For two long years, the velvet curtains had stayed closed, refusing sunlight entry, as if the house itself had chosen mourning over life. To the outside world, Alexander was untouchable—a titan of industry, a man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

But inside those walls, he was nothing more than a broken husband, clinging to the memory of a woman frozen in time: Victoria.

“She’s alive, sir. I saw her.”

The trembling voice shattered the quiet like glass breaking.

Alexander, standing near the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in hand, slowly turned. His eyes were dull, irritated at being dragged from his grief.

In the doorway stood a boy—no older than ten. His clothes were torn and stained, his small frame tense under the watchful eyes of security guards. He clutched a worn cap, but his gaze—bright, fearful, and unwavering—cut through the room.

“What did you say?” Alexander asked, his voice rough and low.

The boy swallowed and pointed toward the portrait above the mantel.

“The woman in that picture. I saw her yesterday. Near the old train yard… where nobody goes. She asked me for help. She said her name was Victoria.”

A humorless laugh escaped Alexander.

“That’s my wife,” he said coldly. “And she died two years ago. Car accident. No survivors. Don’t come here making up stories for money. Get him out.”

The guards stepped forward, but the boy didn’t move.

“I’m not lying!” he cried, his voice cracking. “She was hurt… scared. Wearing a torn dress. I only asked for food. If you feed me, I’ll show you where she is. She told me something… she said if I told you ‘Shadow is waiting for her,’ you’d believe me.”

The glass slipped from Alexander’s hand and shattered on the floor.

Everything froze.

“What… did you say?” he whispered, stepping closer.

“She said Shadow is waiting for her,” the boy repeated. “There was a black dog too. Big… but limping.”

Alexander’s breath caught.

No one knew that. No one except him.

The dog—Shadow—had been in the car the night of the accident. Neither body had ever been found.

For the first time in two years, something broke through the numbness inside him.

Hope.

Sharp, terrifying, and alive.

“What’s your name?” he asked, kneeling in front of the boy, uncaring of the dirt on his expensive suit.

“Ethan, sir.”

“If this is a lie, it ends badly,” Alexander said quietly. “But if it’s true…” He turned sharply. “Get him food. Now. And prepare the car.”