Surface Level

Chapter 8

Several months later, winter had fully set in, blanketing Pineview in a chill that matched the eerie stillness of the unsolved case. December had arrived, bringing with it the sparkle of holiday lights and the fresh, crisp smell of snow in the air. Yet for all the warmth and holiday cheer, the case that had started with Ariana's rescue remained stubbornly cold. Leads had dried up, and despite hours combing through records, interviews, and endless late-night meetings, the 'Shadow Man' remained an enigma, eluding them at every turn.

In these months, though, something remarkable had taken root. In the midst of uncertainty, Ariana had begun to truly settle into her new life with Eric and Clara. The girl who had once barely whispered a word had become someone they could hold real conversations with, often laughing with Clara over cups of hot chocolate or asking Eric endless questions about his cases.

One evening, after a long shift, Eric returned to the apartment, his breath fogging in the cold air as he turned the key and stepped inside. The warmth of the living room greeted him, along with the faint sound of music—an old Christmas classic playing on the radio. Ariana was curled up on the couch, a throw blanket around her shoulders, her focus on a book but still giving him a small, welcoming smile as he walked in. She had been devouring books faster than they could supply her, and she could now discuss them with Eric and Clara, her vocabulary sharp, her curiosity insatiable.

"Good read?" he asked, nodding at the book in her hands.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's... different. I think it's more... hopeful than the last one." Ariana looked down at the cover, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It was "To Kill a Mockingbird," which she had practically begged Clara to let her check out from the library.

"Good," Eric said, hanging his coat on the rack. "Hopeful's good. We could all use a bit of that."

The sound of Clara's laughter floated in from the kitchen, where she was trying to make gingerbread cookies with mixed success. "If you call dough stuck to every surface a success, then yeah," she said, grinning as she walked in with a tray of misshapen cookies. Ariana watched her, stifling a laugh, and Clara gave an exaggerated sigh, placing the tray down. "No judgment," she warned, waving a finger, though she couldn't hide the humour in her eyes.

But for Ariana, it was more than just a holiday baking mishap. This simple evening, with its clumsy gingerbread and cozy blankets, was the closest thing to family she'd had in years. Clara saw it, too, the way Ariana's guarded expression softened when she thought no one was looking, the way she lingered by the tree they'd put up together, her fingers brushing the ornaments as if testing the reality of it all.

"So," Clara asked, pulling a chair beside Ariana, "is it everything you thought it'd be?"

Ariana glanced around the room, her gaze settling on Eric, then Clara, her eyes holding a rare hint of happiness. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "I just never... thought I'd be here, with people."

Eric shared a glance with Clara, a silent understanding passing between them. In those five months, they'd not only grown to care for Ariana—they'd come to see her as family. And though the 'Shadow Man's' mystery still haunted the corners of their minds, tonight they were content to enjoy the small miracle of the life Ariana was rebuilding, one that was now intertwined with theirs.

"Maybe," Eric said, raising a slightly crumbly cookie in a toast, "this Christmas, we toast to something hopeful."

"To family," Clara added, clinking her mug against his.

And for the first time, Ariana joined in, clinking her mug softly against theirs, her eyes bright. "To family," she whispered, a smile spreading slowly across her face.