She turned toward the door, her coat swirling around her ankles.

“This is over,” she added, her hand resting on the brass doorknob.

She opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain, her black umbrella blooming open in the dark.

I stood in the silence of the cottage, my hands trembling as the sound of her car engine started up outside.

The headlights swept across the kitchen walls once more, then faded into the distance.

I sank back into the chair, my heart racing.

I looked down at the laptop, then reached into my pocket and felt the cold metal of the flash drive.

My phone suddenly buzzed on the wooden table, the vibration loud in the quiet room.

I jumped, my nerves frayed.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

I hesitated, then slid the bar to answer.

“Emma?” a voice gasped.

It was Vanessa.

She was breathing heavily, the sound of windshield wipers scraping frantically in the background.

“Vanessa?” I asked, gripping the phone tighter.

“You have to listen to me,” she said, her voice shaking with panic. “I know what they’re doing.”