The storm arrived just after midnight.
Zariah sat on her living room floor, the city lights blurring behind the raindrops on her windows. Her mother's journal lay open in front of her, a half finished glass of wine on the coffee table, untouched. The words felt heavier now, not just memories but warnings.
She turned the page, hands trembling.
The entry was dated eleven days before her mother died.
He's watching again. Not just me, her too. He always said she'd be safer without the truth but I'm starting to believe that was never the point. If anything happens to me... Zariah must never trust him.
There was no name. Just "him."
A shiver ran through her. She stood abruptly, crossing the room to her bookshelf. There was an old family album tucked behind some travel books, one she hadn't touched in years. She pulled it out, her fingers flipped through the faded pages until she stopped on a picture.
Zariah was seven. Her mother stood behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders and off to the side, half cropped out of the frame--
A man.
Tall, well dressed. The side of his face was turned but something about the posture... The sharp jawline, the stiffness.
It looked like Dorian.
Her chest tightened. Could he have known her as a child? Had he known her mother?
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: You're not supposed to be looking there .
She dropped the photo album as if it burned he. The message vanished before she could screenshot it.
Heart racing, she backed away from the window and drew the curtains shut. Her building had security cameras and locks. But the message had come too quickly and deliberately. They were watching her right now.
She didn't sleep.
At sunrise, Zariah sat in the back of a cafe near East 87th, staring into her third espresso. The journal, the picture and the phone call had unraveled something inside her, a fear that she couldn't swallow down this time.
The bell above the door jingled. She hadn't look up until the seat across from her slid back.
"You're not easy to find," said the familiar, amused voice.
Nova Quinn.
Zariah blinked, she hadn't seen her since college. Nova had always been electric, mischievous, secretive, too smart for her own good. She wore a leather jacket and red lipstick like armor and her sparkled with knowing.
Zariah stared "How did you --"
"Jordan sent me. He's in the wind again. Said you're in over your head ." Nova leaned in. "And Dorian Voss is playing both sides."
Zariah's stomach dropped.
"Wait, what do you mean both sides?"
Nova glanced around before whispering, "Your mom was investigating something powerful. Big money, offshore accounts, dead ends. Dorian was supposed to protect her but the she died and he got promoted."
Zariah's lips parted, but no words came.
"Ask yourself this," Nova said. "Why does Dorian Voss keep showing up every time you're close to the truth?"
Zariah's mind reeled.
Was he protecting her or keeping her contained?
Nova slid a flash drive across the table. "You didn't get this from me. Don't plug it at home. If I go missing... assume you're next."
Before Zariah could ask another question, Nova was gone.
Just like that.
The door chimed behind her and Zariah was alone again, with more answers than she could hold and even more questions she wasn't ready for.
But one thing was clear.
The truth was no longer a quiet whisper in the dark.
It was coming for her.