The man stopped, holding his hands up to show they were empty, except for a small, sealed envelope.

“I was told to deliver this to Claire Vance,” the man said, his voice flat. “Directly to her hand.”

“Who sent you?” I asked, stepping out from behind Liam.

“A client,” the man said, stepping forward to place the envelope on the edge of the reception desk.

He turned without another word and walked back toward the elevator.

I walked over to the desk, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs again.

The envelope was thick, made of heavy cream paper with no return address.

I tore the seal open, my fingers shaking slightly.

Inside was a single brass key and a small slip of paper with a handwritten address in the hills overlooking the river.

But it was the handwriting that made my breath stop completely.

It was my own handwriting, from a note I had written to myself five years ago, before the accident.

Underneath the address, a single sentence was written in fresh blue ink.

*You didn’t forget the code, Claire. You chose to hide it.*