Cyril
I stepped into my cabin, the door clicking softly behind me, but the sound barely registered. My mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of questions and half-formed fears.
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to release the tightness coiling in my chest, but it was useless. The note, simple yet enigmatic, had rooted itself firmly in my thoughts.
Aren’t you interested in finding out about your origins?
The words played over and over in my head, each repetition making them more urgent, more demanding. Origins. Who had left it? How had they known where to put it, and—most importantly—what did it mean?
I sank onto the edge of my bed, staring at the floor, my fingers brushing over the purse where the note had been tucked. It wasn’t just curiosity that gnawed at
