He Didn't Cry Until I Was Gone

The moment Leo Lowell slid the wedding band onto Lily Lowell's finger, my waterlogged body was floating in a sewage drain on the city's outskirts. Bloated, disfigured, skin sloughing off.

The medical examiner let out a heavy sigh as he made his notes. "Female, approximately twenty-five. Time of death... over seventy-two hours. Identifying marks... all ten fingers are gone. Advanced decomposition."

Detective Ethan Evans got the call—and the clock started ticking. He had forty-eight hours to crack this brutal case. His captain hinted the victim might be that missing undercover journalist, the one who'd infiltrated the black market. She was rumored to be carrying something big.

Back in the morgue, the examiner's tools hit something solid. He paused, then carefully pulled a small, sludge-covered memory card from the mess of internal organs. After a quick clean-up by the techs, a grainy video flickered to life on the screen.

"If you're seeing this... it means I made it inside the black market network—" A voice, achingly familiar, filled the room.

Ethan froze. Then he lunged forward, hands slamming against the monitor.

There was a blurry reflection in the video—a figure caught in a sliver of glass. Ethan's breath hitched. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the table.

"No. It can't be," he whispered, his eyes darting from the screen to the mutilated body. To the bloody stumps where her slender fingers should have been.

I hovered there beside my big brother, watching his face lose all its color. A phantom pain shot through the heart I didn't have anymore. Three years. I'd vanished without a trace, without a word.

The examiner put a steadying hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Easy, Evans. You can't ID a body on a voice and a blur. You know that."

But Ethan was already bolting from the room, phone in hand, dialing with trembling fingers. "Leo," he choked out. "That video you showed me three years ago—of Chloe running off. Was it real? Tell me the truth."

A cold, mocking laugh came through the receiver. "You're calling me now? In the middle of my wedding? You saw the footage, Ethan. Why the doubt today?"

Ethan's voice was raw. "I think she wasn't running. I think she was taken."

Leo cut him off sharply. "Your sister left you for a richer man, detective. Let it go. Stop living in a fantasy."

The line went dead. A second later, two videos popped up on Ethan's phone.

The first one played: Me, leaning against some blonde guy I'd never met, looking bored and cold. "Stop looking for me," my recorded voice said. "I'm happy now."

Ethan released a shaky breath. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "Okay," he murmured to himself. "Okay. As long as it's not her."