“And now he thinks he is completely safe,” Avery said.

“But Daniel knew this would happen,” I said.

I looked down at the physical folder General Avery had delivered to me.

Inside was the final letter my biological father, Daniel Hayes, had written before he died.

“Daniel was a brilliant engineer, Natalie,” Avery said. “He didn’t just document the past.”

“He knew the journal wouldn’t be enough if it took too long to find,” I said.

“Look at the letter again,” Avery said.

I hung up the landline and pulled the yellowed piece of paper toward me.

The paper was thin, almost translucent under the desk lamp.

Eleanor stood beside me, her breath catching as she recognized Daniel’s handwriting.

“I haven’t seen his writing in so many years,” she murmured.

I didn’t answer.

I was focusing on the structure of the paragraphs.

Daniel had written about his daily routine in the final weeks, describing the weather and the landscape of the California base.

But the phrasing was stiff, almost mechanical.

“Look at the margins,” I said.

There were small, handwritten catalog numbers along the left margin, supposedly referencing military parts.