One

Cassie :

The morning sun slipped through the cracked blinds, painting narrow gold lines across the dusty hardwood floor. I stirred under the thin blanket draped over the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, and blinked up at the ceiling like it was going to give me a reason to move.

Another day. Another boring lecture. Another four-hour shift at the coffee shop across campus.

I sat up, groaning at the stiffness in my neck. I really needed to start sleeping in my bed again.

The tiny apartment I called home was quiet, save for the ticking wall clock and the low hum of the fridge. It was a studio…..barely enough room to turn around in,but it was mine. It smelled like burnt coffee and vanilla-scented air freshener. I liked it that way. Simple. Predictable.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom: Don’t forget to eat before class. And call me if you need groceries.

I smiled, thumbs flying.

Me: I’m fine, Mom. Promise.

I didn’t add that I was eating instant noodles for the third day in a row.

She worried. Always had. Especially after Dad died.

It still felt strange sometimes, thinking of him in past tense. Dad had been larger than life. Laughing loudly, always wearing that beat-up leather jacket even in the summer, sneaking me chocolate when Mom said no. Then one day, he just wasn’t there anymore. A heart attack, they said. It was so sudden. Clean.

I was Eighteen.

Now, three years later, I was juggling college classes, a part-time job, and a life I was just barely keeping balanced on a thread.

The kettle whistled. I poured the water into my mug and stirred in the cheapest instant coffee I could find. It tasted like regret, but at least it did the job.

I padded over to my desk, careful to avoid the stack of laundry I kept promising myself I’d fold. My planner was a mess of scribbles and highlighter marks,assignments, shifts, reminders to sleep and eat. I flipped through the pages, trying not to think about how exhausted I already felt and it was only Wednesday.

Outside, the city was waking up. Cars honked distantly, a dog barked down the block, and someone was already arguing about parking. I pulled on my oversized sweater and slung my backpack over one shoulder.

Normal day. Normal routine.

Nothing to worry about.

Except the envelope waiting at my door.

It was plain, white, and thick. No return address. Just my name. Written in bold, block letters.

I frowned. This wasn’t from Mom. She sent emoji-filled texts and cards with glitter that never stayed where it was supposed to. This was cold. Clean. Intentional.

I looked around the hallway. Empty.

Back inside, I locked the door and set the envelope on the counter. My fingers hovered over it for a second before I slid a nail beneath the flap and tore it open.

A flash drive fell out. No note. No instructions.

Just that.

I stared at it like it was going to explode.

I wasn’t involved in anything. I didn’t break the law. I barely went out except for class and work. Who would send me something like this?

My fingers itched to plug it into my laptop, but something in my gut told me not to. I slid it into the drawer beneath my socks and tried to shake off the weird feeling curling in my stomach.

This had nothing to do with me. It couldn’t.

I grabbed my keys and left.

The walk to campus was brisk and uneventful. I passed the bakery that always smelled like heaven, the bookstore with peeling posters in the window, and the café where I sometimes studied when I wanted to feel like I had my life together.

By the time I got to the lecture hall, I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter.

“Cassie!” Professor Belly waved me over as I walked in.

“Morning,” I said, trying to sound more awake than I felt.

“You’re still helping with the event this Friday?”

“Yep.”

“Good. We’ll need your organizational magic.”

I forced a smile. I was good at pretending everything was fine.

But all through class, my mind drifted. Not to the event. Not to the midterms creeping closer. But to the flash drive burning a hole in my drawer.

What if it had something to do with my dad?

He’d always been secretive about his job. Worked late hours. Took sudden trips. Brushed off questions with a quick smile. I’d assumed it was some finance thing I’d never understand.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if I didn’t really know him at all?

**********

That night, after work, I sat on the edge of my bed, with the flash drive in my palm.

I stared at it for a long time. My heart thudded. My hands were clammy.

Don’t do it, a voice in my head whispered. Leave it alone.

But I didn’t listen.

I plugged it in.

Files. Dozens of them. Labeled with numbers, dates, foreign names. Password-protected.

Except one.

A video.

I clicked it.

A man’s voice filled my tiny apartment. Deep. Unfamiliar. Italian.

“If you are watching this, it means your father is dead.”

I froze.

“You don’t know us, but we know who you are. And there are others who want what your father left behind. Be careful who you trust, Cassie Reed. They will come for you.”

The screen went black.

I sat in stunned silence.

My father....had secrets. Dangerous ones.

And now I was part of it.

Whether I wanted to be or not.