Burn for me

Chapter 1 — TAPE The city never slept, but tonight it sounded like it was whispering. Rain clawed at the window of Adriana Voss’s apartment, each drop a rhythm she didn’t want to hear. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, the cursor on her screen blinking like a pulse she couldn’t steady. She was supposed to be sleeping. Instead, she was decoding death. The file had arrived at 1:17 a.m. — encrypted, anonymous, and labeled only “ROSSI, INTERNAL.” No message. No instructions. Just a file that shouldn’t exist, one that made her gut twist before she even touched it. Adriana hesitated for a full minute before opening it. She told herself she was just curious, that this was what investigative journalists did. But that was a lie — curiosity had nothing to do with the way her hand shook when she clicked play. The audio hissed to life. A voice filled the room — low, smooth, deliberate. The kind of voice that didn’t need to shout to command attention. > “—Rossi’s dead. Orders came from above. Burn the rest.” Then silence. A single click. And after that… another voice. One she hadn’t heard in nearly three years. > “Leave no witnesses.” Her breath caught. She knew that voice. Nikolai Rossi. But Nikolai Rossi was dead. Or at least, that’s what every report had said — car explosion, charred remains, a funeral with a closed casket. Adriana froze, replaying the audio again. Same voice. Same cold precision. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard. If it was real, this changed everything. She looked at the clock — 1:23 a.m. The city outside was washed in silver, every street glistening like a blade. Somewhere, a siren wailed. She poured herself another coffee, though it didn’t matter. Her hands were trembling too hard to drink. She needed to confirm the source. That was rule number one: never trust an anonymous drop. Especially when it came from them. Her laptop camera light flickered briefly. Just a glitch, she thought. But then the light flickered again — not random this time. Three blinks. Pause. Three more. Her heart skipped. Someone was in her system. Adriana slammed the laptop shut, pulse racing. She reached for her phone — no signal. Wi-Fi dead. The sound of the rain outside grew louder, almost deliberate. A soft knock echoed through her apartment. She froze. It came again — two knocks this time, slow, rhythmic. She reached for the small pistol she kept taped under the desk. She’d never fired it, but the weight in her hand was grounding. “Who is it?” No answer. Adriana stepped toward the door, careful to avoid the loose board near the entrance. Her bare feet were silent on the floor. She looked through the peephole. Nothing. No one. Then, just as she turned away — the faintest sound of movement in the hall. A breath, maybe. Or a shoe scuff. Her phone buzzed suddenly, lighting up with a single text from an unknown number: > “If you value your life, don’t open it again.” The screen flickered — and then the message vanished. No trace. No record. Adriana’s heartbeat roared in her ears. Whoever this was, they weren’t bluffing. She stepped back to her laptop and, for a moment, thought about doing what the message said — shutting it all down, walking away. But she couldn’t. Because that voice — his voice — was still echoing in her head. The man she’d buried in her memory was alive. Or something worse. She slid the pistol into the back of her jeans and grabbed her jacket. The storm outside waited like a dare. As she stepped into the hallway, the city air hit her — cold, sharp, and electric. Neon lights bled into puddles, and the wind carried the faint hum of distant sirens. Somewhere out there, someone wanted her dead. Somewhere out there, Nikolai Rossi was breathing. And for reasons she didn’t want to admit, she needed to find him. ---