The next morning, they set out early, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily on their shoulders. The air was crisp, cool from the lingering night chill, but the village was already stirring—market traders setting up their stalls, shopkeepers sweeping doorsteps, and the scent of baking bread curling into the air.

Elara had decided to talk to the townsfolk, hoping to glean any overlooked details, while Del planned to return to Vita’s house. They walked together toward the market square, where they would go their separate ways.

Before they could part, a flustered Paolo strode towards them, his expression tight with urgency.

"Another one," he declared, breathless as he reached them. "Last night, another person went missing."

They stopped short, taking in the elder’s dishevelled state. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair uncombed, and he looked as though he had been dragged straight from bed into another long, exhausting day. The fatigue in his eyes spoke volumes—he was a man slowly being crushed under the weight of his village’s fears.

Del tensed. "Who?"

Paolo exhaled sharply. "Emily. My maid."

Elara’s eyes widened. "She vanished from your house?"

Paolo nodded grimly. "This morning, I went downstairs, expecting the usual breakfast preparations… but the kitchen was cold, untouched. I went to Emily’s room—she wasn’t there. No sign of her. No struggle, no sound in the night. Just… gone."

He gestured for them to follow, already turning back towards the elder’s residence.

They moved quickly, passing through the front office and into the private quarters of the building. Paolo led them straight to the kitchen first. It was unnervingly still—clean, orderly, yet lifeless. The stove was cold, the counters free of flour or food scraps, as though the morning had never begun.

Beyond the kitchen was Emily’s room.

The moment they stepped inside, the scent hit them—strong, unmistakable.

"Listwort," Elara murmured, her eyes narrowing.

The room itself was in disarray, but in a way that lacked clear violence. The bedclothes were piled in a messy heap on the floor, as if kicked off in sleep or disturbed in sudden movement. A bedside table stood untouched, a half-burned candle still sitting in a pool of hardened wax. The wardrobe doors were slightly ajar, but nothing appeared stolen or out of place.

Del crossed to the window. Unlike Breeda’s house, there was no shattered glass, no forced entry. It had simply been pushed closed but left unlatched. He ran a hand over the wooden frame, glancing outside.

"She probably left it open for fresh air," he muttered.

Elara joined him, scanning the view beyond. "Which means someone could have slipped in easily enough."

Del’s jaw tightened. The sheer quiet of it all was getting to him. No screams. No struggle. Just another person vanishing into the night.

He turned back to Paolo. "Can we check the area outside?"

Paolo nodded immediately, leading them through the back door into the courtyard beyond.

The yard was enclosed by a high, well-constructed stone wall, roughly six feet tall. A single gate stood in the far corner, secured with a heavy iron padlock. The enclosure was otherwise empty—no obvious disturbance, no scattered belongings.

Del’s sharp gaze landed on the ground beneath Emily’s window. An almost dry puddle of mud held the faint imprint of a footprint. It was large—likely a boot—but frustratingly nondescript. There was no clear tread, no unique markings.

He crouched, running his fingers lightly over the edges of the imprint. "Could be anyone’s," he muttered.

Elara frowned, following his line of sight. "Look at the crates," she murmured, gesturing toward a small stack of wooden boxes near the wall.

Del stood, moving toward them. They were likely leftover from a supply delivery, sturdy and neatly stacked. He placed a hand on the topmost one, testing its stability.

"They could have been used to climb over," he admitted. "But carrying an unconscious person and scaling a wall like this?" He shook his head. "It would take either impressive strength or more than one person."

Elara folded her arms. "Maybe both."

Del exhaled sharply. "And you heard nothing during the night?" he asked Paolo.

Paolo hesitated before answering, guilt flickering in his eyes. "No," he admitted. "But I slept heavily. I used a draft to help me rest. I’ve been struggling with sleep since all this started."

Del’s gaze sharpened. "Listwort?"

A slow nod.

Elara’s expression darkened. "How many people in Stonebridge use Listwort?" she asked. "Considering it doesn’t grow locally, there seems to be an awful lot of it around."

Del felt a flicker of admiration—she was seeing patterns he hadn’t even considered.

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Paolo hesitated, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I… I couldn’t really say," he admitted. "A travelling healer came by a couple of months ago—one of Vita’s suppliers. He also sold some to the market traders for home remedies."

Del exchanged a glance with Elara. "Did you know this man? Was he one of her regulars?"

Paolo thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I don’t believe so. Not all traders come through the village. Some just stay with Vita while they’re here."

Elara’s gaze sharpened. "Can you describe him?"

Paolo sighed, clearly frustrated by his own lack of useful information. "Not well. I barely spoke to him. He was tall—maybe six foot. Dark hair, beard, dressed in leathers with a black cloak. That’s all I remember."

Del crossed his arms, his mind turning over the pieces.

‘Mystery man just moved to the top of the suspect list.’

Something still felt… off. He didn’t believe in coincidences. This Listwort connection, a stranger passing through at just the right time—it was either linked to the disappearances, or someone had taken advantage of an unfortunate opportunity.

"Right," he said finally, clapping his hands together. "We can’t do anything else here. I suggest you make sure everyone knows to be extra careful at night. No one goes out alone, even in the evening."

Paolo nodded grimly. "Agreed."

"We’ll be back later," Del continued, glancing at Elara. "For now, we need to keep asking questions."

They turned, stepping out of the enclosed yard and back toward the heart of the village.

The morning sun was climbing higher, casting long, golden streaks over the rooftops. But despite the clear sky, Del couldn’t shake the feeling of something darker settling over the town.

People were disappearing, one by one. And Del couldn’t dispel the feeling that they were running out of time.

They stepped back into the bustling square, where the market was already in full swing. The hum of morning trade filled the air—vendors calling out prices, the rustle of cloth and grain sacks being shuffled, the occasional clang of metal as tools were exchanged. It was almost easy to forget, in the face of such routine, that another person had vanished just hours ago.

Del and Elara wove through the crowd, their senses heightened as they searched for anything out of place. The scent of fresh produce, dried herbs, and warm bread mingled in the air, but one particular aroma stood out the moment they caught it.

Listwort.

Once they knew what to look for, it was easy to follow the bitter, distinctive scent to one of the smaller stalls tucked between a spice merchant and a seller of cloth goods.

The woman running it was middle-aged, wearing a simple apron dusted with dried plant fragments, her hands deftly portioning out small bundles of herbs for customers. Her stall was stocked with home remedies—dried flowers, roots, and oils—alongside basic household essentials.

Del barely registered any of it. His gaze had locked onto something far more important.

‘TOOTHPASTE.’

His brain all but screamed it at him, and before he knew it, he had grabbed two pots of the white minty paste and a strange frayed-ended stick meant for cleaning teeth.

His mouth practically watered at the thought of finally feeling clean again.

Elara shot him an amused glance. "Priorities, Del."

"I don’t mock your magic, don’t mock mine," he muttered, tucking the prized possessions into his pouch.

Regaining focus, he turned back to the stallholder. "We’re actually here about the Listwort. Where do you get your supply?"

The woman gave a slight shrug. "Travelling traders, mostly. The last batch came through a couple of months ago. Sold fast, too—lots of people round here have been having trouble sleeping."

Del and Elara exchanged a glance. ‘A lot of Listwort in circulation,’ Del considered. ‘And a lot of people who suddenly needed help sleeping around the time the disappearances started.’

"Do you remember the trader who sold it to you?" Elara pressed.

The woman hesitated, furrowing her brow in thought. "Tall, I think. Or maybe not. Had dark hair? Or brown?" She exhaled in frustration. "Honestly, I barely noticed him. Came and went like the rest of them."

Her description was even less helpful than Paolo’s.

"Thanks anyway," Del said, forcing down his frustration.

They stepped away from the stall, moving toward the edge of the square.

Elara glanced at him. "Do you still want to split up?"

Del considered it. Paolo’s lead on the trader was proving increasingly useless, but Vita remained the strongest connection they had to the Listwort supply.

"Yeah," he agreed. "If you ask around here, you might find something I won’t. I’ll see what Vita knows."

Elara nodded. "We’ll meet at the inn for lunch?"

"Sounds like a plan."

They parted ways, Del setting off toward the outskirts of the village, his thoughts still spinning through the morning’s discoveries.

The narrow track leading to Vita’s cottage was quieter than the village, the sounds of trade fading behind him as the trees thickened around the path. Misty appeared from seemingly nowhere, slipping out of the undergrowth with a satisfied flick of her tail before falling into step beside him.

Del glanced down at her. "Decided to join me, huh?"

Misty didn’t answer, but the way she strutted along beside him suggested that, yes, this was a mission worthy of her attention.

As they rounded the last bend, Vita’s house came into view.

Something felt off.

No smoke curled from the chimney, no scent of brewing tonics or simmering herbs wafted from the small garden. It looked… still.

Empty.

Del frowned. ‘That’s not right. She should be here.’

Misty stopped ahead of him, ears flicking. ‘Come.’

Del followed her around the back of the house, where she had leapt onto the kitchen windowsill. The window was wide open, the dark interior yawning beyond.

A trickle of unease crawled up Del’s spine.

He knocked firmly on the back door. "Vita?" His voice was met with silence. He knocked again, louder. "Vita, are you in there?"

Nothing.

He glanced up at Misty, who sat on the windowsill with her usual air of feline indifference. She gave him a slow blink, then disappeared inside with the effortless grace of a creature that had never known an undignified moment in her life.

Del sighed. "Of course."

He heaved himself up, squeezing through the small window with significantly less grace and landing in an undignified heap on the kitchen floor.

Misty moseyed over and sat beside him, tail curled neatly around her paws. If cats could smirk, she would be.

Del pushed himself up and scanned the dimly lit space.

The house was orderly. Too orderly.

Everything was as it had been when they last saw Vita—except for the layer of stillness that suggested no one had disturbed anything in days. A kettle sat on the stove, unused. A neat bundle of herbs rested beside the chopping board, left as if she had intended to return at any moment.

She never had.

Del moved cautiously through the house, checking the main living area before heading upstairs.

The attic workspace was immaculate, every tool in its place, ingredients sorted neatly into labelled jars. Vita had been meticulous.

But the bedroom was another matter entirely.

The bedclothes were thrown haphazardly to the floor, as if someone had left in a hurry—or been taken. A single slipper lay half-kicked under the bed, abandoned mid-step. The air was thick with the pungent scent of Listwort.

Del’s stomach turned.

Misty padded closer, sniffing at the sheets before giving a small, sorrowful mewl.

Del sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I agree, girl."

Vita was gone.

Another victim of the disappearances.

His mind raced. Had she been taken last night? Or just after they saw her? He had no way of knowing.

Elara needed to hear about this.

Del turned, striding toward the door. "Come on, Misty. We’re heading back to Stonebridge."

The cat flicked her tail and followed, silent as a shadow.

The village had lost another.