The Filing Cabinet
Caden
The email had no sender name.
Just an address — a string of random letters and numbers that would trace back to nothing, generated and abandoned, the kind of address someone creates specifically for one use and never touches again. The attachment was a scanned document, high resolution, clearly photographed from physical paper rather than digitized through any official system.
A photograph of the inside of a filing cabinet drawer.
Labeled in my father’s handwriting.
Cole — David. Complete.
I looked at it for a long moment.
Then I looked at Aria.
She was looking at the screen with an expression that had moved past the warmth of five minutes ago back into something more careful. Not afraid. Just — braced. The expression of someone who has learned this week t
