The morning sun barely touched the curtains when Elena awoke with a start. She hadn’t slept well—not after everything that had unfolded over the past days. Damian’s shifts in mood, the warnings whispered in shadows, the sense that the ground beneath her feet was beginning to c***k.
She rubbed her temples and walked toward the apartment’s front door, thinking she might step outside for fresh air. But something stopped her.
A small white envelope lay on the floor.
There was no stamp. No name. Just her—meant for her, because someone had slipped it under her door.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she bent down and picked it up. The envelope felt cold, almost damp, as if whoever delivered it had been standing outside for too long. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a single line,
