Chapter 6: Warehouse 4**
The rain began to fall in heavy, rhythmic sheets, drumming against the rusted corrugated metal of St. Jude’s Wharf. Elena held Leo’s hand tightly as they slipped through a broken side door into Warehouse 4.
The cavernous space smelled of brine, rusted iron, and wet timber. Shafts of pale twilight cut through broken skylights, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cold air.
"Clara?" Elena called out, her voice trembling, bouncing off empty shipping containers.
From behind a row of wooden crates at the far end of the warehouse, a figure emerged slowly into the dim light.
The woman was dressed in the same tailored white suit Elena had seen at the café, but up close, the illusion of perfection dissolved. Clara leaned heavily on a wooden walking cane. The left side of her face and neck carried the pale, raised texture of healed burn tissue, partially concealed beneath her styled hair. Her frame was painfully frail, her breathing shallow and labored.
Yet her eyes—vibrant, brilliant hazel—shone with an overwhelming luminescence.
"Ellie," Clara breathed, her voice raspy from smoke damage sustained years ago.
"Clara..."
The two sisters stood frozen for a heartbeat, separated by seven years of silence, grief, and regret. Then, breaking through every ounce of social conditioning and past pride, Elena ran forward. She threw her arms around Clara, burying her face into her sister’s shoulder, weeping without restraint.
"I'm sorry," Elena sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Clara. I should have looked for you. I shouldn't have walked away after our fight."
May you like
"Hush, Ellie," Clara whispered, wrapping her thin arms around Elena, tears streaming down her own cheeks. "You were living. That was all I ever wanted for you."
---
