Chapter 6 - The Ghost Archive
Silas led her out through the hotel’s subterranean waste bays into a waiting black sedan parked in an unmonitored blind alley. The engine roared to life without a key, purring like a caged animal.
They drove through the rain-drenched neon streets in absolute silence. Clara kept her eyes on her lap, watching the dirt and grease staining her white work shirt.
Thirty minutes later, the sedan pulled into a derelict maritime warehouse on the city docks. The interior was cavernous, smelling of salt, oil, and old paper. Beneath industrial lamps stood rows of steel filing cabinets, computer terminals, and a long wooden workbench covered in firearms and blueprints.
Silas tossed his wet coat onto a chair and walked directly to a steel safe embedded in the concrete floor. He spun the combination, retrieved a second, thicker journal bound in weathered brown hide, and laid it beside the black one.
"Look at this," he said.
Clara approached hesitantly. He opened both books to the same page. The handwriting was identical—neat, precise, unmistakable. It was her father’s handwriting, the exact script from the birthday cards he used to leave on her pillow before he vanished.
"The black book is the kill ledger," Silas explained, pouring two glasses of amber whiskey and setting one before her. "The brown one is the master cipher. Look at the timestamp on your entry."
Clara leaned in, reading the tiny digits beneath her name: September 16, 2026. 18:30.
May you like
Her blood turned to ice. "That was two hours ago."
"Someone entered your name today," Silas said darkly. "From inside the Moretti compound. Which means your father is still alive."
