Tangled In Time

The Last Goodbye

A soft knock at my door pulled me from sleep, the sound hesitant but firm. I blinked at the pale morning light spilling through the curtains before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. 9:00 a.m. Later than usual.

"Felicity?" Blake's voice came from the other side of the door, calm and low.

I sat up quickly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. "Just a moment," I called, brushing my hair back with my fingers.

I opened the door, and there he was, standing in the dim hallway. His gaze flicked to me, lingering for a moment longer than usual. I suddenly became acutely aware of my nightgown, the thin straps doing little to protect me from his scrutiny. His eyes shifted quickly, and he cleared his throat.

"I told Sophie not to wake you," he said, his tone a little more brisk now. "But I thought you might want to get up. Breakfast is ready."

I nodded, swallowing against the strange flutter his presence always seemed to bring. "Thank you," I murmured, glancing down at the floor.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he added, his voice softening slightly. "Take your time."

"Alright," I said, watching as he turned and walked toward the stairs, his shoulders stiff, as though bracing against something unspoken.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I let out a slow breath, pressing a hand to my chest to steady myself. His lingering gaze had been fleeting, but it had left my skin warm. I shook my head, trying to refocus, and stepped into the en-suite to shower.

Once I was dressed, I studied my reflection in the mirror. The red cardigan I'd chosen added a touch of warmth to my cream trousers and crisp white blouse, making me feel more put-together. I smoothed my hair into place, though it stubbornly refused to stay neat, and finally made my way downstairs.

The unease from earlier began to creep back as I stepped into the corridor. A draught caught the edge of my cardigan, and I noticed a door slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. Narrow and unassuming, it led to somewhere I hadn't noticed before.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at the shadowed space beyond it. "What's that door?" I asked as Blake appeared at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me.

His gaze followed mine, his brow furrowing briefly before smoothing again. "The attic," he said shortly.

"Why's it open?" I asked, the uneasy feeling spreading through me again.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Probably the staff cleaning."

"Cleaning this early?"

"It's nothing to worry about," he replied, his tone calm but clipped. "Come on. You'll feel better after breakfast."

I glanced back at the door once more before reluctantly moving to join him. The unease lingered, clinging to the edges of my thoughts like a shadow I couldn't shake.

Breakfast was quiet, Blake distant and brooding. He barely looked at me as we ate, his responses short whenever I tried to start a conversation. The warmth I'd glimpsed in him last night seemed buried beneath layers of tension, though whether it was from the events of the night or something else, I couldn't tell.

By the time we finished, the uneasy silence between us felt almost suffocating. As I followed him toward the door, I couldn't help but glance back, half expecting to see the attic door ajar again.

Back in the quaint cottage, the silence was broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. Blake and I sat across from each other at the wooden table, surrounded by the scattered journals. We had returned to our task of scouring through the entries, hoping to uncover any remaining clues about Cecilia's disappearance. But after hours of searching, we found ourselves at a dead end.