Something prickles at the nape of my neck. “What is it?”
“It’s…odd.” She crosses the room slowly. “Just a page ripped from a calendar. From 2010. Someone circled October tenth in red ink.”
October tenth.
1010.
A faint shiver sweeps through me, subtle but undeniable.
“It doesn’t say anything else?” I ask.
“A fortune cookie slip.” She hands me the tiny slip of paper. “Stay on your path; cosmic alignment; if you falter, consequences follow.”
My stomach tightens.
I tell myself it’s a coincidence, but the logic doesn’t settle.
1010 is a number that finds me when I’m on the cusp of something—transition, risk, choice.
For someone else, it’s just digits. For me, it’s a message.
And someone knew to send it.
A cold echo stirs—Crawford’s blackmail, the way the first envelope was vague, symbolic.
Could it be them? Could Pierce’s people be circling back, even with an active investigation?
No. It’s irrational. Even paranoid.
But the pressure beneath my ribs doesn’t ease.
“Thanks, Melissa,” I say, already rising.
“It’s probably nothing, right?” she calls after me.
Probably.
Possibly.
But I’m already in the hall, scanning for Gabriel.
I find him outside the building, eyes narrowing when he spots me. “Is something wrong?”
“A hand-delivered envelope ended up next door.”
His gaze drops to the papers. I start to hand them over, but he shakes his head. “Don’t touch anything else. I’ll get gloves.”
The next fifteen minutes unfold in a blur: Gabriel’s call to KOAN, building security rewinding footage, a startled junior assistant from the marketing firm next door being questioned.
On the grainy video, a man in a UPS uniform keeps his head down as he hands over a stack of envelopes. Fake uniform. Fake delivery.
Quinn confirms the fraud within minutes.
Nothing identifiable. No face, no distinguishing detail. Whoever sent it knew exactly what they were doing.
When Noah arrives, he moves with a sharp, urgent purpose—like he feared the worst had already happened.
“I’m fine,” I say before he even reaches me.