The letter sat on the table like a living thing.
Ethan stared at it, his mind churning. The handwriting was neat, precise, almost elegant. The words were simple, but their meaning was devastating. Helena's followers were still out there. They were coming for him. And someone—a stranger, a friend, or something in between—had warned him.
"Who could have sent this?" Kate asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know. But whoever it is, they know something we don't."
Mark arrived an hour later, his face grim. He'd driven through the night, leaving his FBI work behind. The letter had been enough to pull him away from everything.
"Have you traced it?" he asked, moving to the table.
"There's nothing to trace," Ethan said. "No postmark, no return address. It was hand-delivered."
Ma
