The envelope was heavy, the kind of weight that made it impossible to ignore. It arrived without a return address, slid beneath my apartment door sometime between midnight and dawn. I almost missed it in the morning rush, but the glint of black wax on the hardwood floor caught my attention.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. Smooth ivory paper, sealed with an insignia pressed into the wax — a mask with hollow eyes, staring back at me as though it knew something I didn’t.
My pulse jumped. I wasn’t the type to receive mysterious letters. Bills, yes. Marketing flyers, of course. But this? It felt more like a relic from another century than something meant for me, a twenty-nine-year-old paralegal with a stack of unfinished work waiting on my desk.
Still, I carried it into the kitc
