Page 19 of Meet Me In The Dark

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My heart takes off like it’s late for a flight.

It’s not just the sleek black paper or the deliberate angle. It’s that the mail hasn’t arrived yet.

No packages, no memos, no blueprints.

Just this.

It’s sleek and minimal, but without a return address. No logo. Nothing to indicate who it’sfrom or why it’s here.

I reach out and brush my knuckles across the paper. It’s smooth with textured edges, as if it were handmade. I tilt it toward the light and catch the faintest glint of embossing.

There’s a wax seal just like the woman on the podcast said hers had.

Oh, God.

Is this it?

I swallow hard, wedge a finger under the seal, and break it open.

Inside is a matte-black card.

Celeste,

Your presence has been requested.

That’s it, except for a QR code printed neatly at the bottom.

Fumbling, I dig out my phone, open the camera, and hover it over the code with fingers that don’t quite want to cooperate.

The webpage is just a plain white screen with black serif text that matches the card’s simplicity.

Friday.

9 PM sharp.

Included is an address I don’t recognize.

When my knees go soft, I grip the edge of the desk to stay upright.

I look around as if someone might jump out and yell, “Gotcha!”

Maybe HR is running a social experiment, and I’m the unlucky test subject.

But no one is there.

Folding the card in half, I shove it into my pant pocket and try not to hyperventilate before I push back from my desk, yank open the door, and speed-walk toward Lilian’s office.

I’m going to play it cool. Totally composed.

Just a woman on a mission.

One very calm, definitely not-about-to-lose-her-shit woman on a mission.

I’m in the hallway heading toward Lilian’s office when I come to a sudden stop.

A tall man in a dark suit stands outside her door, casually shaking her hand. He’s older, with neatly trimmed gray hair and impeccable posture.

Tom Kingsley.

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