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Chapter 12
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2025-05-16 18:08:30Chapter 12: Beneath the realms
Rain traced soft, uneven patterns on the windows, its steady tapping a quiet companion to the stillness of the morning. Isla sat curled on the worn couch by the fire, a heavy book of poetry resting open on her lap. The house was filled with the smell of damp wood and burning logs, a fragile comfort she clung to.
Then, the sudden chime of the doorbell shattered the calm.
Christopher appeared at her side, shirt sleeves rolled up, faint smudges of pencil on his fingers from earlier work. “Did you expect someone?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Isla shook her head and moved toward the door. Through the peephole, she saw a courier dressed in a dark gray uniform standing on the porch. In his hands was a plain, flat envelope—no return address, no markings.
She opened the door cautiously.
The man offered the envelope with a nod and slipped back into the morning mist.
Her hands trembled as she took it. The envelope was thick, sealed with deep red wax. The letters impressed in the wax made her stomach tighten: A.D.
“Aurelia Deveraux,” she whispered.
Christopher’s voice was low. “She’s been gone nearly a year now.”
Isla bit her lip. “Then why send this now?”
They sat down together on the couch, and she carefully broke the wax seal. Inside was a letter, yellowed and fragile, accompanied by a formal document from an unfamiliar law office. At the bottom of the letter, in flowing script, was a note:
To be delivered one year after my death.
Her eyes scanned the letter aloud.
---
If you are reading this, I am no longer here, and hopefully Ethan is no longer a threat. I’m sorry for the pain my choices have caused. I tried to stop him, but I failed.
There is a trust fund hidden in the estate’s accounts. It’s in your name, Isla. Not out of guilt, but because I believe you will use it well.
Ethan knew about the trust. He made himself a witness, something I could not reverse. He threatened me when I tried.
If this letter has reached you, you are in danger—not from Ethan, but from those who worked with him. The money—
The letter ended abruptly. The final lines were torn away, ripped out in haste.
---
Isla looked up, pale. “This was written before she died. Before the overdose.”
Christopher frowned. “Someone tore out the end before sending it?”
“Or after. Which means others know about this letter.”
Her eyes moved to the legal document. The trust fund was real—millions held in an offshore account. She was the sole beneficiary, but only if she stayed at the Deveraux estate for six months after opening the letter.
Her voice shook. “That place nearly broke us.”
Christopher’s jaw clenched. “Someone wants us to return.”
---
That night, sleep refused her. She stood by the window, watching the fog curl over the lake. Fear knotted her chest, but beneath it stirred something darker—a burning curiosity.
What had Aurelia meant by “those who worked with him”? Were they the shadows lurking behind the forged deeds and missing money? Or something worse?
Suddenly, movement caught her eye near the edge of the woods—a tall, still figure, too deliberate to be an animal, too motionless for the mist.
Her breath caught.
Christopher was beside her in an instant. He saw it too.
The figure stepped back slowly, disappearing into the darkness.
Gone.
They stood silently, the heavy weight of the moment pressing down.
“We’re being watched,” Isla said quietly.
Christopher squeezed her hand. “Then our past hasn’t let us go yet.”
The peace they found were shattered.
They were not free.
Not even the slightest.
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