The Storm Breaks | Shadows of Aurora | S01E03
Shadows of Aurora: Chapter 3 - The Storm Breaks
The Storm's Arrival
The storm rolled in with startling ferocity. Rain lashed against the windows of Ella’s cabin, and the wind howled through the trees like a living thing. Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. Ella sat at the small desk near the window, her notebook open, its pages filled with observations from dinner.
She couldn’t shake the tension that had permeated the evening. Each guest carried an unspoken weight, their secrets buried just below the surface. Olivia Hunt’s presence had been the catalyst, drawing out the unease in subtle yet undeniable ways. Ella jotted down another note: Olivia knows more about them than they know about her. She tapped her pen against the page, considering the implications. What kind of person wielded such control—and at what cost?
A Scream in the Night
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound that cut through the storm like a knife: a scream. High-pitched and raw, it sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her. Ella froze, the pen slipping from her fingers. She listened intently, but the sound was swallowed by the storm.
Grabbing her jacket and flashlight, she stepped into the downpour. The rain was relentless, soaking her within seconds as she made her way toward the spa building, where the scream had seemed to originate. Her boots splashed through puddles, and the wind pushed against her, but she pressed on, her heart pounding.
The Discovery
By the time she reached the spa, the glass doors were ajar, swaying slightly in the wind. Inside, the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with something metallic. Ella hesitated at the threshold, her flashlight beam sweeping the room. The soft glow of candles cast eerie shadows across the marble floor.
“Hello?” she called, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her stomach.
There was no answer. Ella stepped inside, her boots clicking against the polished stone. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. As she approached the meditation room, her flashlight caught a glint of something on the floor. Her breath hitched as the beam revealed a crimson scarf wrapped tightly around a woman’s neck.
Dr. Olivia Hunt lay sprawled on the yoga mat, her limbs askew. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unseeing. Nearby, a bottle of 19 crime wine lay tipped over, its contents pooling on the floor and mingling with the blood. The scene was surreal, almost too deliberate, as though crafted to send a message.
The Arrival of Michael
Ella’s stomach turned, but she forced herself to focus. She crouched beside the body, careful not to disturb the crime scene. The scarf was from the retreat’s boutique—Ella had seen it earlier in the day. Her gaze flicked to the bottle of wine, its label mocking her with its ironic name. She’d noted its presence at dinner, but now it felt like a clue left behind intentionally.
A sound behind her made Ella whirl around, her flashlight beam landing on Michael Grant. The retreat manager stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale and streaked with rain. His usual composure was gone, replaced by something raw and desperate.
“What happened?” Ella asked, her voice sharp.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gestured helplessly toward the body. Ella stepped back, her flashlight trembling in her hand. The storm raged outside, but the room felt unnaturally still.
“She’s dead,” Michael said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Taking Charge
Ella nodded, her journalist instincts already kicking in. “The police won’t get here tonight,” she said. “Not in this storm.”
Michael leaned against the doorframe, his face ashen. “What do we do?”
“We secure the scene,” Ella said, taking charge. “And we start asking questions. Someone in this retreat wanted Olivia dead. And they’re still here.”
The Gathering
The retreat’s guests were assembled in the lounge, their faces pale and drawn. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to dispel the chill in the room. Ella scanned their expressions, noting every flicker of fear, guilt, or confusion. Each one of them had something to hide; she was certain of it.
Marcus Blake paced near the windows, his fists clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he said, his voice tinged with anger. “You’re treating this like it’s a major crime scene. Maybe she just… had an accident.”
Ella arched an eyebrow. “An accident involving a scarf tied tightly around her neck? That’s quite a stretch.”
Sophia Lee sat in the corner, her hands trembling as she clutched a cup of tea. “Accidents don’t look like that,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “This was murder.”
Andrew Carter leaned against the wall, his expression carefully neutral. “Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should wait for the authorities.”
Ella noticed the way his fingers drummed against his arm, a subtle sign of nerves. “The authorities won’t get here until the storm clears,” she said. “Until then, we’re on our own.”
Lila Porter sat stiffly on a couch, her eyes darting nervously around the room. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. Ella could practically feel the anxiety radiating off her. She made a mental note to speak with Lila privately later.
Questions Begin
Michael stood near the fireplace, his usual polish replaced with barely concealed panic. “I don’t know how this could have happened,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
Ella stepped forward, her voice firm. “We need to go over what we know. Olivia was last seen at dinner. After that, what happened?”
The room fell silent. No one seemed eager to speak, their gazes fixed on the floor or the fire. Ella’s eyes flicked to the wine bottles on the nearby counter. A bottle of 19 crime wine sat among them, its label catching the firelight. The details were stacking up, and Ella felt certain that the answers lay in the room with them.
She glanced around, her journalist instincts sharp. This wasn’t just a murder investigation; it was a web of secrets, each thread leading to another. Ella thought back to her editor’s quip about her being like the crime dog, always sniffing out the truth. Tonight, the comparison felt more apt than ever.
The Truth Awaits
“I’ll start the questioning,” Ella said, her gaze sweeping the room. “Each of you had a reason to be here—and perhaps a reason to want Olivia gone. It’s time we figure out who’s hiding what.”
The storm roared outside, the wind rattling the windows. Inside, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Ella knew one thing for certain: the truth wouldn’t stay hidden for long.
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