The moment he stepped back into his hotel room, he sensed something was wrong—a faint, unfamiliar scent of perfume lingered in the air.
When he flipped on the light, the sight that greeted him was shocking: his backpack had been rummaged through, its contents strewn across the floor. His laptop was still there, but a strange USB drive was plugged into it. The music box had been opened; the little ballerina figurine lay on the desk, weighed down by a slip of paper. The note read:
We know what you’re doing. Keep playing the game. But remember: we’re watching you too.
There was no signature. But Liam knew exactly who had left it.
He picked up the USB drive and inserted it into the laptop. Inside, there was only one file: a surveillance video. The footage had been shot that afternoon in th
