The Message
257 Words
When Elara returned home that night, she already knew something had been touched.
Her apartment was neat — exactly as she’d left it — but there’s a certain way you can feel a room when someone else has been inside. It’s in the air, in the silence.
She locked the door, set her keys on the counter, and scanned everything without moving more than her eyes.
No drawers open. No displaced shoes. No signs of forced entry.
But the message was waiting.
It sat on her kitchen table, resting in the centre like an offering: a single white envelope, no markings, no postage. She recognized the handwriting instantly — bold, sharp strokes. The kind of hand that didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t open it right away. That would give it too much power. Instead, she brewed tea. Let the kettle whistle. Sat down with the cup steaming in her hands. Only then did she slide her finger under the seal.
Two words, in thick black ink:
> Nice try.
Her lips curled — not in anger, but in something darker. Whoever he was, he’d followed her, found her home, and left without taking a thing except a piece of her privacy.
It wasn’t just a warning. It was a challenge.
She set the note back down and stared at it for a long time. She could hear her own voice in her head, calm and certain:
> “If it’s war you want… you’ve already lost.”
Her tea had gone cold by the time she started planning.
- Writer
