The next morning, Eliza and James set off for the industrial district, their steps purposeful despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. The air in this part of the city was heavy with the faint smell of oil and rust, and the streets were lined with warehouses and factories, their towering chimneys stretching into the gray sky.
The factory listed in the records wasn't hard to find. It was a sprawling building with faded signage that read Sinclair Textiles—a coincidence Eliza couldn't ignore. Her heart pounded as they approached the entrance, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling within her. This place had once been part of Thomas's life, and it might hold the answers she had been searching for.
Inside, the factory buzzed with activity. Machines hummed and clanked, and workers moved about with practiced efficiency. Eliza approached the front desk, where a woman with short, graying hair greeted her with a curious smile.
"Good morning," Eliza began, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "I'm looking for information about someone who worked here a long time ago. His name was Thomas Sinclair."
The woman tilted her head thoughtfully. "Thomas Sinclair? That's a name I haven't heard in years. I've been here a long time, though—let me check our old records."
She disappeared into a back room, leaving Eliza and James waiting in tense silence. Eliza's hands fidgeted with the edge of her coat, her thoughts racing. What if the records led to another dead end? What if they revealed something she wasn't ready to face?
After what felt like an eternity, the woman returned with a thick ledger in her hands. "Here it is," she said, flipping through the pages. "Thomas Sinclair worked here for about five years. He was a dependable worker, but quiet. Kept to himself most of the time."
Eliza leaned forward, her eyes scanning the entries. "Do you know what happened to him? Did he leave a forwarding address or any information about where he went?"
The woman shook her head. "Not that I recall. One day, he just stopped showing up. No explanation, no notice. It was like he vanished. A few of the older workers used to talk about him—how he always seemed like he was carrying a heavy burden. But no one knew much about his personal life."
Eliza's heart sank. Another mystery. Another trail gone cold. She glanced at James, who gave her a reassuring nod.
"Thank you," Eliza said, forcing a small smile. "This helps more than you know."
The woman hesitated before adding, "You know, there's an old worker still in town who used to be close to Thomas. His name's Richard. He might remember more."
Eliza's pulse quickened. "Where can I find him?"
"He runs a small shop just a few blocks from here," the woman said, jotting down an address. "If anyone knows more about Thomas, it's him."
Eliza clutched the paper tightly, hope reigniting within her. "Thank you so much."
---
The shop was a quaint, unassuming place nestled between two larger buildings. A bell chimed softly as Eliza and James stepped inside, the scent of wood and leather greeting them. Behind the counter stood an older man with silver hair and a kind, weathered face.
"Good morning," he greeted, his voice warm. "How can I help you?"
"Are you Richard?" Eliza asked.
The man nodded. "I am."
She stepped closer, her heart pounding. "I'm looking for information about someone you used to know. Thomas Sinclair. He worked at the textile factory years ago."
Richard's expression shifted, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. "Thomas… yes, I remember him. Haven't thought about him in a long time."
"Can you tell me anything about him?" Eliza asked, her voice almost pleading. "What he was like, what happened to him?"
Richard leaned on the counter, his gaze distant as he seemed to sift through his memories. "Thomas was a good man. Quiet, but thoughtful. We worked together for years, and though he didn't share much about his past, I could tell he'd been through a lot. He had this sadness about him, like he was carrying the weight of the world."
Eliza's throat tightened. "Did he ever talk about Windward Bay? Or someone named Clara?"
Richard's eyes widened slightly. "Clara… yes, he mentioned her a few times. Said she was the love of his life, but he'd made mistakes he couldn't undo. He talked about wanting to go back someday, but he was afraid. Said he didn't deserve a second chance."
Eliza's chest ached at the words. Thomas had wanted to return—to her mother, to Windward Bay—but his guilt had kept him away.
"Do you know what happened to him?" James asked gently.
Richard hesitated, his expression growing somber. "One day, Thomas told me he was leaving the city. He didn't say where he was going, just that he needed to make things right. I never saw him again after that."
Eliza's heart raced. "Do you think he went back to Windward Bay?"
"It's possible," Richard said. "He always spoke about it like it was home. But if he did go back, I wouldn't know. He didn't leave any word."
Eliza thanked Richard for his time, her mind spinning as they left the shop. The pieces of Thomas's story were beginning to come together, but there were still so many unanswered questions. Had he returned to Windward Bay? Had he tried to find her mother? Or had his journey taken him somewhere else entirely?
As they walked back to their hotel, James reached for her hand. "You're getting closer," he said, his voice steady. "You're unraveling the story, piece by piece."
Eliza nodded, though her heart felt heavy. "But what if the answers aren't what I want to hear? What if I find out he never tried to come back, or that he didn't care as much as I thought?"
James stopped, turning her to face him. "You're doing this to understand, Eliza. Not to rewrite the past. Whatever you find, it won't change who your mother was—or how much she loved you."
His words settled over her like a balm, soothing the storm of emotions raging within her. She squeezed his hand, gratitude welling up inside her. "Thank you, James. For being here. For everything."
"Always," he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
As they continued walking, the city's lights twinkling in the distance, Eliza couldn't shake the feeling that she was on the cusp of something important. Thomas's story wasn't finished yet, and neither was her journey. The answers she sought were out there, waiting to be uncovered. And she was ready to face them—no matter what they revealed.