Chapter 12: Hidden Files
1118 Words
"You weren't supposed to see this yet."
The quiet voice shattered the silence.
Mira spun around.
Dante stood in the doorway.
Moonlight spilled across his black shirt, casting silver shadows along his face.
For several seconds neither spoke.
The hidden room seemed to hold its breath.
Thousands of photographs surrounded them.
Hundreds of lifetimes.
Hundreds of faces.
One woman.
The same woman.
Her.
Mira slowly turned back toward the walls.
A photograph from the 1940s.
Another from the 1800s.
Another from what looked like medieval Europe.
Different names.
Different lives.
Different centuries.
Yet always the same eyes.
Always the same face.
Always her.
A knot tightened in her chest.
"How long?"
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Dante didn't answer immediately.
The silence itself became frightening.
Finally he spoke.
"A thousand years."
The words hit harder this time.
Not because she hadn't heard them before.
Because now she could see the proof.
Every photograph.
Every file.
Every memory.
Evidence of a search that had lasted centuries.
Mira laughed softly.
The sound carried no humor.
Only disbelief.
"A thousand years."
Dante remained silent.
"A thousand years?"
Still silent.
"A THOUSAND YEARS?"
The room echoed with her voice.
For the first time since arriving at Vale Industries, anger surged through her.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Anger.
Because suddenly she understood something.
This wasn't obsession.
This wasn't curiosity.
This was devotion.
And somehow that terrified her more.
"You looked for me all this time?"
His silver eyes met hers.
"Yes."
The simple answer made her heart race.
No hesitation.
No shame.
No apology.
Just truth.
Mira stared at him.
"Why?"
A flicker of pain crossed his face.
Only for a second.
Then it vanished.
Because whatever answer he wanted to give...
He wouldn't.
Not yet.
The realization frustrated her.
"You still aren't telling me everything."
"No."
His honesty somehow made it worse.
Mira folded her arms.
"What else are you hiding?"
Dante glanced toward the center of the room.
Toward the glass case.
Toward the ancient silver crown.
Then he sighed.
"A lot."
An hour later.
Mira sat alone inside Dante's private archive.
Because apparently hidden rooms weren't enough.
The billionaire also possessed an underground archive the size of a museum.
Ancient books lined the shelves.
Scrolls occupied entire walls.
Thousands of files rested inside secure glass cabinets.
Some looked centuries old.
Others appeared brand new.
Everything was organized with terrifying precision.
She wandered through the rows.
Reading names.
Dates.
Places.
History.
Then she stopped.
One cabinet stood apart from the others.
Locked.
Protected by multiple security systems.
A silver plaque rested on the front.
Only two words appeared.
PROJECT NYSERA
Mira's heartbeat accelerated.
The name again.
Nysera.
The forgotten queen.
The woman from her dreams.
The woman she used to be.
Or perhaps still was.
The cabinet suddenly clicked.
Mira blinked.
Then looked around.
No one.
The lock slowly disengaged.
By itself.
The door opened.
A cold breeze escaped from within.
She hesitated.
Only briefly.
Curiosity won.
Again.
Inside rested dozens of black folders.
Each carried a different date.
The earliest file was over nine hundred years old.
The newest had been created only weeks ago.
Mira grabbed one.
Her hands trembled.
Then she opened it.
The first page contained a sketch.
A woman's face.
Her face.
Below it, handwritten notes filled the page.
She immediately recognized the handwriting.
Dante's.
The realization sent a strange warmth through her chest.
She pushed it away and continued reading.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Year 1284
Possible sighting in Northern Kingdom.
Brown eyes.
Same birthmark.
Not her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mira frowned.
She turned the page.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Year 1437
Found another candidate.
Confirmed false.
Continue searching.
----------------------------------------------------------
Another page.
---------------------------------------------------------
Year 1701
For a moment I thought it was finally her.
I was wrong.
---------------------------------------------------------
The words became more frequent.
More personal.
Less formal.
As the centuries passed.
----------------------------------------------------------
Year 1843
I almost stopped looking today.
Then I remembered her smile.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mira froze.
Something tightened painfully inside her chest.
She turned another page.
---------------------------------------------------------
Year 1918
The war took millions.
Still no sign of her.
I wonder if she would have forgiven me.
---------------------------------------------------------
Another page.
----------------------------------------------------------
Year 1963
Lucian says I should move on.
I cannot.
--------------------------------------------------------
Another.
---------------------------------------------------------
Year 1988
I dreamed about her again
---------------------------------------------------------
Mira swallowed hard.
The pages blurred.
Not because the writing was unclear.
Because her eyes suddenly burned.
This wasn't a research project.
This wasn't an investigation.
This was grief.
A thousand years of grief.
A thousand years of hope.
A thousand years of waiting.
The final folder sat at the bottom.
Unlike the others, it looked new.
Recently created.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
The first page contained a photograph.
A modern photograph.
Her photograph.
Taken outside a coffee shop.
Another page.
A university picture.
Another.
Her apartment building.
Another.
Her workplace.
Mira's eyes widened.
"Dante."
A voice answered from the shadows.
"I know how it looks."
She spun around.
Dante stood several feet away.
Watching.
Waiting.
His expression was impossible to read.
"You were watching me."
The accusation hung in the air.
Dante didn't deny it.
"Yes."
The honesty caught her off guard.
Again.
"You followed me?"
"Yes."
"That's insane."
"Probably."
Mira stared.
The man admitted everything so calmly it was almost infuriating.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then she noticed something else inside the folder.
A single photograph.
Unlike the others.
Older.
Much older.
The edges had faded.
The image itself appeared ancient.
Mira slowly picked it up.
And her breath stopped.
The photograph showed a woman.
A beautiful woman wearing silver armor.
A crown rested upon her head.
Golden light surrounded her.
Standing beside her was a man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Silver-eyed.
Dante.
The photograph slipped from Mira's fingers.
Impossible.
Photographs didn't exist a thousand years ago.
They couldn't.
Yet the image was real.
She knew it was.
Because she recognized the woman.
Nysera.
The queen from her dreams.
The woman who shared her face.
Mira looked up slowly.
"Dante."
His jaw tightened.
"Yes."
Her voice trembled.
"Tell me the truth."
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
Endless.
Then Dante took a deep breath.
A decision flashed through his eyes.
As though he had finally reached the end of something.
The end of a promise.
The end of a secret.
The end of a thousand years of silence.
When he spoke, his voice sounded quieter than she had ever heard.
"The truth is..."
His silver eyes locked onto hers.
And for the first time, she saw fear.
Not fear of monsters.
Not fear of war.
Fear of losing her.
"The truth is that your death was my fault."
The room went silent.
And somewhere deep inside Mira's soul...
A forgotten memory began to wake.
To Be Continued...
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