Echoes of the Pack

The atmosphere feels thick with an unsettling presence, like a tightening noose constricting her skin.

Her body is there, my sister's body. I stand in silence, waiting for her to blink, hoping she'll step down from the railing and dismiss this as a mere joke or prank.

But she doesn't.

Our eyes lock in a continuous state of panic.

My hand moves from my chest to my mouth, then extends toward her. She swings back and forth, each swing diminishing, mirroring the growing intensity of my breaths.

I shut my eyes and collapse onto the ground, releasing a scream that drains all the air from my lungs.

"Azura!"

...

Four hours earlier...

"Can you and Alora give Ahren a ride home, Azura?" Ahren's mom disconnects her phone from the car's audio system, creating a loud pop sound. She smiles as she observes them standing together.

My sister and Ahren make a striking couple. He looks like a high school football star, while she is tall and blonde, as if she's been taken from the pages of Vogue and placed in our peaceful Palawan town.

Zaven tugs at my cardigan. "My nail came off."

"Ugh," I exclaim, reaching into my bag and handing him a roll of bandages. I accidentally tore off my little toe's nail while practicing at home last night, which is either a hazard of the trade or a sign that I need to reevaluate my ballet technique.

"Don't tease me! If I can't share these things with my dance partner, then who can I share them with?" His nail looks awful. As he removes his sock completely, we both wince. "Alora!"

"Quit complaining," Azura says with a chuckle. She kneels down and begins to apply a bandage to his toe. "You'd think that after all these years, you two would have grown accustomed to-"

"Azura, you can't just get used to stubbed toes."

She hands Zaven his sock and tells Ahren's mom, "Miss Mac, we'll drop him off after dinner."

"Sounds good! Enjoy yourselves, kids!"

Once Ahren's mom leaves the studio, he wraps his arms around Azura's waist. His cheeks turn deep red, and his bright blue eyes remain fixed on my sister. However, she seems lost in thought or captivated by something outside in the forest.

Zaven stands up as Azura awkwardly pushes Ahren away and says, "I'll leave you to deal with...whatever that is."

"Thanks," I reply, giving him a quick hug and reminding him, "Text me when you get home, Goose."

"Will do, Mav."

The car ride home feels oddly tense now that Ahren is seated in the back. I sit upfront with Azura, who hasn't uttered a word since we left my rehearsal. Her fingers are pale as they grip the wheel. I glance down to ensure her seatbelt is still fastened.

"Hmm?" She looks at me and asks, "Alora, did you say something?"

I fumble over my words. I hadn't actually spoken aloud. "Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," she insists, although her forced smile suggests otherwise.

Ahren and I exchange glances. He gives me a frustrated shrug and sinks back into his seat. This dinner is turning out to be quite interesting.

But this isn't new. It's been this way for a while now, this sudden change. One moment she's her cheerful self, and the next... it's like talking to her underwater.

My sister has changed. It's evident. It has been progressively worsening since we returned from summer break and started our senior year.

I know that Azura has always been drawn to unconventional interests. She and her theater friends dabble in their version of white magic, something I used to consider a rebellious hobby or a bit of Mother Earth mysticism from hippies. But it was never an issue before. Azura is a good person, as are her friends. I know this.

I don't understand why she changed. This uncertainty gave me the courage to sneak into her room and sift through her belongings. I don't know why she transformed from my fearless, outgoing sister into someone shyer and quieter than even me. I don't know why she no longer wants to be with Ahren, her childhood sweetheart.

I can't grasp how we've gone from being inseparable best friends to sisters who hardly exchange a word. I can't pinpoint when Azura stopped talking to me, but it's undeniable that she has distanced herself.

In a typical family, siblings can keep secrets from each other without causing concern, but our family doesn't follow that pattern. Our parents consist of a hardworking father dedicated to his business and a mother who wholeheartedly adores him. Azura and I are the product of their commitment to each other, and while they do care about us, their devotion to each other has always come first.

After reading our father's text, I softly mentioned, "Mom is preparing arroz con habichuelas."

"Thank goodness," Azura responded as she drove down our long gravel driveway.

"Thanks, Mom," she added. "Primera-Mama," I teased her with a chuckle. "Segundo-Dios."

"Be careful now," I playfully warned her with a wrist slap. "You might get into trouble speaking like that."

Ahren, joining in from the backseat, said, "Ladies, let's keep an open mind."

"Ahren, I apologize. We were just discussing what holds the most importance in our family."

"Oh, so work," he joked, but I noticed Azura's jaw tensing.

Our upbringing was unlike anyone else's. By the time Azura and I entered elementary school, our father's sailing business had already begun its growth. We never lacked for anything, for which I've always been grateful. However, our parents were resolute in their priorities, emphasizing that the business always came first.

We were raised in a home where our parents spent more time abroad than sharing a room with us. Half of our family resided in Puerto Rico, and the other half in South Carolina. Azura and I were always together, and remarkably, we didn't stray down the wrong path. Our parents didn't dictate our every move, allowing us a degree of freedom.

I chose the path of dance, while my sister embraced the piano. Her sanctuary lay within the high school theater group, a choice that suited her outgoing nature. Azura and I may seem like mirror images, but we possess our differences.

As soon as Azura turned off the Jeep, Ahren hopped out, exclaiming, "I'm famished!" He sprinted up the front stairs, while my sister and I remained in silence.

Once again, she gazed into the woods. What could possibly have captured her attention?

Azura had always been sociable and driven, boasting numerous school friends. I, on the other hand, was the quiet one in the family, while she relished the limelight, especially on stage in ballet shoes. I found contentment in having just a select few friends, including my sister, Ahren, and my dance partner.

"Azura."

"Hmm?" Her gaze remained fixed on the path leading from our property into the woods. "Aloralie, I'm sorry. Let's head inside."

"Is everything all right?" It began with small things, like her absent-mindedness during our conversations. Subsequently, she started offering excuses to avoid hanging out, no longer bothering to provide explanations. "You're causing me to worry, Azura. Did...did something happen to you?"

"I..." She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Aloralie, it's nothing. I've just been contemplating life after school. You have a promising future in a dance company, while my best shot lies with a local theater group."

"I thought that after all these years, you'd know better than to keep things from me."

"I'm not-"

"Azura, I always sense when you're not being truthful! So, please, stop it and tell me what's really going on!"

We share more similarities than differences. Azura was born just ten months before me, so we've always been in the same grade. We have an uncanny ability to discern things about each other, much like twins.

She now looks back at the forest, clearly unsettled or fearful of something within. I strain to see what has captured her attention, but it eludes me. All I can make out are the faint silhouettes of pine trees and shrubs as darkness settles in.

"I just...sometimes I wonder if life has more to offer..." Leaning against the steering wheel, she gazes up at our house. Her bedroom window overlooks the driveway, and she must have forgotten to close it again, considering the likelihood of rain soaking her curtains. "There's something more..."

I reach out for her hand and assure her, "There's undoubtedly more to life, Azura. We'll break free from here. We can plan a trip or head off to college after graduation. If I end up joining a dance company, you're always welcome to come along. I'll never leave you behind."

She looks at me with sadness in her eyes, even though she's smiling. Her sad smile makes me emotional, almost bringing tears, but she stops them. She gently wipes away my tears with her hands.

"Aloralie, I get what you mean, but there's a big world out there for you. When I think about the future, I can't see anything."

Once again, she's not being entirely truthful. She has a scary secret but won't share it with me. For months now, I've felt like something bad is coming. But tonight, after Azura and I got out of the car, that feeling got stronger.

"What's this? It looks like Azura's handwriting, doesn't it?" Ahren hands me tea. I'm sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the strange journal I found under her bed.

"Yes, it's her notes from English class... I skipped some parts." The sense of something bad happening isn't just a feeling; I'm convinced something dreadful is coming.

"My mother's voice interrupts my thoughts. I blink, and she repeats, "Go get your sister," this time with a sigh.

I have to leave the kitchen and the smell of empanadillas my mother made.

I quickly go up the stairs, holding the journal. I want to talk to Azura about the strange entries. From talking about moon phases to mentioning crystals, deities, and protective herbs like mugwort, it seems like my sister might be starting a new spiritual journey. I want to understand if this is why she's been keeping to herself.

Just as I'm about to step onto the top landing, I trip and stumble forward. I manage to catch myself with my hands, but not before my head hits the doorframe of Azura's bedroom.

"Ouch," I say, holding my head and feeling tears coming. That was a clumsy mistake.

"Alora! Are you okay?" My dad calls from the living room, sounding like he hasn't moved.

"Yeah, just a little fall," I reply. My mom's head appears around the corner, and I start to get up. "It's really nothing! I'm not even bleeding."

"We'll get you some ice," she laughs and adds, "From downstairs, you sounded like an elephant tiptoeing on gravel."

Both of us are still thinking about that comment. Just as I turn the doorknob to enter Azura's room, my mom looks concerned. She's not one to ignore someone who's hurt, even if she spoke in a hushed voice. She should have been the first to check on me.

I turn the doorknob and look inside.

"Azura? Azura, are you-"

I'm waiting outside the police station for my parents to come out. I have a small packet of tissues in my pocket, the kind you carry when you're not feeling well. There's also a big tissue box in Dad's car on Azura's seat.

Our family SUV is the only vehicle in the small parking lot. You'd expect a busy police station, but in our peaceful hometown of Palawan, crime is rare. Then my sister passed away.

The police are looking into her death, even though it seems like she took her own life. They're following the rules, so they called my parents to get more details before releasing her body.

When the glass door opens, my mother rushes out of the station. I go to get the tissue box. She takes my hands and dabs her eyes. My father is talking to the detective in charge of Azura's case.

"Mom," I start to say, but she hugs me and stops me from talking. Her tears wet my t-shirt. I try not to cry.

She lets go, cups my cheek, and whispers, "It's over." She smiles, but I'm not sure why. We all feel empty. I can see Azura in my mother's eyes. They're looking at me, but it's like they don't really see me.

I feel sick, so I gently step away from my mom. She wipes her cheeks as my dad and the detective come over.

"We appreciate your help," Detective Dristan Tonnoir-Abrego says something and shakes all our hands. "I know this must have been hard for you," he adds, keeping his hand on mine.

My dad says, "We're taking it one day at a time," and I clench my teeth.

Before letting go of my hand, Detective Dristan shakes it again and gives, "We're doing everything we can to speed things up for you."

"Thank you, Detective Dristan," my mom says softly. She puts her hand on my shoulder. I stare at my feet, trying not to move.

He gives my mother a stack of business cards and says, "Many people are going through what you're experiencing. It's okay to seek help and connect with others who have lost someone dear."

I look at the top card: "Suicide Support."

I quietly tell Detective Dristan, "She didn't take her own life."

"We're considering all possibilities," he nods. "But the evidence suggests-"

I insist again, "She didn't do it," and I see both my parents flinch. We've been arguing about this for three days. They doubt her, and I defend, "She didn't!"

"Alora," my dad says gently as he opens the car door, "please just get in."

I look down, avoiding their sad and angry faces. I don't need to hear more to understand. It's the same thing I've heard from everyone since she passed away. That I'll feel alone and that I'll get through this. That I'm not to blame.

They all believe Azura took her own life by hanging herself. But I'm the only one who really knows Azura and knows she would never do something like this to our family or to me. She's always been stronger than me.

As my parents discuss Azura's funeral downstairs, I lie on my bed, thinking about Azura's steel drawer. Do ghosts know what happens to their bodies after they die?

I close my eyes, breathing unsteadily. How long does it take to stop crying? I don't want to stop crying for Azura. If I stop crying, does it mean I've stopped grieving? Does it make her less important if the memories and sorrow fade?

I think back to the months before Azura's death. I felt something was wrong, that she was in trouble, but I stayed silent. I thought we could handle it ourselves.

Was that too simple? Is it my fault? Could I have prevented this by telling someone about Azura's behavior?

"I know you didn't take your own life," I say, maybe to convince myself, maybe because I truly believe it. "You didn't do it. You...You didn't-"

I break down in my room, alone, crying until I can't cry anymore. I want to sleep, but sleep escapes me. Every time I close my eyes, I see her hanging with her neck at an unnatural angle.

"Alora."

That voice is like an angel's. Comforting...

A hand touches my cheek, and my body warms, pushing away the cold. The haunting image in my mind is carried away by the wind, and I feel safe. Numb. But when I open my eyes, I blink. No one is sitting next to me as I expected.

I sit up and look around the room. It's dark outside, and the forest is a solid black mass through my window. Did I fall asleep?

I turn my gaze away from the window and lie back down. These days, all I can do is stay in bed. Without my sister, the world feels less important...

When I close my eyes again, silent tears roll down my cheeks. The house and my room are quiet. Azura used to play the piano, waking me and my parents with her melodies in the morning. I never understood how she could wake up so early and be so cheerful when I stumbled downstairs.

Death has taken more than just my sister. It's taken Azura's beautiful piano music that used to fill our mornings. It's replaced comforting words with the silence of grief. This grief is overwhelming, making it hard to relate to others. Death has not only stolen my sister but also changed the way I exist. There's no one to talk about boys with or braid my hair before school dances. I'm alone in this solid house, a house meant for a family.

...

"Alora, what are you up to?"

When I open my eyes, she's standing right over me, hands on her hips, like she owns the world. I look at her, wondering if I'll ever be half as self-assured as she is. I just want to be half as amazing as her.

"Oh no," she says with a smirk, "you've got that melancholic look again."

"Shut up, Azura!" I grumble as I sit up on the grass.

"You don't usually nap in the grass, dear sister. You're usually too busy exploring the woods and the meadow. You only sleep when something's bothering you."

"Seriously, you're making me sound like a total loser," I protest, and we both laugh. "I sound like a slacker."

"Everyone deals with their troubles in their own way," she says, sitting beside me. "Maybe it's your way of escaping stress. No one should blame you for taking it easy. Some doctors might even say it's good for you."

I shake my head. We spend a lot of time sitting on the grass. I picked this spot by the pond near our home. In the summer, it's filled with wildflowers and birds. Dragonflies dance over the water, and the breeze ripples its surface.

I whisper, "I just...wish I could find someone." When I look at her, I can't help but feel envious. She's so attractive and outgoing, while I feel plain and reserved...

"Why?"

"Because...well, we're high school seniors, and I've never had a boyfriend," I stammer.

"Aloralie, I've never had one either," she smiles at me, "Ahren is more of a good friend... He's not the one, in my opinion."

I mumble, "Yeah, but at least you have options." She doesn't understand how it feels to be the quieter sibling, always feeling overlooked.

I can't blame Azura! Even if I were an only child, I'm too shy to stand out. Boys don't notice me because of my shyness.

"You and I will find the right people for ourselves," she whispers, "Alora, they'll come when the time is right. They won't be fleeting high school flings; they'll be keepers."

I mutter, "You can't be sure," too absorbed in my self-pity to notice she doesn't reply.

I wake up to a soft voice. My heart races, not from fear but from a whirlwind of emotions, like a million butterflies in my chest.

I rush to the window, scanning the area for any signs. My heart beats loudly. Thump. Thump. Thump. There's no one outside. Thump. Thump. I'm sure something was there, but maybe it was just a dream.

My bed is still warm, so I get back under the covers. Sleep eventually takes over, but I keep thinking the same thing until morning.

Who could it be out there?

El Nido, on the Palawan coast, is a small town about 180 miles south of Portland. It's technically part of Palawan, but the residents here consider themselves a unique community, which sometimes confuses census and tax collectors.

My hometown is less crowded than Palawan, with houses scattered along the coast or near the forest, like mine. It's not the type of small town where everyone knows each other's second cousins, but it's hard to avoid running into familiar faces.

The families deep in the forest that wasn't taken by the government when national parks were established are an exception. My dad called them hillbillies living off the grid, but I couldn't confirm his claims. The people living in that remote part of El Nido are a mystery because few venture there, as the ocean is our main source of life.

"Thanks, Greg," my dad says on the phone with a client. "I appreciate your understanding... I'll call you when we're done. Goodbye."

We're going to the boatyard to check the boats and get them ready for an upcoming storm. My mother is asleep in the back seat. She hasn't done much since Step died, and neither have I. It seems like my dad is the only one still functioning.

I look at the sea, where there are only a few people on the sandy beach today. The sea is calm, like a lake, but dark clouds are moving in fast, and I can smell the rain.

"This one's going to be bad," my dad says. "Think you can secure the boats on the east jetty?" He looks at the sky. "I'll let your mother rest, so each of us will need to handle a jetty."

"Okay," I reply. "Let's keep it short this time, or we'll end up arguing again." He sighs and heads to our docks through the parking lot. I get out of the car before he's even parked.

"Alora!"

The boathouse has everything I need. If I'm lucky, I might trip and fall into the water, but as I look at the dark, deep water, I change my mind.

Carrying ropes, I make my way to the boats on the east jetty. My dad, coming from the east coast, knows how to secure boats in storms from his upbringing around them. While our storms may not be as severe as hurricanes, we still take precautions to protect our stretch of beach. It's one of the reasons our docks are so popular – my dad is a skilled sailor, among other things.

As the wind picks up, my hair keeps getting in my face. After securing the sailboats, I check everything is in order. The longer I stand on the dock, the sicker I feel. The boats are slowly being engulfed by the rising waves.

The sea, which was calm an hour ago, is now getting rough, and it looks like we're in for a tough time.

"Alora! Please help them!" My hair keeps getting in my eyes as my dad points to a boat coming to his dock. He recently moved his bigger sailboats and catamarans to the same dock, so he has a lot to handle.

I follow my dad's instructions and run to the end of my dock, calling out to the approaching boat and guiding them to a strong piling for mooring. During storms, we have everyone secure their boats to these pilings, which are sturdy pillars anchored deep into the ground and safer than the docks.

"Thanks," one of the men leaps from their boat to the dock, easily clearing the gap between them. I'm wide-eyed, but he seems unbothered. "Mac! Just toss me the ropes."

The other person hands us the ropes, and we get to work immediately. I'm afraid to look up because the wind is getting stronger. But their sails are still up, flapping wildly. As the waves grow and drench us with saltwater spray, all the boats around us start groaning and creaking.

"Lower your sails!" I shout as I climb aboard the sailboat, finishing my part.

The woman steering the boat, Mac, exchanges a look with her female passenger and asks, "What?"

I gesture upward to show what I mean. She nods and then signals to her companion. "Lower your sails!"

"Dad! Look at that sail!" I cry out, alarmed, as we watch their situation.

I quickly lower and secure the sails, struggling against the strong wind. After I finish, Mac comes over, and we double-check that everything on their boat is properly secured. I start to head down, but he gets there first.

"Can you help my girl?" He closes the door, almost drowned out by the gusts of wind.

In the wheelhouse, a small, slender girl with a large plaid jacket finishes securing things and gathers their belongings. She smiles at me through her brown bangs.

"Hi, I'm Kiana," she says, handing me a bag of maps and other items. "Sorry if we surprised you guys. You seemed more prepared than we were. We usually dock a bit farther down the coast, but the storm came faster than expected."

I respond warmly, "Storms catch everyone off guard sometimes." This is partly true since we only learned about the storm yesterday and told all sailors to leave their boats early. "I'm Alora."

After moving everything onto the docks, I lead them to the boathouse to register their boat in our records. My dad has just finished his tasks and looks exhausted.

He mutters, "I took a tumble," tossing his phone into the trash. "Old Man T's decks are as slippery as seaweed."

"You fell into the water..." The idea makes me feel queasy. The depth and darkness of the water are intimidating. It might only be twenty or thirty feet deep, but that's deep enough to scare me. "Are you-"

"I'm fine."

What if he hadn't been okay? Storms change the way water behaves. You can get disoriented, pulled under, or pushed farther out to sea before you can react.

"The harbor master's daughter, afraid of water," the man who got off their boat chuckles. "That's interesting."

"He's not in charge of the harbor."

"But you're his daughter," he points out with an amused grin. As my dad goes to the back office, I hand him the log and tease, "No need to confirm. You look a lot like him."

I tap the book with my finger and say, "Less talking, more writing. I don't want to be stuck in the boathouse."

As he fills in the spreadsheet row, he winks at me and leans over the counter. He's the tallest of the group, towering an inch or two above Mac and a foot above Kiana. Even hunched over a low counter, he's a massive presence. His shoulders are as wide as my arm's length, and his wrists are like the branches of an oak tree.

Mac doesn't look much different. Both of them look like they came out of one of Azura's favorite Viking shows. But Kiana looks like she might float away if it weren't for her sturdy boots. None of the three seem to be from our town, or at least, not locals.

"Did you come from the woods? Are you all set for a camping trip?" my dad asks as he comes around the corner.

I give my dad a knowing look, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's straightforward, and our guests don't seem to mind. They just smile, as if his comment were amusing.

"Just a bit farther than that," BigFoot, towering over me, stands up again. My dad doesn't seem bothered by having to look up to meet BigFoot's steady gaze. Mac and Kiana stand beside him.

"I'm Idan Nightglow. And this is my youngest child, Alora," he introduces himself, seemingly unaware of the implication that I'm not his only surviving daughter. "Cassian, you sound like you're much farther than just a bit away."

"All of us were raised in Ireland," he replies with a smile, but there's something more in the way he looks at you. It's either a warning or a challenge, inviting you to find out more. There's something unsettling about him, as if an inner voice is warning me to be cautious. "The family moved to Alaska, but we do a lot of business in Palawan."

"What kind of business?" I ask.

"A little bit of everything. We're currently acquiring some land," he says, briefly glancing at me before returning his attention to my dad. I feel paralyzed when he locks eyes with me, so I quickly shift my gaze to the log. "Thanks, Idan, for letting us dock here. Your youngest has my number, so feel free to reach out anytime you need something."

As they leave, my dad says, "Okay, that'll do."

I'm curious about their business. They all turn off the main road, which leads to the town, and instead head towards the forest. Mac and Kiana lead the way, while Cassian follows at a more relaxed pace. He looks over his shoulder and smiles, as if he knows I'm watching them from the salt-covered window.

When my dad says, "Alora," I quickly get up.

I look up at him as we walk to the car and ask, "What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't seem to like them."

"I don't particularly like anyone."

He seems unfazed, so I decide to drop the subject. But there was an underlying tension between him and that Irish giant in the boathouse. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it reminds me of the way high school boys act after one of them talks to another's girlfriend, or the way football players banter with each other, a mix of teasing and an underlying desire to tear each other apart.

My mother wakes up during the drive home and asks, "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," my dad and I both say.

...

The storm outside continues to rage. The clouds are almost pitch black, blocking out any trace of daylight. Even though it's only 3 p.m., it looks like nighttime outside. I lie in bed, looking out the window. The swaying trees outside mimic the movement of the sailboat masts down at the docks.

Thunder rumbles loudly, and the rain pours down heavily. Azura used to hate bad weather. On stormy nights, she'd seek refuge in my room, and we'd stay up talking nonsense and watching her beloved fantasy films.

As I toss and turn in bed, I hear footsteps in the hallway. I stop and listen closely. There are only Azura and me on the upper floor; my parents' room is downstairs. One of them must have gone to Azura's room.

I throw off my blankets and rush out of my room. They're not supposed to enter her room! Regardless of how they suspect Azura died, the room remains a crime scene. I'm furious as I stomp down the wooden hallway. If they tamper with evidence, it will be a big problem.

"What are you-" I come to a sudden halt when I see an unfamiliar shadow. I follow it until I see a large man standing in the middle of Azura's room. I don't know who he is. He stands still with his back to me. "You," I stammer as I back up against the wall behind me.

Fear takes hold of me.

"...Me..." His soft voice sounds like a broken violin. He's angry, and his anger is directed at me.

Run.

He remains motionless, looking out the window. His hands are clenched into fists. A towering silhouette filled with rage. My heart beats wildly as I await some action or words from him.

Run, Alora.

Nothing. I reach into my pocket for my phone, but my fingers grasp empty air. I left it in my room.

He moves. The room fills with low, raspy noises, like heavy breathing mixed with a scratchy throat. It's a growl. My hair stands on end at the back of my neck. Why and how does he sound like that?

"You!" He suddenly charges at me. I scream and shield my face with both hands, but he never strikes me. When I look up again, he's gone.

"Alora! What's wrong?" my father shouts as he rushes up the stairs and rounds the corner.

"There was a man in her room! He-disappeared."

"Call the police, Mallory!" My dad grabs my arm and rushes me down the stairs.

Detective Dristan arrived first and immediately entered the house. His head turned towards the room as he came in, and he rushed upstairs in an instant.

"There's no one there," he reported as he came down the stairs, followed by two officers entering the house. "Check the exterior."

Sitting at the dining room table, I recounted everything I could remember. But in the darkness, I could barely make out the man's outline, let alone his face.

"How tall do you think he was?" Detective Dristan sighed, clicked his pen, and turned his gaze towards me.

"About five-eleven... maybe taller?" I replied, keeping my eyes on the table, avoiding the intense look my father gave me. "I think... it was dark, and... and he had a stocky build, maybe."

"Jesus Christ, Alora, was there anyone there at all?" My dad yelled and slammed the table with his hand, making me jump. Even my mother seemed surprised by his outburst.

"Idan-"

"No, stop defending her! You're sure someone broke into our house and killed your sister, Alora. You might have imagined this man!"

"I didn't!" I protested. Detective Dristan needed to believe me! "I'm sure he was there. He's been here before!"

"What do you mean, before?" Detective Dristan silenced my dad with a single look.

I stared at my hands before admitting, "Before Azura came along, someone else had been in her room. Whoever it was, they left the place in a mess."

"I've never heard of this before," my dad said.

"I didn't want Azura to get in trouble, so I kept quiet! I thought she might be involved with drugs because she was hiding something."

He slammed his hand on the table again, and I jumped to my feet. My father loomed over me, and all I could do was tremble. I turned away, staring at my hands once more.

"Do you know who she was spending time with?" Detective Dristan leaned forward, intrigued, but I couldn't help him. I felt like screaming!

"No, I just thought she was protecting someone or keeping a secret. I don't know who it was."

My mother sobbed, "Azura wasn't involved with drugs. Please, Alora, tell the truth."

"I am!" I pushed my chair away and rushed to my sister's room. I searched every inch, looking for any sign that the man had been there, but I found nothing. I needed any piece of evidence!

Detective Dristan followed me into the room. "Your parents... they seem concerned about you."

"I'm not insane," I snapped at him. "My sister wouldn't have taken her own life."

"Perhaps not, but that doesn't necessarily mean she was murdered."

So she fashioned a noose on her railing as a decoration and accidentally tripped over it? When I spotted something on the hallway floor, I nearly shouted in response. A necklace. It was made of leather and had acquired a good patina. Strung on it was a tooth, but not the kind from a shark or any known animal. It appeared to be some kind of sharp and unusual animal tooth.

"Here!" I exclaimed, showing Detective Dristan the necklace. "I've never seen this before! I must have knocked it off him!"

He examined it for a few moments with a discerning eye before placing it into a Ziploc bag labeled "Evidence." I waited for his response, but he simply headed downstairs.

"Will this help?" I inquired, relieved that there was finally some proof of what I had always suspected. It couldn't be ignored; it was strong evidence.

He stashed the bag in his jacket pocket. "I'll have it analyzed at the lab. But I doubt they'll find anything."

"What do you mean?" I pressed.

He halted in the middle of the road, nearly colliding with me. "Alora, I understand you want to believe your sister didn't take her own life. I do too, but I don't want to give you false hope."

"You don't think someone else was here, do you? You don't think that's evidence?"

"Can you guarantee this doesn't belong to your sister?"

"It's not-"

"Do you know everything your sister owned?" I couldn't argue with what he said. "Alora, I'll look into it. Go be with your worried parents."

As he walked away, I overheard him speaking with my parents briefly before the front door closed. When the police cars departed from our gravel driveway, it felt like all my hopes were being crushed. He had promised to investigate, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't.

Seated at the dining room table, I meet my mother's sorrowful gaze and my father's disheartened expression. I realize that I must pursue this on my own. I'm the sole believer that there's more to this than just a tragic tale.

I need to find out.