### Chapter 10: **Echoes of the Past**
The mist still clung to their skin as they crouched under the sheltering branches of the tree, breath heavy, hearts thundering. For a moment, neither of them spoke, their bodies trembling from the narrow escape. The village lay behind them like a shadow, distant and cold, while the looming presence of the Fairchild manor beckoned ahead—a dark, imposing silhouette wrapped in secrets.
Isabella was the first to break the silence. "What just happened?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wiped her clammy palms on her coat, trying to steady her nerves. "Who was that? And who... saved us?"
Alexander, still catching his breath, shook his head. "I don't know. But someone doesn't want us near that manor, and they're willing to kill to keep us away."
His words hung in the air like a final note of a funeral song, chilling Isabella to the bone. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting off the surge of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. When she opened them again, her resolve was firmer.
"We have to go back," she said, her voice gaining strength. "We can't let this stop us. Whoever is behind this—whatever secrets they're hiding—it's all tied to Eliza. We're closer than we've ever been."
Alexander studied her face, reading the determination in her eyes. Despite everything, Isabella hadn't broken. If anything, the danger only seemed to fuel her. He nodded slowly.
"We'll be careful," he said, though the words felt like a fragile promise. "But we can't just charge in. That man… those men—they know we're coming. We need to be smarter about this."
They sat in silence for a few moments, the mist curling around them, as though the world itself was trying to hide them from the danger that lurked nearby.
Finally, Alexander rose to his feet, helping Isabella up with him. "Let's go," he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "We'll take the forest path. It'll give us some cover."
Isabella nodded, and together they moved forward, disappearing into the thickening woods that circled the manor.
The trees whispered overhead as they walked, their branches swaying in a wind that carried the faintest scent of decay. The path they took was narrow, barely visible beneath the carpet of dead leaves, but Alexander seemed to know where he was going, his steps confident despite the growing gloom.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the weight of what had happened pressed down on Isabella. The stranger's threat echoed in her mind—*lost, forgotten, and never found*. And yet, the thought of turning back never once crossed her mind. Eliza's story was too important, too personal now. This was no longer just about solving a mystery; it was about justice, for a life snuffed out too soon, and for the truth that had been buried for years.
Suddenly, Alexander stopped, his hand reaching out to still Isabella. "There," he whispered, pointing ahead.
Through the trees, just barely visible, was the rear of the Fairchild manor. It rose like a ghost from the mist, its once grand facade now crumbling and overgrown with ivy. The windows stared blankly back at them, like eyes that had long since lost their ability to see. But something else caught Isabella's attention. In one of the upper windows, a faint light flickered, casting a dim glow against the glass.
"Someone's in there," she breathed, her pulse quickening.
Alexander nodded grimly. "And they know we're coming."
They crouched low, moving closer until they were hidden behind the remains of an old stone wall that had once bordered the estate. From this vantage point, they could see more clearly—movement inside the manor, shadows passing by the windows, too fast to make out details but enough to confirm that the place wasn't as abandoned as it seemed.
"Do we have a plan?" Isabella asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alexander's eyes scanned the manor, his jaw set in determination. "We get inside. Quietly. We need to figure out what they're hiding before they know we're here."
They waited until the light from the upper window disappeared, leaving the manor cloaked in darkness once more. Then, with cautious steps, they made their way to the back entrance, a heavy wooden door that hung slightly ajar, the wood splintered as if forced open recently.
Alexander pushed it open just enough for them to slip inside. The air was cold and damp, thick with the smell of rot and neglect. Dust hung in the air like a veil, swirling around them as they moved cautiously through the dimly lit halls.
The silence inside the manor was suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Isabella kept close to Alexander, her heart hammering in her chest. Every shadow seemed to hold a secret, every corner a threat.
They found themselves in what looked like a library, the walls lined with towering shelves filled with books, many of them covered in a thick layer of dust. But something about the room felt wrong—like it had been disturbed recently.
Alexander moved to one of the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of the books. "These have been moved," he muttered, pulling one of them out. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, but beneath it, the book looked newer than the others, as if it had been placed there much more recently.
Isabella joined him, her eyes scanning the titles. Most of them were histories and biographies, volumes that had likely belonged to the Fairchild family for generations. But one book stood out to her. It was smaller, with a plain, leather cover, no title on the spine.
She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the worn leather, and pulled it from the shelf. As she opened it, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a book at all, but a journal—Eliza's journal.
"Alexander," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's hers."
He was at her side in an instant, his eyes scanning the pages. The handwriting was neat, but hurried, as if Eliza had been writing in a rush, trying to get her thoughts down before it was too late.
As they read, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Eliza had discovered something—something that had put her in danger. But what?
Isabella turned the page, her eyes widening as she read the last entry.
*I've been followed for days. I can feel them watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. But I won't stop. I've found the truth, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure it's revealed. If anyone finds this, know that I didn't run away. I was taken.*
Before they could process the weight of Eliza's words, a sound echoed through the hallway—a door slamming shut, followed by heavy footsteps approaching fast.
"They know we're here," Alexander whispered, his face pale.
Isabella's grip tightened on the journal. "Then we can't let them catch us."