Elena almost deleted the next message before she opened it.
It arrived just after ten that night, same unknown number, same clean formatting. She had promised herself she wouldn’t look until morning. Then the screen lit up on the table and she reached for it the way people reach for a bruise they can’t leave alone.
Ask him what happened to the last woman who sat at that desk. Ask him properly.
She sat on the edge of the bed and read it three times. The flat felt smaller than usual. Rain was still tapping the window in an uneven rhythm. She took the screenshot, forwarded it to Adrian, and set the phone down. This time the reply came faster.
Don’t reply. Bring the phone in tomorrow. Early.
That was all.
Elena lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The previous messages
