A chill settled over Elara. Her gaze was locked on the anonymous email, specifically the attached images. She’d scanned them quickly earlier, a vague sense of unease stirring. Now, a closer inspection revealed far more than wistful nostalgia. Fingers trembling, she zoomed in on the photograph. Young Adrian, perhaps ten or eleven, stood beside an older woman whose features were softened by time. His expression, even then, held a hint of the somber intensity she knew so well. But it was the object in his hands that seized her attention. Carved from a rich, dark wood, it was unmistakably a griffin. Not a simple, stylized sketch, but an intricate, three-dimensional sculpture. Its wings were spread, each feather meticulously detailed. Its powerful talons gripped an unseen perch. Even in the faded photograph, the craftsmanship was evident. It felt ancient, imbued with a quiet power. Her mind raced, connecting the dots. The griffin motif. The very same creature that adorned the architectural plans for the ‘Weaver’s Tapestry’ – the one Adrian had been so desperate to protect from Croft’s hands. This wasn’t just an architectural concept. This was a physical artifact. A tangible piece of the puzzle. Adrian hadn't just possessed plans. He’d possessed something real, something that connected him directly to the legend. This changed everything. The initial email had only provided a hint. This photograph confirmed it. The ‘Weaver’s Tapestry’ wasn't merely a theoretical blueprint or a legend passed down through generations. It had a physical component, a relic. Who was the woman with him? A grandmother? A caretaker? Her eyes, though blurry, seemed kind. Elara scrolled through the other images. Family picnics, birthday parties, a stern-looking man who might have been Adrian’s father. But none held the same weight as the griffin photo. Her pulse quickened. Adrian’s guardedness, his fierce protection of the Tapestry’s legacy – it suddenly made more sense. He wasn't just defending an idea. He was defending a personal history, a tangible link to something profound. What had happened to the carving? Why had it vanished from his possession, if it had? The questions piled up, each one more pressing than the last. She needed to talk to him. Not about the email directly – that would raise too many questions about its source – but about the griffin itself. She needed to gauge his reaction, to see if this ancient carving held the same significance for him that it now held for her. Rising from her desk, Elara felt a renewed surge of purpose. The Vance incident, the public confrontation with Croft – all of it now felt like prelude to a deeper mystery. This wasn't just about business anymore. This was about Adrian’s past, and perhaps, the truth behind the ‘Weaver’s Tapestry’. Finding Adrian wasn't difficult. His office door stood ajar, a sliver of light escaping into the hushed corridor. He was at his expansive desk, the soft glow of his monitor illuminating his sharp profile. “Adrian?” she called softly, stepping inside. He looked up, his expression shifting from focused intensity to a softer, more welcoming gaze. “Elara. Is everything alright?” His voice was calm, but she sensed the underlying tension that always lingered after a major confrontation like the one with Vance. “Yes, everything’s fine,” she assured him, moving closer. She paused by a large window, pretending to admire the city view. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I was just… thinking about the ‘Weaver’s Tapestry’ plans.” He tensed, imperceptibly. His jawline hardened. “Oh? Anything specific?” His tone was even, betraying nothing. “Just the… the motifs,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “The griffin, for instance. It’s so unique. Almost like it’s depicting a specific, existing object, rather than just a symbolic design.” Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “It’s a powerful symbol, Elara. Represents guardianship, strength. It’s fitting for a project of that magnitude.” She turned from the window, meeting his gaze directly. “Of course. But… was there ever a physical representation of that griffin? Something carved, perhaps? An artifact that inspired the motif, rather than the other way around?” His body language remained composed, but a flicker – quick as lightning – crossed his features. It was there and gone before she could truly pinpoint it. A tightening around his eyes, a momentary paling of his lips. “Not that I’m aware of,” he said, his voice a fraction too smooth. “The ‘Tapestry’ is about architectural vision. Symbolism.” His gaze dropped, avoiding hers for a split second. A muscle twitched in his jaw. She saw it then, unmistakable even in its swift suppression. A flash of pain. And something else, something akin to guilt. He quickly met her eyes again, his expression carefully neutral. But the moment had passed. Elara had seen it. “Right,” she replied, a sudden coldness settling in her stomach. “Just a thought.”

The Missing Carving