A lining of sweat had formed in the tip-less, black leather gloves tightly wrapped around her hands. Black lace with alternating shapes of diamonds and flames trimmed the glove edges. They were a gift from her mother on her 16th birthday after her ‘accident’ at school a few weeks before; no one was hurt but her mother was furious, not at her, but at the amount of repair costs totaled at the bottom...

A wall of confusion hit him when his eyes gazed to the dusty wooden kitchen shelf as he sipped on a cup of warm, sweet afternoon tea. The same exact spot, and only spot, where his grandmother had kept the cookie jar, next to the old glass vase and vintage tea set, but it wasn’t there. His palms warmed and started to sweat, ‘where _is_ it? There’s no where else it could possibly be, unless she…’ It...