Henry paced back and forth in his dimly lit study, the shadows of the night stretching long against the walls. The digital clock on his desk read 10:47 PM, but sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. His thoughts were consumed by one person: Chantel.
She had always been headstrong—brilliant, passionate, and unrelentingly determined—but tonight, Henry felt the chill of helplessness settle in his bones. He had just gotten off the phone with her, and the conversation still echoed sharply in his ears.
"Chantel! Please, just listen to me," he had pleaded, his voice straining with concern. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go there alone. You know the risks. The Browsons… they're not people you can trust."
There was a long pause on the other end, and he could hear her breathing softly, calmly, in stark contrast to the storm of emotions inside him.
