The finding prompted a swift response from authorities. Photos were sent to the local gendarmerie, and within hours, a helicopter transported a mountain rescue team to the site. Captain Morel—who had coordinated earlier search efforts—opened the backpack carefully. Inside were everyday items a hiker might carry: a dented water bottle, bits of packaged food, a folded map. But one item stirred strong memories from the original investigation: Clara’s small blue notebook.
The discovery immediately revived public interest. Reporters gathered along the nearby roads, and the family waited anxiously, unsure whether the mountain was about to reveal comforting information or deepen their worries.
But even early on, Captain Morel noticed details that didn’t quite fit. The backpack looked surprisingly intact for having spent years exposed to harsh weather. And the map inside contained a fresh pen marking—a detail that hadn’t appeared on the version authorities examined in 2020.
That suggested someone had updated the map after the disappearance began.
The next day, rescue teams lowered themselves deeper into the crevice. About eight meters down, they found a piece of red fabric caught along the rock. It matched the jacket Julián was known to be wearing, but it appeared to have been placed intentionally rather than torn away by force. A few meters farther, they discovered a food wrapper with an expiration date two years later than the original disappearance.
This suggested someone had returned to the area long after the father and daughter had vanished.
The crevice eventually widened into a pocket of space, large enough for only a small temporary shelter. Beneath layers of dust, the team uncovered remnants of what appeared to be a makeshift camp: a thermal blanket, an empty container, short lengths of rope, and in the corner, a second notebook.
Much of the writing had faded, but a few lines remained readable. Words like “waiting,” “can’t climb,” and “we hear voices” seemed to point to an effort to stay calm and hopeful in difficult conditions.
One unfinished line hinted at the possibility that Julián had been struggling physically and wanted Clara to remain safe above him. Yet neither father nor daughter was found in the space.
On the stone wall, rescuers spotted groups of three small scratches repeated more than thirty times. The marks suggested careful tracking of days—possibly a full month.
The following day brought even more surprising findings. Far above the sheltered space, searchers examined a steep passage and detected faint footprints. They looked recent—far too recent to belong to anyone from the original event—and they appeared lighter than those of a full-grown adult. A short while later, under loose stones, the team discovered a small star-shaped pendant known to belong to Clara. It was the one she often wore, a keepsake that held deep sentimental value for her family.
Then, tucked away on a dry ledge, searchers uncovered an old metal first-aid kit. Rust clung to its edges, but it had been placed carefully, not dropped. Inside were bandages, a few medical supplies, and a folded note protected in plastic. The handwriting, though uneven, matched earlier samples from Julián.
It was a message asking anyone who found it to look after Clara if she had managed to leave the area. The note mentioned that someone had returned to them and behaved in an unsettling manner, making it difficult for the father and daughter to travel safely together. The message ended by urging whoever discovered it to provide care for his daughter if she was still somewhere in the mountains above.
The question lingered heavily: who had returned?
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