Her aunt's voice snapped her out of the uneasy silence in her head.
"You all right?"
Elara quickly flipped the picture over.
"I'm fine."
Old habit. She'd been giving that answer for as long as she could remember. People wanted comforting lies, especially at funerals.
She tucked the photograph into her black dress pocket, glancing at the polished coffin.
Mara Voss was the one person who never made her feel unwanted. When her parents died, her grandmother took her in, gave her patience, discipline, and a kind of affection that turned their small house into a safe haven.
Now that home felt empty.
And honestly, Elara didn't know what she was supposed to do with the rest of her life.
The priest finished his prayer. Some mourners stepped forward to say a few words, others drifted away beneath the dull, grey sky.
Elara stayed by the grave. She just couldn't leave.
"Grandma," she whispered, staring at the ground, "you promised you'd tell me everything someday."
The wind stirred the trees. She swallowed, her throat aching.
"There were things I wasn't old enough to understand. Well, I think I'm old enough now."
She touched the photograph hidden in her pocket.
"Especially this."
No answer came.
Eventually, she walked back to the house where she'd grown up. The old wooden gate squeaked, and the garden smelled faintly of lavender-her grandmother's favorite. Everything looked the same as before Mara died.
Curtains half-drawn. Reading glasses next to an unfinished crossword. Porcelain mug on the coffee table, washed but not put away.
Elara lingered in the doorway.
Then she shut the door behind her.
She needed to know why her grandmother kept Silas Veyr's picture.
Elara took out the Bible and set it on the dining table. It was battered and soft around the edges, with a split along the spine. Mara brought it everywhere, even when her eyesight got bad.
She opened the Bible carefully.
A folded note slipped out.
This one had handwriting. Her grandmother's script, neat but a little tilted.
My dearest Elara,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer there to explain what happened five years ago. I wanted to tell you everything, but I was afraid that knowing the truth would put you in danger.
There is something you must understand.
The man in the photograph knows what happened to your parents. He knows what happened to Adrian Vale. And he knows why I have spent the last five years protecting you.
Elara stopped breathing.
Her parents?
She read it again.
Her parents had died when she was eleven. A car accident, at least that's what everyone said. Mara never hinted at anything suspicious.
Why would Silas Veyr know about them?
She focused on the last lines:
Do not confront him unless you have no other choice.
If he finds you, don't trust him.
The paper shook in her hands.
A sudden sound outside.
She glanced at the window.
A black vehicle sat across the street. It was there when she returned from the cemetery, but she hadn't paid much attention. Now, someone was behind the wheel.
Watching the house.
She edged toward the window, but the glass was too dark to make out the driver.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.
She thought about ignoring it.
Then she remembered the photograph and answered.
"Hello?"
At first, nothing. Just silence.
Then a man spoke.
"Elara."
She froze.
Some voices slip away over time. Faces fade. Memories blur. But not Silas Veyr's. His voice was deeper, steady, almost calm.
She gripped the phone tighter.
"Who is this?"
A quiet breath.
"After five years, that's how you greet me?"
Her heart slammed in her chest.
"Silas?"
"Good. I wondered if you'd forgotten my voice."
She eyed the photograph lying on the table.
"How'd you get this number?"
"Your grandmother kept it."
Elara's mind went blank.
"What?"
"She contacted my office a few weeks ago. She wanted to talk."
"About what?"
"She said she had something for me."
Elara looked at the handwritten note.
"Was it this picture?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Silence.
She hated that. It reminded her of five years ago, standing in darkness, watching him with a dead man.
"Why did you call?" she pushed.
"I heard about Mara."
Anger rushed up.
"You didn't know her."
"I knew more about her than you think."
Elara's jaw tightened.
"Stay away from my family."
"I would have liked that."
"Then why call?"
This time he didn't hesitate.
"I think your grandmother's death ties back to something that happened five years ago."
The room got colder.
Elara stared at the note.
"Are you saying she was murdered?"
"I think the circumstances need another look."
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't."
That answer rattled her more than a denial.
She reached for the photograph.
"Why did she keep your picture?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
She pressed her lips together.
"Do you just enjoy making people uncomfortable?"
"No. I don't like giving answers I can't prove."
She almost laughed, though none of this was funny.
Five years ago, he paid her to forget what she saw. Now here he was, talking about the woman who raised her.
"Whatever you had with my grandmother is finished," she said. "She's gone."
"I know."
"Leave me alone."
"Come to the Veyr Grand Hotel tomorrow."
"No way."
"I have something you need to see."
"I don't need anything from you."
"Your grandmother disagreed."
Elara closed her eyes.
She wanted to hang up. Block the number. Burn the photograph and erase the last five years.
But something in his voice made her pause. Not fear. Not guilt. Just certainty-a man who knew something she didn't.
"What did she give you?" Elara asked quietly.
"Nothing."
"Then what are you after?"
"An explanation."
"From me?"
"From the woman who saw something she wasn't supposed to."
Her stomach knotted.
He remembered. Of course he remembered.
"Five years ago," she whispered, "you paid me to forget you."
"I remember."
"You stood over a dead man, gun in your hand."
"I remember that too."
"And now you expect me to come to your hotel and talk?"
"No, Elara."
His voice softened.
"I expect you to want the truth enough to show up."
He hung up.
Elara stared at her phone, motionless.
For a few seconds, all she heard was the ticking wall clock.
Then another message arrived-from the same unknown number.
A photo.
She opened it.
Her grandmother, standing outside the Veyr Grand Hotel a few weeks ago. Silas next to her.
But what chilled her wasn't them.
It was the man behind them. She recognized him from old news articles about Adrian Vale.
A man who should have died five years ago.
Beneath the photo were six words:
Your grandmother wasn't the first victim.
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