Once outside, Del and Elara walked in quiet contemplation, their footsteps muffled by the packed earth of the village streets. The air was still, the last traces of sunlight casting long shadows as they mulled over the conversation with Paolo. The mystery of Stonebridge weighed heavily between them, silent but insistent.

"For the three men," Del murmured, thinking aloud, "wild animals can’t be entirely ruled out—"

Elara shot him a look. "Except they left no blood, no bodies. That’s not how animals take prey."

Del nodded, rubbing his chin. "I know. It doesn’t sit right. And then there’s Breeda."

Her disappearance was the most perplexing. The three men had vanished while working outside, but Breeda had been taken from the middle of the village, inside her own home. No sign of a struggle, no witnesses.

They had agreed to check her house first. Paolo had provided them with directions, as well as small wooden tokens carved with the elder’s insignia—symbols of authority for those acting on village business. He had doubted they would need them, but if anyone questioned their presence, the tokens would smooth things over.

Breeda’s cottage stood in line with several others, nestled along a quiet lane. It was modest but well-kept, built from a mix of timber and plastered stone, its thatched roof slightly weathered but intact. The shutters were drawn, giving the house an air of abandonment, as if the very walls knew their occupant was never returning.

Del tried the door, and it creaked open without resistance.

The moment they stepped inside, the smell hit them, stale and musty. The air was thick, carrying the faint traces of a once-lived-in space now settling into disuse. A thin film of dust had begun to form over the furniture, the earliest signs of abandonment creeping into what had once been a home.

Breeda’s presence lingered in the details. A spinning wheel sat near the hearth, its spindle still threaded with half-woven cloth, as if she had intended to return to it at any moment. A small loom stood nearby, a piece of unfinished fabric stretched across it, waiting for hands that would never complete it. The kitchen was much the same—tidy, ordered, but eerily untouched.

Del peered into the pantry, wrinkling his nose at the smell of spoiled food. A small rustle of movement caught his attention, and a tiny mouse darted out from a nearly invisible hole in the stone wall, vanishing into the shadows.

"Nothing out of place down here," he muttered. "Let’s check upstairs."

The stairs creaked under their weight as they ascended, the wood settling back into silence once they passed. The upper floor consisted of two bedrooms and a washroom. One room, clearly an unused guest space, was untouched by time. The other belonged to Breeda.

The bedroom was simple but comfortable. The bed was large, its thick straw mattress plumped from use. A wooden chest sat at its foot, closed, while a wardrobe stood against the far wall. At first glance, there were no obvious signs of struggle—just an unmade bed, the covers half-thrown off as though she had risen in haste.

But something was off.

Del inhaled slowly. A strange, faint scent lingered in the air—not unpleasant, but unusual. He couldn’t place it. His instincts prickled.

"Do you smell that?" Elara asked, frowning.

Del nodded. "I can’t place it, though."

She stepped closer to the bed, tilting her head as she inhaled deeply. "It’s Listwort," she said after a moment.

Del blinked. "That means nothing to me."

"In small doses, it relaxes the body," she explained, glancing at him. "In large doses, it will knock you into a deep, dreamless sleep."

Del’s frown deepened. "So she was drugged."

"Possibly. But there’s no way to know if she used it herself or if someone else did."

Something crunched underfoot as Elara stepped closer to the window. She crouched, brushing aside a few stray pieces of glass.

"One of the panes is broken," she noted. "Small pieces scattered here, below the latch."

Del rose from where he had been searching under the bed and stepped over to inspect it. The window had been pulled shut again, but the break was clear—a jagged hole just beside the latch. Someone had reached through, unfastened it, and entered quietly.

He narrowed his eyes at a few dark strands of fibre caught on a splinter of glass. "Looks like they wore dark clothing. Smart enough to avoid detection at night."

The pieces were beginning to fit together. Whoever had taken Breeda had done so with planning. They had waited for the right moment, ensured she would not wake, and taken her without a sound.

Del exhaled sharply, shaking his head. ‘I am no detective,’ he thought grimly. ‘And where are forensics when you need them?’ The frustration gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. He had to work with what he had.

They left the house, stepping back into the cool afternoon air. The village around them continued as normal—people talking, carts rolling over cobbled paths, the scent of cooking fires drifting through the air—but it felt different now. The cottage had been undisturbed, but not abandoned. Someone had taken Breeda, and the method was disturbingly clean.

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Del sighed, glancing at Elara. "All we know is how it was done. No idea who or why."

She nodded, her expression serious. "And we won’t be able to check the work sites where the others vanished. Any traces of Listwort or anything else will be long gone."

Del exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "One step at a time."

What little they had found only deepened the mystery. The silence of the woods. The vanished men. Breeda taken without a sound, drugged into helplessness. The pieces weren’t aligning yet, but the unease in Del’s gut told him one thing—whatever had done this, it was still out there. Watching.

And waiting.

They spent the rest of the afternoon scouring the areas where the missing men had been working. The land stretched beyond the village, a patchwork of farmland, sparse woodland, and uneven terrain where the fields met the tree line. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, but the air remained heavy with the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed grass.

As Paolo had told them, there were no obvious signs of a struggle—no overturned tools, no broken ground where a fight might have taken place. Even in the softer earth near the tree line, nothing suggested a body had been dragged away. The silence of it all was unsettling. If something had taken these men, it had done so cleanly, without a trace.

At the second site, however, Del spotted something. Caught on a thorn bush near where Will had last been seen, a small cluster of black fibres fluttered in the light breeze.

Elara moved beside him, leaning in to examine them.

"Same as the ones at Breeda’s house," she murmured, plucking one free and rolling it between her fingers. "It’s coarse. Possibly wool."

Del exhaled. "So, it’s looking more and more like the same person took all of them."

Elara nodded grimly, pocketing the fibre. "Or, at the very least, someone involved was at both places."

It was something—tenuous, frustratingly small, but something nonetheless. The connections were beginning to thread together, even if the picture was still unclear.

They moved on, checking the final site with equal care, but the results were the same. Nothing. No struggle, no signs of departure—just an empty space where a man had once stood.

As they finished, Del turned to Elara with a weary sigh. "This is going to be harder than I first thought."

She didn’t argue, just met his gaze with the same frustration he felt gnawing in his gut.

A soft rustling in the undergrowth made them both turn. A heartbeat later, Misty emerged from the bushes, her tail flicking in casual indifference as she padded up to Del. He felt her nudge his thoughts, a cool mental brush of curiosity.

‘What are you doing?’

Del did his best to explain, sending vague impressions of the search, the missing people, the frustration of finding nothing. Misty, for her part, seemed entirely unimpressed.

‘Two-legs are always fussing over something,’ she commented, before turning and meandering back into the undergrowth, tail swishing lazily.

Del watched her go with a shake of his head. "At least one of us is unbothered by all this."

They were about to head back when Misty reappeared, this time carrying something in her mouth. She trotted up to Del and deposited a small, cloth-wrapped bundle at his feet before sitting down primly and beginning to wash her face with deliberate, meticulous movements. The picture of feline disinterest.

Del crouched, glancing at Elara before carefully unwrapping the cloth. The scent hit him immediately—sharp, herbal, with an underlying bitterness.

Listwort.

Elara inhaled sharply. "Where did you get this?"

Misty gave him a slow blink, then resumed licking her paw.

Del exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Well, that’s another question added to the pile."

He glanced at Elara. "Let’s go see Vita next. Find out where this plant might be obtained around here."

Elara nodded, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of frustration.

Leaving the fields behind, they took the path leading toward Vita’s house, which lay on the outskirts of the village. The hedge-lined trail was quiet, the distant hum of the village fading the further they walked. When they arrived, however, they found the place empty. The shutters were latched, and the door was firmly secured.

Del knocked anyway, waiting a few beats before trying again. Silence.

"Looks like we’ll have to come back later," Elara murmured, stepping back.

Del frowned at the closed door, something about the stillness making his instincts itch. But there was nothing for it—they would have to find another way to get information in the meantime.

With the sun dipping toward the horizon, they made their way back toward the village. The exhaustion of the day was beginning to creep in, the unanswered questions sitting like stones in Del’s mind.

"It’ll have to wait until morning," he admitted. "Right now, we need food."

Elara smirked. "Finally, something we can solve."

By the time they reached the Cock and Ball, the tavern had settled into the comfortable hum of evening trade. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the deep, warm aroma of ale and the occasional burst of laughter from the regulars. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the wooden beams.

Jake was behind the bar, wiping down a tankard as he nodded in greeting.

They settled in, ordering food before Del turned to Jake. "Ever heard of Listwort?"

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Sure. It’s a strong relaxant. Knocks you out good if you use too much."

"Does it grow locally?"

Jake shook his head. "No. Vita keeps a stock, but it’s not cheap. Has to be brought in from up north."

Del exchanged a glance with Elara. ‘She is definitely our next point of call,’ he thought.

He leaned on the counter. "Apart from the missing people, has anything else odd been happening around here?"

Jake frowned, thinking it over. "Old Liam lost a cow last week. Just wandered off, never came back. And the dogs have been acting funny. Jittery. But that could just be them picking up on the tension in the village." He rubbed his chin. "Other than that… nothing I can think of."

Del filed that away. A missing cow wasn’t much, but the dogs—if animals were uneasy, that was often a sign of something deeper.

Their food arrived—thick cuts of roasted meat, golden potatoes crisped at the edges, and a generous serving of fresh bread. Del speared a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"Venison?" he asked, smirking slightly.

Jake grinned. "You noticed, huh? Fresh from the butcher’s stall today."

Remembering her comment to Del at the market earlier. Elara chuckled. "Better than dried rations, at least."

They ate, the warmth of the tavern settling into their bones, though the tension of the day still lingered at the edges of Del’s thoughts. The mystery of Stonebridge wasn’t going to solve itself overnight, and with every piece of the puzzle they uncovered, the picture only seemed to grow more complicated.

After a few mugs of Jake’s excellent ale, they finally called it a night, heading upstairs to the quiet comfort of their room.

As Del lay back in bed, Misty curled up at his feet, her tail flicking once before settling.

His thoughts drifted back to the fibres, the broken window, the scent of Listwort still lingering in his memory.

The answers were out there.

They just had to find them before someone else disappeared.