A threat against Emilia
At 2:17 a.m., the communication was received.
Emilia had not moved in nearly an hour. She lay rigid on the narrow guest bed, the unfamiliar mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight, as if even it did not quite trust her presence. The guest apartment—sleek, quiet, heavily guarded—felt less like a refuge and more like a holding space between decisions. Sleep hovered just out of reach, circling her mind without ever landing. Each time she closed her eyes, the same images returned, relentless and sharp.
A drawer.
Locked.
Inside it, photographs stacked too neatly to be innocent. Faces staring forward, unaware of the moment they had been captured, unaware they were being cataloged, stolen, preserved. Lives reduced to stillness. Names she did not know. Stories sh
