THE LOST PIECE

Third POV:

Behind the orphanage, hidden away from the prying eyes of the caretakers and the other children, three-year-old Tom sat in the snow, his tiny fingers clutching an assortment of stolen toys. A doll with a chipped face, a wooden truck with a broken wheel, and a collection of marbles-each one carefully hoarded in the small patch of snow he had claimed as his own. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he arranged his treasures around him, his small hands moving with the careful precision of someone who had learned how to hide things well.

But just as he was about to pick up a shiny red ball, he heard footsteps. Little ones. Tom's head snapped up, his wide brown eyes narrowing. His breath puffed out in visible clouds as he tensed, his muscles ready to spring into action if anyone found him.

"Tom Riddle," a voice called, high-pitched and defiant. It made his stomach twist in irritation, and he turned to find her standing there, hands on her hips, a pout on her freckled face.

It was the red-haired girl-the one who always seemed to be around. The one who had no respect for his space. Her name was Helen, he remembered. She was always smiling, always running around with the others, always annoying him. And now, here she was, interrupting his perfectly quiet moment, staring at him with those big, innocent eyes like she was some sort of hero.

"Give it back," she demanded, her small voice firm, though it trembled slightly with the cold.

Tom's gaze flicked to the small doll in his hands. The one he had taken from her earlier in the day when she wasn't looking. It had a pink dress and a tiny bonnet, and it looked so much better in his collection than it had in her grasp. He felt a wicked little thrill as her eyes locked onto the doll, her tiny hands reaching for it.

"Why?" Tom asked, his voice soft but sharp, a taunting lilt to it. "It's mine now. You weren't using it."

Helen puffed her cheeks out, her brows furrowing in that cute, stubborn way she always did when she didn't get her way. "It's my toy, and you took it!" she said, stepping closer, her small boots crunching in the snow with every determined step. She looked like she was ready for a fight.

Tom watched her approach but didn't move, content to sit back and let her come to him. His vocabulary was already perfect, compared to hers who still mispronounces words and he was taller than she was, even at three, but she was spunky-something he didn't quite know how to deal with.

"Well," he drawled slowly, still fiddling with the marbles, "you didn't stop me, did you?" His voice was so smug, the little monster. He could tell she was getting frustrated, which only amused him more.

Helen's eyes sparkled with a mix of anger and determination. She reached out again, her tiny fingers brushing against his, but he pulled the doll back just out of her reach.

"Give it back, Tom!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with the effort. "You take everything!"

Tom tilted his head, observing her for a moment. She was cute, in a way. Annoying, but cute. And she wasn't giving up, was she? Tom's lips curled into a tiny, mischievous smirk. She was persistence wrapped in freckles and red hair.

"How about this?" he said, his voice far too calm for a boy so small. "You can have it back... if you give me your shiny marbles."

Helen froze, her hands halting mid-air. She stared at him, wide-eyed and confused. "My marbles?" she repeated, unsure of what she had just heard.

"Yeah," he said, leaning back on his elbows in the snow, his small form so relaxed that it looked as though he had all the time in the world. "Your marbles. They're nice ... better than this dumb doll."

Helen hesitated. Her little fists clenched, and her eyes flicked between the marbles and the doll in his hands. It was a hard choice for a three-year-old. But after a moment, her pout deepened, and she nodded resolutely. "Fine!" she said, "But you have to promise you won't take anything else from me again!"

Tom spoke slyly, the deal already sealed in his mind. "I'll think about it," the words barely leaving his mouth before Helen shoved the marbles into his hands, with the air of a child who had just learned that life wasn't always fair.

And so, with a final, resigned huff, Helen handed over her marbles, and Tom handed her the doll. As he watched her stomp off, the boy's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something darker passing through them. Maybe she wasn't as annoying as he'd thought. Or maybe she was, but she was a useful kind of annoying. He had no problem making her give in.

Helen, her face a mix of frustration and triumph, cradled the doll tightly as she walked away, looking back just once at the boy with the messy dark hair and dark brown eyes that seemed far too knowing for his age.

~~~~~

Mrs. Cole, the woman who had helped bring Tom into the world, watched him closely as he went about his days at the orphanage. She had never been one to believe in coincidences, and there was something about Tom that didn't sit right with her. She'd seen many children come and go through the orphanage doors-some with wild imaginations, others with bruised hearts-but none had ever left the same bitter taste in her mouth as Tom. He was a boy of few words, but when he did speak, it was with a confidence that made the other children uneasy.

She had noticed it early on. The way he watched the other children, his gaze cold and calculating, as if he were sizing them up, figuring out who was weak and who was strong. And then there were the incidents-small things at first: a toy disappearing here, a penny or two vanishing from a pocket there. But as the years went on, the thefts grew more frequent, and the other children grew more frightened. They had come to know the unspoken rule of life at the orphanage: avoid Tom, or else. He was clever when it came to getting what he wanted.

One of the younger boys had tried to confront him once, accusing Tom of taking his favorite car. But the encounter had ended in a chilling silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of the boy's sobs as he ran to Mrs. Cole, his face flushed and terrified. "It was Tom," he had said, stammering. "He said he'd make me regret it if I told."

Mrs. Cole's suspicions had only deepened as time went on. The boy was a bully, that much was certain. And he was only three at that.

The worst of it, though, was his kleptomania. Tom would take anything-coins, toys, food-anything he could lay his hands on. He hid his stolen treasures in the most bizarre places: under the floorboards, inside his shoes, tucked behind the rafters in the attic. Mrs. Cole had found one of his hiding spots once when she was cleaning, a small stash of trinkets and stolen goods, a glimpse into the boy's twisted sense of ownership. He didn't just take; he hoarded, as if the world owed him something that no one else could have.

"Tom," Mrs. Cole called one day, her voice stern yet laced with an underlying concern. "You're causing problems again. You know the rules here. You must return what you've taken, and you'll apologize to the others."

Tom turned to her slowly, and just stared at her. There was something unsettling about it. "I didn't take anything," he said, his voice calm, almost mocking.

"Don't lie to me, Tom," she insisted, her eyes hardening. "You know what I mean."

For a moment, Tom just stared at her, and then he shrugged, as if he had no care for her words, for the rules of the orphanage, or for anything at all. "They didn't deserve it anyway," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear.

Mrs. Cole spoke gently but firmly. "Tom, darling, stealing is wrong, you know. You can't just take things that don't belong to you."

Tom furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing slightly, his small hands gripping the toy in his lap. "I wasn't stealing. I just wanted it."

"I understand you wanted it, but that doesn't make it right, Tom. We have to respect other people's things. You wouldn't like it if someone took something from you, would you?"

Tom stared at her for a long moment, almost as if calculating her words, his voice low and stead. "I didn't take it from them. They didn't need it."

She sighed, trying to remain patient. "But that's not how we behave. We follow the rules, even when we want something. It's important to be kind and fair to others."

"You can't tell me what to do. I don't need to listen to you."

"Tom, I'm only trying to help you. I don't want you to grow up making mistakes that will hurt you in the end."

He looked amused by her concern. "I don't make mistakes. You're wrong. I don't need help."

Mrs. Cole paused her voice becoming a little more cautious, sensing something unsettling beneath his calm demeanor. "Tom, it's not about being right or wrong-it's about being good. And being good means understanding what's fair."

He glanced away, his expression unreadable. "I don't care about being good."

"Well, I care about you. And I want you to learn to care about others too."

He spoke, his eyes meeting hers once more. "I don't need anyone to care about me."

Third POV:

The room hummed with the noise of children at breakfast, a cacophony of laughter and chatter. Helen sat at one of the tables, surrounded by her friends, her voice rising in giggles that mingled with the others. They were the picture of carefree youth, small hands reaching for food, faces glowing with innocent joy.

Tom, however, sat alone at his table, his small form still and quiet. The other children didn't seem to notice him, nor did he seem to care. He ate neatly, his movements deliberate, each bite taken with careful precision. The plate before him remained clean, untouched by the mess that often accompanied meals with the other children.

Every so often, his eyes would flick toward the laughter across the room, but he didn't smile or join in. His gaze was flat, almost disinterested, his tiny hands holding his fork with a tight grip. He didn't really know why they laughed, why they seemed so happy. It was loud, too loud. Their voices buzzed around him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it, so he didn't. Instead, he focused on his food, on the way the spoon felt in his hand, on the rhythm of eating.

Helen's laugh rang out once more, and for a brief moment, Tom's brow furrowed. Something flickered in him, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He didn't dwell on it, not like the others did. It was simply there, a feeling he didn't understand, but he didn't need to.

The room continued to swirl with noise and laughter, but Tom, as always, remained apart from it all, his world neatly contained in the small, orderly space he had carved for himself.

Helen finished the last bite of her breakfast, setting her spoon down with a soft clink against the plate. Her cheeks were flushed with the warmth of laughter, and she couldn't help but smile as she looked around at her friends, who were still chatting away.

She stood up from her chair, her legs swinging a bit as she pushed the chair back. The plate was light in her small hands, and she held it with a practiced grip as she made her way toward Mrs. Cole, her feet tapping softly against the floor.

"Mrs. Cole!" Helen's voice was bright, the smile on her face wide and genuine. She approached the older woman with a spring in her step, the excitement of finishing her meal still dancing in her eyes. "I'm done with my breakfast!"

Mrs. Cole looked up from her spot, where she had been overseeing the children and tidying up the meal area. Her face softened when she saw Helen approaching, a kind smile of her own appearing.

"Thank you, Helen," she said, taking the plate from her hands. "You're always so helpful."

Helen beamed, pleased with the praise. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, standing a little taller with the attention, before nodding eagerly. "You're welcome! Can I go play now?" she asked, her voice bright with anticipation.

Mrs. Cole glanced over at the other children, making sure everything was in order before replying with a gentle nod. "Of course, but be sure to wash your hands first."

Helen's smile widened even further, and she gave a quick, almost exaggerated curtsy before darting off to the washbasin, her laughter bubbling out as she skipped away.

She rushed toward the washbasin, her mind focused on the simple task of washing her hands before she could join her friends again. She was almost there when, out of nowhere, she bumped into something-or rather, someone.

"Ow!" she yelped, stumbling back a little. Looking up, she saw Tom standing directly in front of her, his expression blank, as usual.

She quickly took a step back, but to her surprise, her sleeve got caught on the edge of Tom's coat.

"Tom!" she said in a mix of frustration and surprise, trying to tug herself free. "You're in my way!"

Tom didn't respond, of course. He simply blinked, his small hands already working to untangle their clothes with meticulous care. His fingers worked against the fabric, but instead of freeing himself, he seemed to only pull them tighter together.

Helen pulled again, harder this time, her brows furrowing. "Why can't I-" She yanked at the fabric once more, but in doing so, her other sleeve got stuck to his coat as well. Now they were both tugging at their clothes in a frantic, silent competition to escape.

She tried stepping back again, but their clothes twisted and pulled with every movement. "Let go!" she demanded, though it was clear that neither of them was actually letting go.

Tom, not quite understanding the chaos, continued to push and pull at the fabric, but each movement only made things worse. The more he tried to pull away, the more their clothes became knotted, twisting in impossible ways.

Helen gave a final, exasperated tug-and then stopped. Her face scrunched up as she let out a small, frustrated wail.

"Mrs. Cole!" she cried out, her lower lip trembling, her eyes filling with tears. She couldn't get away. She was stuck, her arms locked in place, unable to move without making the whole thing worse. The sight of Tom, so small and unbothered by the tangle, made it all the more ridiculous.

Tom simply stared at her with a blank expression, his own hands still holding onto the fabric, seemingly unaware of her growing distress. His cold, detached gaze was in stark contrast to the hot tears now welling up in Helen's eyes.

"Please!" she sobbed, her voice wobbly as she tried to pull again. "I can't..."

Just as she thought she might burst into full-blown tears, Mrs. Cole appeared, her face softening at the sight of the children's predicament. With a gentle laugh, she quickly unknotted the fabrics and helped them both free.

"There we go," Mrs. Cole said, shaking her head with a light chuckle. "Now, no more getting tangled up in each other's clothes, okay?"

Helen sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, still feeling the sting of tears but now free. She glanced at Tom, who seemed entirely unfazed by the drama he'd just unwittingly caused.

"Next time, I'm not walking next to you," Helen muttered under her breath, giving Tom a final glare before running off to the washbasin, the last traces of her tears still catching in the light.

After breakfast, the children drifted toward their favorite corners of the room, their laughter and chatter bubbling up as they began to play.

Helen, sat in the corner with a few of the other girls, arranging a small cluster of wooden blocks into a house.

"This can be the kitchen," she said, placing a square block down with care. "And here's the bedroom." She added a smaller block, giggling as one of her friends placed a pebble doll inside.

"Oh, no!" one of the girls exclaimed, pretending to make the doll fall over. "She's late for dinner!"

Helen burst into laughter, holding her sides as the play grew sillier. She clutched her favorite doll-a tiny figure with red yarn for hair-and placed it on the roof. "She can keep watch from here," she said with a grin.

But as the laughter of her friends filled the air, Helen's eyes wandered across the room. Near the back wall, sitting alone in the shadows, was Tom. His small figure hunched over a few toys he had gathered. His little hands carefully arranged them in a line, his expression focused and distant, like the rest of the world didn't matter.

Helen tilted her head, her laughter fading as she watched him. Her gaze flicked to her pile of toys and then to the collection of others scattered among her friends. They all had so much-blocks, dolls, little figurines, and trinkets. But Tom... he didn't have nearly as much.

She felt a pang of guilt in her chest. Clutching her doll tightly, she got to her feet and began gathering all the toys in her arms-her blocks, her dolls, everything she could carry. Her friends stopped to watch, their giggles dying down as Helen, laden with toys, began walking across the room.

"Where are you going?" one of them asked.

"To Tom," Helen said simply, her voice soft but resolute.

Tom didn't notice her at first. He was too absorbed in arranging his toys, his brown eyes fixed on his little world of treasures. It wasn't until Helen's shadow fell over him that he looked up, startled.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice sharp and defensive, like someone expecting a fight.

Helen swallowed her nerves and knelt down in front of him, placing her pile of toys on the floor. "I thought... maybe you'd like to play with me?" she asked, her voice gentle. "We can use my toys. I have lots."

Tom's eyes flicked to the pile of toys, then back to Helen. His expression didn't soften. If anything, his eyes narrowed, suspicion glinting in them. "No," he said flatly, turning back to his toys.

Helen blinked, surprised by the blunt rejection. "But... why not?" she asked, her voice small.

"I don't need your toys," Tom said, his tone curt. "I have my own."

"But we can play together," Helen offered, her heart sinking a little. "It's more fun with two people."

Tom didn't look at her this time. He simply continued lining up his toys, his movements stiff and deliberate. "I said no," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but firm enough to end the conversation.

Helen sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She glanced at the pile of toys she'd brought, then back at Tom. For all his sharp words, there was something lonely about the way he hunched over his small collection, like he was building walls around himself that no one could climb.

"Okay," Helen said quietly, gathering her toys back into her arms. "But... if you ever change your mind, I'll be over there."

Tom didn't respond, his attention fixed on his little world of toys. Helen stood up and walked back to her corner, her heart heavy. She didn't understand why he wanted to be alone, but something in her told her to try again another day.

Her giggles had returned as she played, her hair bouncing with every movement. But soon her attention was drawn to a small, colorful horse perched on top of the cupboard. Its vibrant paint had dulled over time, but it was still charming, and Helen wanted it.

She stretched her arms as high as they would go, balancing on her tiptoes, but her fingers barely grazed the bottom of the shelf. Huffing in determination, she jumped, her feet thudding softly on the wooden floor, but the toy remained stubbornly out of reach.

Tom, sitting in his quiet corner, had been absently arranging his marbles when her struggle caught his attention. He watched her for a moment, her small hands swiping at the air, her freckled face scrunched in frustration. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before it faded.

Then something strange stirred within him.

His eyes shifted to the toy on the shelf, narrowing in focus. A faint hum seemed to fill the air, though no one else seemed to hear it. His heart thudded steadily, his breaths slowing, and a peculiar warmth crept up his spine, pooling in his fingertips. His gaze sharpened, locking onto the horse.

"Fall," he whispered under his breath, though he didn't know why he said it.

Suddenly, the toy teetered. Helen froze, glancing up just as it wobbled on the edge. Time seemed to hang in the air for a single heartbeat before the wooden horse toppled down.

Thwack! It landed right on top of Helen's head.

"Ow!" she yelped, rubbing the spot where it hit her. The horse clattered to the floor at her feet, and she blinked in surprise before scooping it up. She turned toward Tom, who was sitting frozen, his face blank but his eyes wide with shock.

"Did you see that?" she asked, holding up the horse. "It just... fell!"

Tom swallowed hard, quickly masking his expression. "Maybe it just got tired of sitting up there," he said dryly, looking back at his marbles as if nothing had happened.

Helen frowned but shrugged it off. She hugged the toy to her chest and wandered back to her friends, oblivious to the quiet tremor in the air that still lingered around Tom.

In his corner, Tom's small hands trembled before curling into tight fists. He didn't understand what had happened, but a spark of something new flickered inside him-a feeling that he was different, special somehow. A tiny smile crept onto his face as he glanced at the cupboard, a sense of quiet pride swelling in his chest.

Third POV:

Winter had passed, and the world outside had begun to bloom. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches dotted with fresh green leaves, while flowers of every color peeked out from the soft earth, swaying under the warmth of the sun.

The children gathered near the gate of the orphanage, each clutching their small bags, filled with snacks or little trinkets they'd hurried to pack the night before. Excitement buzzed in the air as they talked and laughed, their voices a blend of giggles and eager chatter.

Helen stood near the front, bouncing on her heels, her red braids swinging with every movement. She clutched a bag that once belonged to one of the older girls, now hers, and hugged it tightly to her chest. "I can't wait! I hope we see butterflies," she whispered to her friend beside her, her voice brimming with excitement.

In the back of the group, Tom lingered, holding his worn bag loosely. He wasn't talking like the others, but his dark eyes were fixed on the road ahead, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The workers checked their list and called out for everyone to line up. The children quickly obeyed, their anticipation making it hard to stand still. "Alright, everyone," one of the workers said, smiling. "It's time to go. Stay close and stick together!"

The children began climbing onto the bus, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Helen was just about to step on when she felt her shoe loosen. Looking down, she saw her lace had come undone.

"Mrs. Cole!" Helen called out, hurrying over. "My shoe came untied!"

Mrs. Cole knelt down with a kind smile, her hands working quickly to tie the laces back into a neat bow. "There you go, Helen. Now off you go before the bus leaves without you!"

"Thank you!" Helen chirped, running up the steps of the bus. But as she stepped inside, her smile faltered. Every seat seemed to be taken, and her two closest friends were already sitting together, giggling as they shared a snack.

Helen hesitated in the aisle, clutching her bag tightly. She glanced toward the front, where the grown ups were seated, and her heart sank at the thought of having to sit there. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him-Tom Riddle, sitting alone near the back of the bus, staring out the window with that quiet, brooding expression he always seemed to wear.

Helen's face lit up. Without a second thought, she darted down the aisle, her braids swinging behind her, and plopped herself into the seat beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hi, Tom!" she said brightly, smiling at him as though they'd been friends forever.

Tom blinked, startled by her sudden presence. He looked at her, then at the empty space that had just been his, his brows furrowing slightly. He said nothing, but Helen didn't seem to mind. She simply settled into the seat, swinging her legs happily as the bus started moving.

She glanced at Tom, who was still staring out the window, his expression unreadable. Undeterred, she leaned a little closer, her smile warm and inviting.

"Isn't this exciting?" she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "I've never been on a field trip before. Have you?"

Tom finally turned to look at her, his dark eyes studying her face for a moment. He gave the tiniest shake of his head.

Helen grinned wider, taking his silence as a good sign. She opened her bag and pulled out a small, slightly squished cookie. "Do you want one? I saved it from breakfast. It's my favorite!"

Tom hesitated, his gaze flickering to the cookie and then back to her. Slowly, he reached out and took it, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He didn't say thank you, but Helen noticed the faintest hint of curiosity in his eyes as he bit into the treat.

She giggled softly. "See? It's good, isn't it?"

Tom nodded, chewing quietly.

Helen beamed, encouraged by his response. She reached into her bag again and pulled out a small, worn toy teddy bear. "This is Lucky. He's my second favorite toy. Do you have a favorite?"

Tom's brow furrowed, and he looked down at the bag in his lap. After a moment, he pulled out a small, carved wooden bird, its paint faded but its shape still elegant.

Helen gasped. "Oh, it's so pretty! Did you make it?"

Tom shook his head, his fingers tightening around the bird. For the first time, his lips parted. "I've always had it with me."

Helen's eyes softened. "It's special, then," she said gently. "Like Lucky." She held out the horse. "Want to trade for a bit? Just to play?"

Tom stared at her, his expression cautious. But something in her earnest smile seemed to chip away at his defenses. Slowly, he held out the bird, letting her take it, while he took Lucky in return.

Helen laughed lightly, cradling the bird in her hands. "See? Now they can be friends too!"

She couldn't help the warmth that spread through her chest as she watched Tom carefully hold the her teddy bear in his hands. It felt like a small victory, even though it was something so simple. After so many days of trying, of offering him smiles, toys, and words of friendship that had mostly been met with silence or indifference, this moment felt like progress.

She had always tried to be kind to him, even when he seemed like he wanted nothing to do with anyone. He wasn't like the other boys-he didn't play games or talk with the other children. He often kept to himself, distant and quiet, and Helen had noticed how the other kids didn't always include him. But she didn't want him to feel alone.

The bus rolled to a stop, the brakes squealing slightly, and the moment it did, the kids scrambled to gather their bags, ready to go outside. Helen was the first to hop out, her energy practically spilling over as she bounded down the steps of the bus, bag clutched tightly in her hands. The sun was shining brightly, and the meadow that lay in front of them was stunning-green grass, wildflowers in all shades of pink, purple, and yellow, and tall trees on the outskirts of the field, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

"Come on, Tom!" Helen shouted over her shoulder, already taking off toward the open field. Her voice carried the excitement of the whole trip-she could barely contain it.

Tom lingered at the back of the bus for a moment, staring out at the unfamiliar landscape. The air felt different here, fresh and free. He tugged at the strap of his bag, fingers tightening around it as he hesitated. It wasn't like the orphanage, where everything was familiar.

Helen spun around to look at him, her smile big and welcoming. "It's so pretty here, Tom!" she called again, twirling in a circle like a little whirlwind. Her laughter rang out, clear and bright.

Tom took a step off the bus, his shoes sinking slightly into the soft grass beneath him. Her voice called to him again, and this time, there was no hesitation in her words. "Come on, Tom! Let's play!"

He looked at the other kids scattered across the field, already running around and laughing. A part of him wanted to stay back, to keep to himself as he always did, but there was something in Helen's invitation that made it hard to say no.

She jogged back toward him, a hand reaching out. "Please, Tom? It'll be fun!"

For a second, he just stared at her, uncertain. Then, with a small, reluctant sigh, he shrugged and took a step toward her. The grass felt soft under his feet, and the more he looked around, the more the open field started to feel less like a strange place.

Helen grinned when he walked up to her, and without another word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

The day passed in a blur of laughter and play, with Helen somehow coaxing Tom into getting his hands dirty with mud. He grumbled at first, his usual aversion to messiness taking over, but Helen's persistent cheerfulness wore him down. By the time they'd finished their game, he was covered in mud from his knees down.

Afterward, when Tom went to wash his hands at a nearby fountain, Helen stayed behind, picking up the toys they'd left scattered across the grass. As she bent down to gather everything, her eyes caught something moving out of the corner of her vision. A small squirrel was darting across the field, its tiny paws nimbly carrying it toward Tom's wooden bird, which was lying on the ground nearby.

The squirrel, mistaking the bird for a nut, picked it up with its teeth and scurried away.

"Hey!" Helen yelled, rushing after it without thinking. She dropped the toys in her hands and bolted after the little creature, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn't just any toy-it was Tom's. He'd been so proud of it, and now it was in the squirrel's greedy paws, headed toward the woods.

The squirrel dashed toward the trees, its fluffy tail flicking behind it. Helen's legs pumped faster, her breath coming in quick gasps, but the squirrel was fast, too fast.

Tom, meanwhile, had finished washing up and returned to the spot where they had been playing, his hands still damp. But as he scanned the field, he realized with a sinking feeling that Helen was nowhere to be seen. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Where had she gone? He waited for a few moments, thinking she might've just wandered off to find her other friends, but the more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him.

Why wasn't she here?

A cold knot of anger began to form in his chest. It wasn't like she'd promised him anything, but why had she left without saying anything? Was she just tired of playing with him? Wasn't he interesting enough?

He walked around in a small circle, trying to distract himself from the thoughts that clouded his mind. His eyes narrowed. He spotted the spot where they had left their things-everything was still there, but she was gone.

The air had begun to cool as the evening drew closer, and the sky turned a dusky purple, the sun slipping behind the horizon. Mrs. Cole had gathered the children, calling their names one by one to make sure everyone was accounted for, her voice carrying a hint of weariness as the long day came to a close.

"Helen!" Mrs. Cole called out, her voice a little more impatient this time.

No response.

"Helen, where are you?" she repeated, her brow furrowing.

The other children began to look around, their faces growing concerned. Helen was usually so easy to find, her laugh echoing across the field like a bell. But now, there was only silence. The playful energy of the day seemed to have drained away, replaced by a growing unease.

Tom, who had been standing a little apart from the group, his arms crossed, realised that she was missing.

He scanned the field, hoping for a glimpse of her bright red hair, but there was nothing. No sign of her. Mrs. Cole called her name again, louder this time.

"Where could she be?" Mrs. Cole murmured to herself.

Tom's eyes darted across the meadow. And then, like a sudden spark, an idea lit up in his mind.

The forest. Had she gone somewhere interesting?

Without thinking, Tom turned and started walking toward the trees. His feet moved quickly, quietly, as he slipped past the others unnoticed. He didn't want anyone to stop him.

The woods weren't far, just beyond the meadow, but the further he walked, the more the darkness seemed to press in. His breath hitched as he pushed deeper into the woods, the cool night air biting at his cheeks.

"Helen!" he called, his voice sharp and loud against the quiet of the trees. It echoed, bouncing off the trunks.

As he ventured further into the woods, his steps were slow and steady, a quiet curiosity guiding him forward. The night air was cool, and the woods seemed oddly calm, the trees swaying softly in the wind. He wasn't panicked or worried, just vaguely interested in where Helen had gone off to.

Then, he heard it-a faint sobbing sound, soft but distinct.

Without much thought, he turned toward the sound, his pace unhurried, as though he were simply walking toward something mildly interesting. A few steps later, he found her-Helen, sitting at the bottom of a deep pit in the ground, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.