His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 127

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**Chapter 127**

**Claire’s POV**

As dawn broke the next day, the world outside my window seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if the weight of yesterday’s revelations had lifted, if only slightly.

The sunlight poured into the kitchen, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floor, yet the remnants of our discoveries from the night before clung to me like a heavy shroud.

The golden beams danced across the surface of the old oak table, transforming the steam rising from my tea into ephemeral wisps that twirled and faded into nothingness.

Elijah and I moved through the space with an unspoken understanding, each ensnared in our own labyrinth of thoughts.

From the corner of my eye, I observed him as he methodically spread butter over a piece of toast that he barely nibbled. There were new shadows etched beneath his cheekbones, darkened by the sleepless hours spent replaying the betrayal we had uncovered, a relentless loop that left no room for peace. I recognized those shadows intimately, for they resided under my own eyes as well.

Last night had been a blur of quiet desperation. After returning home, we had both showered, attempting to wash away the tension, and shared a muted dinner. We then retreated to my study, where we painstakingly tried to map out our next steps. Our secret about Naomi’s involvement felt like a weight on our shoulders, one we dared not share with anyone else, at least for now.

The study still carried the faint scent of aged paper mingled with the lavender candle I had lit to stave off sleep. Maps sprawled across the desk like a chaotic battlefield, each red circle marking every location Naomi had casually mentioned in passing, each one a potential clue.

We had stared at those circles until our vision blurred, until Elijah reached across the table and enveloped my hand with his. His palm was warm, a comforting anchor in the storm of uncertainty, a silent vow that we would navigate this turmoil together.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she would do this,” I whispered, placing my steaming mug of tea down with a slight tremor in my hands, a detail I desperately tried to conceal.

The mug clattered against the saucer, the sound jarring in the otherwise still atmosphere. Chamomile, my mother’s remedy for soothing frayed nerves, tasted like ash on my tongue at that moment.

Elijah leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the rim of his own mug. “We must remain composed,” he said, his voice low yet resolute. “The moment we let our anger dictate our actions, she gains the upper hand. We need to focus solely on the facts. Nothing more.”

His words were steady, but I caught the flicker of something fierce in his eyes, a wolf lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to pounce. I wondered if he felt the same gnawing fury that clawed at my insides, the kind that urged us to tear through the city until we found Naomi and demanded answers, no matter the cost.

I nodded, finding solace in his calm demeanor. He had endured so much, yet he carried an air of patience that I found both admirable and enviable.

It was the patience of someone who had experienced profound loss and learned that panic only deepened the wounds. I yearned to borrow that strength, to wrap it around myself like a protective shield.

“Do you think we should start by tracing her movements through the city?” I suggested, my voice tentative yet hopeful.

He pondered my question, his gaze drifting out the window to the street below. The maple trees were finally surrendering their leaves, letting them drift down in slow, graceful spirals, vibrant shades of blood-red and gold, sticking to the wet pavement like foreboding omens.

“We begin with the small things. Gather what we know. Construct the map. We can’t afford to chase shadows just yet.”

For hours, we delved into every lead we had on Naomi, dissecting her habits, the people she trusted, and the places she frequently vanished to.

She had no parental figures to ground her, just a younger brother and a mother confined to a hospital bed. From what Elijah had gleaned, she had been adrift for quite some time.

Adrift. The word lingered in my mind, bitter and heavy. I recalled the first time Naomi had genuinely smiled at me, her crooked teeth and bright eyes radiating innocence, as if she had never known pain.

I had once thought she possessed a wildness that could be softened by kindness. How terribly mistaken I had been.

Eventually, we decided to let the matter rest for the night. Our plan would take shape in the morning light.

But sleep eluded me, as it often did during turbulent times. I lay in the darkness, listening to Elijah’s calm, rhythmic breathing beside me, while my thoughts raced like wild horses.