It’s a normal day as Jasmine walks into the front doors of the agency. A branch of a modeling agency out of NYC, run by a friend of her father’s who got her the job here and as such it’s been a bit of a struggle to fit in for the young Initia. The waiting room is empty as it’s early enough there wouldn’t be any staff apart from the normal: the models and the artists, the photographers haven’t even shown up yet. Jasmine is rather excited for today as it’s her friend Layla’s first solo shoot, an occasion that only happens once. They have plans to celebrate that night, drinking and partying and all manner of other things. But that section of the agency is surprisingly frantic, people running back and forth and no sign of the beautiful blonde.

Jasmine makes sure to drop her bag off in her own dressing room before heading over to where the makeup artist is flitting about nervously with nothing to do. Layla’s late, which isn’t like her. Discovering this and thinking that perhaps nerves caused the issue, Jas pulls her phone out to text the girl. Ten minutes and no response later she calls and this time when she gets no answer she starts to get nervous. She makes sure to let her manager know that she’s going to go check on Layla before she leaves the building and thankfully the man understands. It’s not like Layla to be late, especially not on a day so big, and he’s actually worried as well. Anxiety mounts in her stomach as she approaches Layla’s apartment only to worsen as she nears. Even from outside something isn’t right, the door is ajar and through it she can see overturned furniture and shattered tables. She wastes no time in calling the police.

Before she really knows what’s going on the entire area is swarmed, cops and detectives running this way and that. Missing they claim because there’s no sign of blood or a body. Missing is good. Missing means she might still be out there. They even question Jasmine for a little before leaving her to sit there and worry. Apparently they’re bringing in forensics, just in case they can pick up something that the others missed and not for the first time, Jasmine silently curses her luck that she wasn’t born an electric Initia like Ali. Perhaps then she could get the story of what happened from the TV or something. He’d laugh at her for thinking that she’s sure but she despises feeling useless like this. When the next car pulls up Jasmine’s brown eyes follow the woman as she walks into the house, hoping quietly that someone will at least deem it appropriate to keep her in the loop as to what’s going on.