The encrypted phone lay dormant on Emily's bedside table like a coiled secret, silent but pulsing with potential.
She hadn't touched it again—not yet. Some part of her knew that the moment she did, there would be no going back. Knowledge was a point of no return, and she'd lived too long in a world where knowing too much could kill faster than a bullet.
But when the past came knocking, the present didn't wait.
A letter arrived that morning. Hand-delivered. No return address.
The envelope was heavy cream, the handwriting elegant but sharp. Emily's name was written with deliberate flair. She slit it open, heart thudding. Inside was a single sheet.
He burned everything you were meant to inherit. But some embers never die.
Meet me at the Serpent's Tail. Midnight.
No signature.
She read it twice. Then again.
The Serpent's Tail was a forgotten jazz bar in the industrial district, abandoned since a fire gutted it years ago. Her father had once taken her there as a child, telling her that legends lived in smoke and shadows.
Now, apparently, so did secrets.
—
Emily dressed plainly that night—dark jeans, a heavy coat, and no trace of the woman who had dazzled at the masquerade. She didn't tell Alexander. Not because she didn't trust him, but because this felt older than whatever they were building. This felt like blood.
The Serpent's Tail stood like a burnt carcass at the edge of the city. Charred wood. Shattered windows. Ash still clung to the corners of the ruined doorframe. She stepped inside.
The air was thick with silence.
Then someone spoke.
"I didn't think you'd come alone."
She turned sharply. A man emerged from the shadows, face obscured by a scarf and cap.
"Depends on what you're offering," she replied.
He stepped forward, cautious.
"I knew your mother."
Emily stiffened. "That's not a name I hear often."
"She died protecting something she shouldn't have had."
Emily's fists clenched. "What was it?"
The man looked around, then pulled a flash drive from his coat and placed it on the ledge between them.
"Answers. But the kind that make enemies. Especially in the Ashthorne camp."
Emily reached for it. "Why now?"
"Because someone's stirring the ashes," he said. "And when that happens, things long buried tend to crawl back up."
Then he vanished into the darkness, leaving only the faint scent of smoke behind.
—
Back at the mansion, Emily locked the door, slid the flash drive into her laptop, and clicked.
Files opened.
Photos. Reports. Financial records. Maps.
And a name at the top of every page.
Everett Langston.
Her mother's brother.
Her uncle.
Long presumed dead.
But very much alive in these documents—and once linked to the Ashthorne syndicate.
Emily's mind raced. If Everett had been part of them once… what had he discovered that made him disappear?
And more importantly—why did they want her to forget him?
She glanced at the encrypted phone.
Then picked it up.
"I'm ready," she whispered into the silence.
And for the first time, the screen lit up.