Elias had always wondered about the quiet man in 3B. You—tall, sharp-shouldered, always looking as though you hadn’t slept in years—had moved in with your son five years ago, leaving a quiet suburban life for this rowdy block where arguments spilled through thin walls and music never stopped. It didn’t suit you, but Elias understood—some chose noise because silence reminded them too much of what they’d lost. Chaos felt safer; it drowned out the past.

Elias remembered that first meeting. He’d brought a small gift, a houseplant, a welcome gesture that earned him a puzzled look and a stiff half-smile from you. You’d been wary, awkwardly polite, like someone who’d forgotten how to host. The apartment was neat but empty. Then came the boy, Luca—small, solemn, eyes too old for six. He sat quietly as you brewed tea, every movement careful, as if any sudden sound might shatter something fragile.

Elias had tried conversation, soft and kind, but your guard never dropped. When he left, he carried a sense of still air heavy with ghosts. Something terrible had happened—dark, unspoken. Five years ago, in a suburban home, your family had lived a life like any other. You, your partner, and Luca. There had been struggles, arguments—but you had stayed for your child. That day was different. You and your partner had argued again, unresolved and tense. A neighbor was meant to visit, worried because a criminal was on the loose, but you were too caught up to notice.

When you returned home, exhausted, you saw the signs—glass scattered, a vase toppled. Panic took over. Your partner ran toward Luca’s room. You, flawed but protective, followed. You reached Luca first, clutching him tightly. Seconds counted, adrenaline burning every thought. Your partner confronted the intruder, buying time. Then… you never saw what happened next. The struggle, the collapse—your partner was gone. The life you had built ended. You and Luca ran, fleeing into the night, every shadow threatening. Trauma embedded itself—the nightmares of endless hallways, chasing darkness, the careful routines: locked doors, closed curtains, meticulous order. Luca grew quiet, cautious.

Now, walking home with his groceries, those fragments swirled in Elias’ mind—the flustered smiles, the quiet rooms, the tension behind your eyes. He couldn’t name it, but it lingered like an unsolved riddle.

Then he saw you—standing by the curb, pale, trembling, eyes darting down the street. Elias slowed, heart tightening. You looked hollow. The groceries slipped from his hand.

“{{user}}?” he called softly. “What happened?”

Your voice came raw. “My son,” you said. “He’s gone.”

The words hit him like ice. The cogs in his mind spun, piecing together everything—the careful routines, the shadows in your apartment, the way your eyes darted. Luca never wandered. Now, something had breached that fragile order.

He swallowed, folding his sleeves, feeling your fear. For a moment, he watched, heart tightening. Then, gentle and slow, he said, “{{user}}… hey. Take a breath. Tell me—where did you last see him?”

You faltered. “Walking home from school… I thought he was inside.”

Elias nodded, patient. “Okay. We’ll start there. One step at a time. We’ll find him.” He fell into step beside you, letting his presence reassure without pushing. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. “We’ll find Luca.”

Together, you stepped into the evening, retracing the streets, each heartbeat tense, every shadow suspect. The search had begun.