On the wed­ding night, the atmos­phere takes a chill­ing turn as the ush­ers, includ­ing Femi and Angus, stum­ble upon a twist­ed gold crown embed­ded in the damp, storm-rav­aged earth. At first, it appears like a dis­card­ed rem­nant of the cel­e­bra­tion, but upon clos­er inspec­tion, they real­ize it belongs to Jules. The sight of the once-pris­tine crown, now severe­ly bent and mis­shapen, sends an unset­tling wave of unease through the group. The dam­age sug­gests a sig­nif­i­cant amount of force was applied, rais­ing imme­di­ate con­cerns about what could have hap­pened. Angus, vis­i­bly trou­bled, recalls the last time he saw Jules—right before the cake-cut­ting cer­e­mo­ny. He remem­bers catch­ing a glimpse of her expres­sion, one that seemed tense, bor­der­ing on either anger or fear, a detail that now feels far more sig­nif­i­cant in light of this omi­nous dis­cov­ery.

As the group stands in silence, pro­cess­ing the impli­ca­tions of the dam­aged crown, the air around them feels heavy with some­thing unspo­ken. Femi, attempt­ing to piece togeth­er the events, asks if any­one had seen Jules after the pow­er briefly flick­ered dur­ing the recep­tion. An eerie pause fol­lows as they exchange uncer­tain glances, each of them real­iz­ing that no one can con­fi­dent­ly recall see­ing her in the after­math of the black­out. The real­iza­tion set­tles over them like a weight, ampli­fy­ing their col­lec­tive unease. Angus, unwill­ing to voice his worst fears, shakes his head, his reluc­tance mir­ror­ing the group’s grow­ing sense of dread. Dun­can exhales sharply, the sound cut­ting through the ten­sion, a non­ver­bal con­fir­ma­tion that he too feels the unset­tling pres­ence of some­thing amiss.

Femi clar­i­fies that he isn’t out­right sug­gest­ing Jules has been harmed, but his attempts to recon­struct the evening expose a gap­ing hole in their rec­ol­lec­tions. If Jules had left the recep­tion will­ing­ly, some­one should have seen her, yet no one did. The silence that fol­lows his state­ment speaks loud­er than any words—the fact that not a sin­gle one of them can con­firm where she went is deeply unset­tling. The storm, which had once seemed like noth­ing more than an incon­ve­nience, now feels like a shroud con­ceal­ing some­thing far more sin­is­ter. The bat­tered crown in Angus’s grasp serves as a tan­gi­ble clue, but it only rais­es more ques­tions than answers. The fact that it was found in the mud, away from the main wed­ding area, implies some­thing happened—something that shouldn’t have.

As they reluc­tant­ly push for­ward, the night air grows cold­er, and the rem­nants of the storm leave behind an eerie still­ness that feels almost unnat­ur­al. Each step through the wet grass and shift­ing earth feels heav­ier, as if the land itself is reluc­tant to give up its secrets. The Fol­ly looms in the dis­tance, its win­dows reflect­ing the occa­sion­al flick­er of light, but instead of appear­ing wel­com­ing, it now seems like a dark, watch­ful enti­ty. Every gust of wind, every dis­tant rus­tle in the under­brush, sets their nerves fur­ther on edge, as if some­thing unseen is lurk­ing just beyond their sight. The group, once mere­ly con­cerned, now moves with a sense of urgency, their unease grow­ing into a pal­pa­ble fear that Jules may not just be missing—she may be in real dan­ger.

Despite their shared appre­hen­sion, they know they can­not stop now. The longer Jules remains unac­count­ed for, the more their wor­ries take root, threat­en­ing to spi­ral into full-blown pan­ic. Every pass­ing sec­ond deep­ens the mys­tery, and though none of them want to say it aloud, the thought lingers between them: what if they are already too late? The con­trast between the joy­ous cel­e­bra­tion that had tak­en place just hours ago and the fore­bod­ing atmos­phere that now grips them is stag­ger­ing. What was meant to be a night of uni­ty and hap­pi­ness has instead unrav­eled into a night of fear, unan­swered ques­tions, and an over­whelm­ing sense that some­thing ter­ri­ble has hap­pened. The dark­ness sur­round­ing them is no longer just a prod­uct of the night—it is a veil hid­ing the truth, and they can only hope that what­ev­er they are about to uncov­er is some­thing they can still fix before it’s too late.