“We have to go,” Daniel said, stepping out into the cold rain.

We ran across the wet grass, the storm soaking us within seconds.

The mud clung to my shoes as I pushed open the heavy wooden door of the carriage house.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old dust and motor oil.

A wooden staircase led up to the second floor, where my grandfather used to keep his old files.

I heard a drawer being yanked open upstairs, followed by the rustle of papers.

“Claire!” I called out, taking the stairs two at a time.

Daniel and Rose were right behind me.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Claire standing in front of an old metal filing cabinet.

She had a stack of papers in one hand and a small metal lighter in the other.

The flame of the lighter flickered in the drafty room, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.

“Don’t do it, Claire,” Rose said, stepping into the room.

“If these papers burn, the truth dies with them,” Claire said, her hand shaking slightly as she held the flame near the edge of the documents.