"It's me,” Adrian said from the other side of the door.

I stared at the handle.

My fingers hovered over the lock, but I couldn't bring myself to move.

On my laptop, my mother's face remained frozen on the screen. Behind her stood the man from the photograph.

The man I'd believed was my father.

The man who might not have been my father at all.

“Adrian?” I called.

“Open the door.”

I swallowed.

“Who was standing behind my mother?”

Silence.

Not the kind that came from confusion.

The kind that came from someone deciding what to say.

“Open the door first.”

“No.”

“Mara—”

“Answer me.”

I heard him exhale sharply.

“I can't explain everything through a locked door.”

“Then explain that one thing.”

Another pause.

“Because the man in that video is dead.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I looked at the screen again.

The man stood behind my mother with his hands folded in front of him, his expression almost bored.

He didn't look dead.

He looked like someone who knew exactly what was happening and had no reason to be afraid.

“Then why is he in the video?”

“I don't know.”

I laughed without humor.

“You really need to find another answer.”

“Mara, please. Let me in.”

I looked at the photograph on the desk.

Then at the USB drive.

Then at the door.

Three knocks.

That was what he'd told me to expect.

But what if the person outside had been listening?

What if they'd heard everything?

I stepped closer to the door.

“What did you find downstairs?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“No one was there.”

My heart gave a strange, painful thud.

“But we heard someone.”

“I know.”

“Then where did they go?”

“I don't know.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

I unlocked the door.

Adrian stepped inside immediately, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Did you open the window?”

I frowned.

“What?”

He looked toward the curtains.

The window was still open.

His expression changed.

“Did you open it?”

“No. I found it like that.”

He moved toward it, examining the frame and the windowsill.

Then he noticed the laptop.

His eyes narrowed.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

He looked at me.

I crossed my arms.

“Fine. I watched the video.”

“Which video?”

“The one on the USB.”

His face went completely still.

I pointed at the screen.

“Who is he?”

Adrian didn't answer.

“Adrian.”

He stepped closer to the laptop.

For several seconds, he simply stared at the frozen image.

Then he whispered something I couldn't hear.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“That's impossible.”

“That's what everyone keeps saying right before my life gets worse.”

He ignored that.

He leaned closer to the screen, studying the man's face.

“Where did you get this?”

“The windowsill.”

“Someone left it here?”

“Yes.”

“And you plugged it into your laptop?”

I stared at him.

“Would you prefer I swallowed it?”

“Mara, this isn't funny.”

“I'm not laughing.”

He looked at me, and for the first time that night, I saw something in his expression that frightened me more than his anger.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For what he was seeing.

“Who is he?” I asked again.

Adrian straightened.

“His name was Daniel.”

“Was?”

“He died sixteen years ago.”

I looked back at the screen.

Sixteen years.

Before I'd been born.

Before my mother disappeared from the life she'd once known.

Before my entire existence became a collection of unanswered questions.

“Who was he to my mother?”

Adrian hesitated.

“He was her brother.”

I stared at him.

“My mother had a brother?”

“Yes.”

“Why have I never heard of him?”

“Because your mother cut ties with her family.”

“Why?”

“I don't know the full story.”

I shook my head.

“No. You don't get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give me one piece of information and expect me to stop asking questions.”

His jaw tightened.

“I'm trying to help you.”

“Then help me properly.”

He looked away.

I stepped closer.

“You said my father hurt my mother. You said someone helped him. Now you're telling me my mother had a brother I've never heard of, and he's been dead for sixteen years.”

I pointed at the laptop.

“So explain why a dead man is standing behind my mother in a video that shouldn't exist.”

Adrian rubbed a hand over his face.

“Because someone wants you to believe he's alive.”

“Why?”

“To make you afraid.”

“Congratulations. It's working.”

He looked at me.

“Don't contact that number again. Don't open another file from an unknown source. And don't leave this room alone.”

I stared at him.

“You're giving me instructions again.”

“Because someone got into this house.”

“And apparently, you have no idea who it was.”

His silence answered for him.

I turned away.

On the laptop, my mother waited in the paused video, forever caught between one sentence and the next.

I pressed play.

Adrian immediately reached for the laptop.

“Don't.”

I pulled it away.

“No. I've had enough of people deciding what I can and cannot know.”

My mother's voice filled the room.

There is something I never told you about your father.

She looked behind her.

The video flickered.

Then she continued.

If Daniel is still alive, it means someone has been lying to me.

I stopped breathing.

Adrian went utterly still.

I slowly turned toward him.

“You said he was dead.”

“He is.”

“Then why did she say that?”

“I don't know.”

“Stop saying that!”

My voice cracked.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then the video continued.

My mother's expression changed. She looked directly into the camera, and whatever fear had been in her eyes before was replaced by something colder.

“If you're watching this, Mara, there's one thing you need to understand.”

I moved closer to the screen.

“Your father wasn't the only person who wanted you gone.”

The video ended.

The screen went black.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't even think.

Adrian slowly closed the laptop.

“That's enough for tonight.”

I looked at him.

“Someone wanted me gone?”

“Mara—”

“Who?”

He didn't answer.

“WHO?”

He flinched.

I'd never shouted at him like that before.

I didn't care.

“Was it my father? Was it Daniel? Was it you?”

His head snapped toward me.

“Me?”

“I don't know anymore!”

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry.

“I don't know who my father is. I don't know why my mother lied to me. I don't know why someone is sending me photographs from inside my own house. And I don't know why you keep acting like you know more than you're telling me.”

Adrian stared at me.

Then he said quietly, “You're right.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You're right. I haven't told you everything.”

The room seemed to shrink around us.

“Then start talking.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking suddenly exhausted.

“When your mother disappeared, I wasn't the only person searching for her.”

I said nothing.

“Someone else was looking for her. Someone with money, influence, and people who would do anything they were told.”

“Who?”

“I never found out who was giving the orders.”

“But you found out something.”

He nodded.

“Your mother left behind a name.”

My heart began to race.

“What name?”

Adrian looked at me.

“Yours.”

I frowned.

“My name?”

“Not your full name. Just your first name, written on a piece of paper hidden in a room your mother had rented under a false identity.”

I stared at him.

“Why would she do that?”

“I don't know. But the person searching for her took that paper very seriously.”

I felt sick.

“Was that why she kept me away from everyone?”

“Maybe.”

“Was that why she never spoke about my father?”

“Maybe.”

“Was that why she lied about him being dead?”

Adrian looked down.

“Possibly.”

I stepped backward.

Every answer opened another door.

Every door led to something worse.

Then my phone vibrated.

We both looked at it.

Unknown number.

One new message.

ASK ADRIAN WHAT HAPPENED ON OCTOBER 17.

I read it twice.

Then I looked up.

Adrian had gone pale.

My blood turned cold.

“You know that date.”

He didn't respond.

“Adrian.”

He slowly lifted his eyes to mine.

“Mara, don't.”

I stared at him.

“What happened on October 17?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then, from somewhere downstairs, a phone began to ring.

Not mine.

Not Adrian's.

A third phone.

One that neither of us had heard before.

Adrian stood abruptly.

I caught his wrist.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“Stay here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mara, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

The phone continued ringing downstairs.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Adrian looked toward the door.

Then back at me.

And finally, he said the words that made my entire body go cold.

“October 17 was the day your mother died.”

I stared at him.

“But you said she disappeared.”

He didn't answer.

The phone downstairs stopped ringing.

A second later, my laptop turned on by itself.

The screen lit up.

A new video file appeared.

No USB.

No open browser.

Just one file, sitting on the desktop.

OCTOBER_17.mp4

And beneath it, a message appeared.

SHE DIDN'T DIE ALONE.