Chasing The Clues
With the journal’s clues in hand, Smith and I began plotting our next move. “We need to visit these places,” I said, the urgency rising like a swelling tide. Smith unfolded a map and quickly got to work. “Let’s mark every location Michael mentioned,” he said, his pen moving with a precision that felt almost instinctive. Hope rekindled, we stood at the brink of a new journey, eager to discover if these fragments would finally lead us to the answers we sought.
Chasing The Clues
Rest Area Of Memories
Our journey brought us to a weathered, forgotten rest area, its paint peeling and walls adorned with graffiti—a testament to years of neglect and the passage of time. Smith and I wandered through its emptiness, each step reverberating with memories of the past. “It feels different now, doesn’t it?” I murmured, trying to imagine how Michael might have seen it. The place stood like a quiet guardian of the years, holding onto its secrets—perhaps even those of my husband and daughter.
Rest Area Of Memories
