Whispered Shadows

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shadows in Focus

Noa

We stand at the counter of the photo lab. They do same-day processing so we drove straight here after we left Mallorys so we could get these photos developed.

We haven't spoken much since we left Mallory's studio, the weight of her confession lingering like a storm cloud. The envelope with Gia's note is in my bag, her words burned into my mind.

Mallory's hesitation, the fear in her eyes—was it guilt, or something more sinister? I can't shake the feeling that she's still hiding something.

"What are you thinking?" I ask breaking the silence.

"That she's not telling us everything," he says after a moment. "And that this box is the key to figuring out what the hell Gia was trying to do."

I nod, running my fingers over the edge of the counter. "Do you think Mallory was in on it? With Shadow, I mean."

Ryder glances at me, his green eyes sharp. "I don't know. She's scared, but that doesn't mean she's innocent."

The technician hands us an envelope filled with freshly developed prints. Ryder pays, and we take them back to the hotel to examine them in private.

Spreading the photos out on the bed, I feel a mix of awe and dread. Gia's talent shines through in every shot, but there's an unmistakable darkness to them.

There are two separate sections, one is the photos we developed today and the other is the photos in the box.

"These are incredible," I murmur, leaning over to get a closer look at the photos that were in the box.

Gia's work was always stunning, but these photos feel different. There's a haunting quality to them, a deliberate focus on shadows and reflections. One shot is of the lake, but the surface is distorted, rippling like it's hiding something beneath. Another is of a forest, the trees dense and dark, with a single beam of light piercing through.

Ryder picks up a third photo, his brows furrowing. "This looks familiar."

I lean closer. It's a picture of a staircase, spiraling upward, the steps worn and cracked. A shadow stretches along the wall, long and menacing.

"That's...that's from the old mill," I realize, the image clicking into place. "Gia used to take me there when we were kids. It's abandoned now."

Ryder sets the photo down, his expression grim. "If she was taking pictures there, it might mean something."

I nod, my heart pounding. "We should go check it out."

"First, we look at the developed film," Ryder says firmly. "If these prints are anything to go by, there might be more clues on those rolls."

I agree, though my impatience burns. The photos in the box feel like breadcrumbs, leading us closer to the truth, but not fast enough.

We turn our attention to the other section. One photo in particular catches my attention: a close-up of a woman's hand resting on an ornate doorknob.

"That's not Gia's hand," I say, pointing to the photo.

Ryder frowns. "How can you tell?"

"The ring," I explain, leaning closer. "Gia didn't wear jewelry like that."

The ring is delicate, with a small, intricate design that almost looks like a family crest.

"Do you recognize it?" Ryder asks.

I shake my head. "No, but it feels important."

Ryder picks up another photo, this one of a dimly lit hallway. The shadows are heavy, almost oppressive, and at the end of the hall is a figure—blurry but unmistakably there.