That morning, the air around the hideout felt cold and thick with tension. Olivia stood in the kitchen, staring blankly out the window when a soft knock echoed from the front door. Instantly, she went on high alert. No one was supposed to know they were here—at least, no one should have.

She stepped cautiously toward the door and opened it slowly.

No one.

Just an old brown envelope resting on the doormat, sealed with a strip of blood-red tape. Her heartbeat quickened.

Carefully, Olivia picked it up. Her eyes scanned the surface. No sender. Only a small initial written in black ink: H.

With trembling hands, she opened the...