Mortality Walten Files Novels & Stories

he asked, his voice dropping into an intimate, dangerous whisper. “Murdock spent a decade searching for those files. My late wife died protecting that ledger. How does a twenty-four-year-old socialite know the routing numbers of an offshore shell company that hasn't processed a transaction since 2008?” Evelyn didn't pull away from his grip. She leaned into it, her fingers resting on his thick wrist, her skin impossibly pale and delicate against his weathered flesh.

I was here for the investigation, nothing else. We got back to the estate, I changed and sat at my desk, and opened the Lena Maren records again. The redacted name. The thirty-day dissolution. The exact address matched with Vela Holdings. I needed that name. I started a new search, working backward from the dissolution date, pulling every connected document. An hour later I found one file that hadn’t been fully wiped out. A small formatting error had left part of the name behind. Fourteen letters, I stared at them, then pushed back from the desk.

Still, I pulled the first document forward, unrolling it with care. The first entry was dated months ago. It mentioned unusual deaths and wolves collapsing during routine patrols. The descriptions were clinical but disturbing—healthy warriors were found convulsing on forest paths, their eyes clouded white, veins darkened beneath their skin. Three dead in the first week alone, with no apparent cause.

The folder contains all information about the killed person, his warnings, how much he paid back, which was usually not enough compared to what they were given and finally how they were killed. The deaths were usually done in a way that it either looks like an accident or a suicide. A few of them even had suicide notes. The drawer beside this one contained hospital files. Inside it we're a bunch of files from two different hospitals. One is an English hospital, here in California and the other is a Russian hospital, somewhere in Russia. They were all arranged according to date and the earliest date being 2 months ago, September 23. I reached for it, but was started by the voice behind me. I

The prison where Linda had died was cooperative, too cooperative. The warden met them at the gate with a forced smile and a stack of paperwork, his hands trembling slightly as he handed over the files. Records showed she had been cremated within twenty-four hours of her death, no autopsy performed, no investigation opened. “Standard procedure for natural causes,” the warden had said, avoiding their eyes. Cedric had stared at the documents until the words blurred, his hands clenched so tightly the paper crumpled.

I whispered. I flipped it open. Files. Dozens of them. Each one was labeled with a student’s name. Most were stamped “Deceased.” Nina’s name was there, too. The only ones not marked "Deceased" were the twins, the girl named Marva, and me. My stomach dropped. “What are you doing, Anna?” The voice was low, cold, and sharp enough to freeze my blood. I froze in place, my breath caught in my throat. I carefully set the file back inside the cabinet.

She gave space but did not step back. “I have no fear of death, and not because I am immortal. I have lived many lives. And nothing is truly immortal anyway. Me and my mate will choose one day to go into the beyond. Dovimax is my grandson, and mortal though he is, he is very powerful in his own right. He simply chooses to ignore that part. Most fall prey to arrogance and let their power go to their heads in this world. After all to most these humans we could be like gods. I am most proud of him and his mother. Though she is gone now, and while he does his duty, what he has sworn himself too I wish to speak with you Hel because it is important.”

Because he knew both could be true. Eden slipped into the archive room at exactly 2:03 a.m. The security cameras were looping—Jessa had seen to that. Her gloved fingers creaked against the keyboard as she pulled up the legacy files. It was all here: unauthorized trials, names of the dead, records of the drugs Cassian’s company had funded. And then—her mother’s voice, echoing from an old video log. A file labeled Subject W13 caught her breath. Her own medical record. With notes that didn’t make sense. Experimental immunity? Enhanced memory? Her stomach turned.

she pulls my head back up "I'm-I'm not sad," I tell her surprised by my mind and feelings, "At all," I add "Well you never actually feel pain," she says "That's a condition, Mika. I feel emotional pain, or I was supposed to," My eyebrows furrow, "I saw him," I whispered "You saw him? Saw who?" She asks "Ha-Death I mean," I tell her turning to face her "You saw him?" She questioned as shock crossed her face, "I knew you were special," she whispers

Yet I know more than anyone in this house now that my supposed father has now passed away. Hard as it was, I stood up to approached him. Trembling, I tried to raise my hand holding the death note. Even though my eyes were blurred with tears, I tried to read it without blinking. "Name: Charles Perelman" It was then that memory began to enter into my mind everything he had done in the world. Those memories made me cry even more because they were all smiling faces of his parents, siblings and relatives. By the time his wife, who was from college, came into his life, he admired her a lot. "Age: 42 years old." Until the memories of marriage, childbirth of his wife, pleasure, sorrow. That went as