunted-not by ghosts, but by the weight of secrets.

Helena knelt down and ran her fingers through the soil. It was soft, untouched, almost like it had been waiting for her return. "This was supposed to be our future," she whispered. "My dad wanted to build a garden here. He used to say... nature was the only thing worth protecting."

Elias bent down beside her. "He was right."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, it was quiet between them. Peaceful.

But then Helena stood up. "We should keep digging-figuratively, I mean. If someone burned my house down, I want to know why."

Back in town, they spent the afternoon in the local archives, flipping through boxes of old records and reports. Helena found a copy of a complaint her father had filed-handwritten and dated just two weeks before the fire.

"They've threatened me. If anything happens to me or my family, let this be proof."

She held the paper tightly, her fingers trembling. "Why wasn't this in the police report?"

Helena frowned, looking over her shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe someone made it disappear."

She turned to face him. "But who would do that?"

He met her eyes. "Someone with something to hide."

Her heart skipped. The room felt colder suddenly.

They dug deeper, flipping through names and files, but one stood out: Jacob Ryder-the lead developer for the project. He'd vanished shortly after the fire.

"That's a little too convenient," Helena muttered. "It's like everyone just... walked away after we were gone."

She closed the file with a sigh and rubbed her eyes. "Elias, why are you helping me? I mean really."

He leaned on the table. "Because you deserve to know what happened. And because I care about you."

Her breath caught. "Even after all these years?"

"Especially after all these years," he said softly.

Later that night, Amara sat by the window of her room, staring at the stars above the quiet town. The warning in her father's handwriting kept replaying in her mind. Threatened. If anything happens...

Who had wanted him silenced?

Her phone buzzed.

Liam: "You okay?"

Amara: "Just thinking."

Liam: "About what?"

Amara: "Everything."

Liam: "Come for a walk?"

She hesitated. Then:

Amara: "Okay. Give me 5 mins."

They walked beneath the streetlamps in silence for a while. Their shadows stretched across the pavement, long and close.

"I'm glad you came back," Elias said quietly.

"I don't know if I am," Helena admitted. "This town feels the same, but everything's different. I keep asking questions, but the more I learn, the more it hurts."

He looked at her. "Maybe the truth will set you free."

"Or maybe it'll break me," she whispered.

Elias reached for her hand, and for a moment, the world felt still.

"You're stronger than you think," he said.

She looked up at him, his face soft in the moonlight. There was something in his eyes-warm, steady-but just beneath it, something she couldn't quite read.

"I want to trust you, Elias," she said honestly.

"You can," he replied.

But her heart hesitated. Just for a second.

They stopped at the old swing set by the park. Helena sat on the edge of one swing and let her feet drag across the dust.

"Have you ever thought about that night?" she asked him suddenly.

He looked away. "Sometimes."

"What do you remember?"

Elias's voice was low. "I remember the smoke... the sirens... and you, screaming for your parents."

Helena's chest tightened. "I don't remember screaming."

He looked at her. "You did."

Her fingers curled around the rusted chain. Something about the way he said it gave her chills.

Later that night, after he dropped her off, she sat on her bed flipping through old photos she had stored in her bag. One of them showed her house-before the fire. Her dad stood in the garden, arms crossed, proud. And beside him... a boy.

Her breath caught.

It was Elias.

He was standing behind her father, half-turned, holding something in his hand. It looked like a lighter.

She frowned, bringing the photo closer. It could've been anything... right?

She put it down quickly, heart pounding.

Stop it, she told herself. It's just a picture. He wouldn't,

But the image had planted something in her mind.

Doubt.