Lenora's POV
The letter arrived on a Wednesday, three weeks after Bramwell asked at the bridge.
It was addressed to no one. No name on the outer fold, no return mark, no courier stamp. It had been left on the refuge's doorstep before dawn, weighted with a river stone the way messages were left in the confluence when someone wanted to be anonymous but acknowledged.
I almost didn't open it. Anonymous correspondence had been a feature of the last six years in both useful and threatening varieties, and I had learned to assess the weight of a thing before breaking the seal.
This one felt different. Not threatening. Urgent.
Inside, one line:
The network did not die with her. The ledger you found was the visible layer. There is a second ledger. Find me before they find you. — A friend you h
