The next morning, Elara barely recognized herself in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes. Cracked lips. Shaking hands.
But her mind was sharp—sharper than it had been in months.
She pulled her hair into a loose bun, took a deep breath, and powered on Liora's old laptop—the one she had kept locked away since the funeral.
She had tried accessing it once before, but the password had stopped her.
This time, she typed: "Belle."
The screen flickered—and unlocked.
Her breath caught.
The desktop was cluttered with folders: "Unpublished", "For Elara", "Echoes", and one labeled simply 7.
She clicked "For Elara" first.
A video file opened. Liora's face appeared—tired, haunted, eyes darting as if someone stood just beyond the frame.
> "If you're seeing this… it means I didn't make it."
Elara's hand flew to her mouth.
> "I tried to stay quiet. I tried to stay alive. But someone is silencing us—one by one. The letters... they're not just warnings. They're countdowns."
Liora looked straight into the camera.
> "You're not safe, Elara. But you're smart. Smarter than me. If anyone can finish this—it's you."
The video cut to static.
Elara blinked away tears. Her sister had known this was coming. She had prepared.
She opened the folder labeled 7.
Seven subfolders. Each marked by a date.
The first: May 10, 2024.
That was the day Liora came home bruised and shaken. She'd claimed she slipped down the stairs.
Elara clicked it open.
Inside: scanned handwritten notes, screenshots, old articles—all centered on a girl named Mira Halston.
A name Elara hadn't heard in years.
Mira had vanished during their second year at university. No trace. No closure. And Liora had been close to her—too close.
Now Mira was tied to the first letter.
One file stood out: "The First Voice." A transcript.
> Mira Halston – Private Recording, 2024
"I thought he'd just lecture me. But he said I 'knew too much.' That night, someone broke into my dorm. I locked the door. But I heard something... whispering from the walls."
"If I disappear, it's not an accident. And if Liora hears this—finish what I started."
Elara shivered.
Liora had been recording Mira in secret.
Why hadn't she gone to the police?
Or… had she tried?
And paid the price?
In the same folder, Elara found a hidden video file. It was dark, but the voice was clear.
> "She's speaking again. Mira. Through the letters. No one believes me. I have to protect Elara."
It was Liora—paranoid, frightened.
Elara couldn't take it anymore. She stepped away from the screen, hands trembling. When she returned—
The laptop was off.
Dead.
No error message. No warning.
She tried turning it on again.
Nothing.
Panic rose. She grabbed her phone, searched "Mira Halston."
No results.
Even the archives were gone.
Who could erase someone like this?
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
"Hello?" she whispered.
Silence.
Then, a deep voice:
> "Mira is gone. Don't dig further."
The call cut.
Elara froze.
She glanced toward the window.
A breath mark. On the outside glass.
Someone had been there—watching.
She rushed to the window, flung it open.
No one.
Only wet pavement and drifting mist.
Then she saw it.
On the floor, tucked behind the curtain:
An envelope.
Gray.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
> Letter 3:
"Three letters, three bound souls. Mira was the first. You'll meet the second when the night begins to sing."
Elara closed her eyes.
Three letters down.
Four more to come.
And each one carried a name the world had tried to forget.Elara's hands trembled as she clutched the third letter. She read the words again, this time aloud—her voice barely a whisper.
> "You'll meet the second when the night begins to sing…"
She didn't know what it meant, but she felt it.
A shift.
The air grew colder, heavier. As if the letter itself carried more than ink—like it bore the weight of something not meant to be seen, not meant to be heard.
She backed away from the window, heart still pounding from the phone call. Her eyes darted to the corners of the room, to the shadows. For the first time, she truly felt watched.
Not metaphorically.
Someone was out there.
Maybe… they had never left.
She locked every window. Drew the curtains. Double-checked the door. Her apartment was small, but tonight, it felt endless—full of eyes behind walls.
She sat back down on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. Her thoughts raced.
Why her? Why now?
She was just a girl grieving her sister.
But maybe that's exactly why the letters had found her.
The ringing silence was interrupted by a dull knock at the door.
One knock.
Then two.
Then silence.
Elara froze.
No one ever visited her this late. Not even her neighbors. She stepped forward slowly, trying not to make a sound. Peered through the peephole—
Nothing.
Just the hallway.
She waited.
Still nothing.
Cautiously, she unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.
No one there.
But on the floor…
Another envelope.
This one black.
No name. No seal.
She picked it up, her heart pounding.
Inside wasn't a letter—but a photograph.
Her.
Taken from outside her apartment window.
She was at her desk, reading Liora's files. The photo was timestamped:
> Tonight. 11:03 PM.
Elara's blood ran cold.
She turned the photo over.
Written in the same ink as the letters:
> "Stop digging, or the fourth letter will come early."
Her breath caught in her throat.
This wasn't just a warning.
It was a threat.
They were watching her—right now.
She closed the door, bolted it, and backed away slowly. Her hands shook so hard she dropped the envelope. It fluttered to the floor like a dead bird.
In that moment, she knew two things.
First: whoever sent these letters was close. Closer than she had ever imagined.
And second:
There would be no help coming.
The police had failed her sister.
The media buried the stories.
Everyone wanted the past to stay buried.
But the past wasn't dead.
It was waking up—letter by letter.
And Elara was the only one still listening.