The world used to be a kaleidoscope of color for Leo. Now, it was just shades of grey, occasionally punctuated by the searing white of memory. Five years. Five years since the crash. Five years since the last time he saw Ethan.

The silence in their apartment, once filled with Ethan’s off-key singing and the clatter of his paintbrushes, was a living thing. It pressed in on Leo, a constant reminder of what he’d lost. He traced the outline of a framed photo on the bedside table: Ethan, laughing, his head thrown back, sunlight catching the gold in his hair. Leo’s thumb brushed over the smooth glass, a ghost of a touch.

They had been driving back from their anniversary dinner, high on cheap champagne and the intoxicating promise of forever. Ethan had been teasing him about his terrible parking, and Leo, distracted by the warmth of Ethan’s hand on his thigh, had looked over just as the truck swerved.

The screech of tires, the shattering glass, the metallic tang of blood – it all played on an endless loop in Leo’s mind. He remembered waking in the hospital, his arm in a sling, his head throbbing, asking for Ethan. And then the doctor’s grim face, the hushed tones.

"We couldn't find anyone else at the scene, Mr. Hayes. We believe your passenger was… ejected."

Ejected. The word haunted him. It implied a finality that Leo refused to accept. They hadn't found a body. No remains. Nothing. Just a mangled car and Leo, broken but alive. The police had searched, of course. Exhaustively. They’d concluded Ethan was gone, a tragic casualty. But Leo knew. He felt it in the hollow ache in his chest, in the frantic flutter of hope that never quite died. Ethan was out there. He had to be.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Leo mumbled to the empty space beside him, a ritual he’d kept for years. He swung his legs out of bed, the familiar creak of the floorboards echoing in the stillness. The aroma of stale coffee hung in the air, a ghost of yesterday’s attempt at normalcy. He stumbled into the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the window doing little to brighten the gloom. He poured himself a mug, black, as bitter as his mornings had become.

He scrolled through his phone, hoping for a miracle, a news article, anything. Nothing. Just the endless stream of a world moving on without him. He stopped at an old photo of him and Ethan, taken on their first trip together to the coast. Ethan had insisted on matching ridiculously bright Hawaiian shirts.

"Come on, Leo! Live a little!" he’d said, pulling Leo into a clumsy embrace. Leo smiled faintly at the memory, a brief flicker of warmth in the desolate landscape of his mind.A sharp rap on the door startled him. He rarely had visitors.

"Leo? You in there?" It was Sarah, Ethan’s older sister, her voice tinged with concern. She’d been his rock, his only consistent link to a past he desperately clung to.

He opened the door, a forced smile on his face. "Hey, Sarah."

"Hey yourself," she said, stepping inside, her eyes immediately scanning the apartment.

"Still a mess, huh?"

"It’s… lived in," Leo countered weakly.

She sighed, placing a grocery bag on the counter.

"I brought you some actual food. You can’t live on instant noodles forever."

"Thanks," he muttered, genuinely grateful.

She watched him for a moment.

"You’ve been quiet lately. More than usual."

"Just thinking."

"About Ethan?"

He nodded. "Always."

"Leo, it’s been five years," she said gently, her hand resting on his arm.

"Don’t you think it’s time to… to try and move forward?"

"How can I, Sarah? They never found him." His voice was barely a whisper.

"No body. Nothing."

"I know, honey. Believe me, I know the pain. But sometimes… sometimes there are no answers."

"I can’t accept that." He pulled away, walking to the window.

"I just can’t."

"What are you going to do, Leo? Keep living in this… shrine?" She gestured around the apartment, every corner filled with Ethan’s presence, from his unfinished canvas on the easel to the collection of mismatched mugs he’d adored.

"I’m going to find him." The words hung in the air, a desperate vow.

Sarah looked at him, her expression a mix of sorrow and resignation.

"You’ve been down this road before, Leo. It only hurts you more."

"This time, it’s different."

The next few weeks were a blur of cold calls and dead ends. Leo revisited old police reports, scoured obscure forums, and even contacted private investigators, most of whom politely declined, citing the lack of new evidence. He felt like a detective in a bad novel, chasing shadows.

One afternoon, buried in a pile of dusty archives at the local library, he found a forgotten newspaper clipping from a small town hours away. It was dated a few days after the crash, reporting a minor traffic incident involving a commercial truck matching the description of the one that had hit them.

The truck had been impounded for a faulty brake light, then released. A flicker of something, a tiny spark of possibility, ignited in Leo’s chest.

He showed the article to Sarah. "Look, Sarah. This truck. It was in Pine Ridge days after the crash."

"So? Trucks drive all over the country, Leo."

"But this one matches the description. And it was impounded. What if… what if they found something then? Something they didn't connect to our accident?"

Sarah’s brow furrowed. "That’s a huge leap."

"It’s all I have."

Pine Ridge was a sleepy town, nestled deep in the mountains, a place time seemed to have forgotten. The police station was small, a single officer behind a cluttered desk.

"Can I help you?" the officer, a burly man with a kind face, asked.

"Yes. I’m Leo Hayes. I’m looking for information about a truck impounded here five years ago. Around… June 15th."

The officer scratched his head. "That was a while ago. What kind of truck?"

Leo described it. The officer pulled out a thick, dusty ledger.

"Hmm. Let’s see… Ah, here we go. Old man Henderson’s truck. Faulty brake light, as I recall."

"Was there anything else?" Leo pressed, his heart pounding.

"Anything unusual found in or around the truck?"

The officer flipped through the pages. "Nope. Just the usual stuff. Brakes were fixed, he picked it up."

"Are you sure?" Leo asked, a desperation creeping into his voice.

"No personal items? No… anything?"