The house felt colder than it should've.
Adanna hadn't stepped into Malcolm's study since his death. The mahogany door creaked as she pushed it open, the scent of old paper and expensive cologne hitting her like a memory she didn't want.
Everything was untouched.
Desk. Chair. Clock ticking softly on the wall.
She walked past the heavy bookshelf, her heels silent on the rug, and stopped at the tall mirror in the corner — the one Malcolm never let anyone clean.
She reached behind it.
The edge of an envelope brushed her fingers.
Adanna's pulse jumped. She pulled it out, dust clinging to the corners. Her name was written on it. Just her name — nothing else.
Inside: A USB drive. A photo. And a handwritten note.
"If you're reading this, it means I failed."
She sank into the chair, heart pounding as she flipped over the photo. Malcolm was in it — standing next to a man she didn't recognize.
Behind them: A black car. The license plate had been scratched out.
The photo was dated two days before Malcolm's "accident."
Adanna stared at the note, one sentence underlined twice.
"Do not trust them. They're watching you now."
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Adanna froze.
She wasn't alone.