Mira’s POV.

I was sorting through the day’s donations in the library when a knock came at the door. A courier stood there, holding a small, sealed envelope. “For you,” he said. “Special delivery. No one else is to touch it.”

The handwriting was elegant, deliberate. I didn’t recognize it immediately, but the careful loops stirred something long buried. I took it silently, and the courier left.

I set the envelope on the table, staring at it. No postmark I recognized, no stamp I ...