72 hours.
That was all she had.
Valeria stared at the countdown ticking on her now-locked laptop, breath caught in her chest. A cruel digital timer. A game. A threat.
She tried everything—force-quitting the app, unplugging, even restarting—but the screen returned the same image every time:
Split screen. Two lives. One choice.
Her mother.
Rafe.
Both prisoners. Both helpless.
And Valeria? Just a pawn in someone's twisted puzzle.
Her body trembled with helpless rage.
How had it come to this?
Who was orchestrating this—and why her?
The flash drive. The painting. Nico. Marlow Crane. The note. Everything was connected. And whoever was behind this had just raised the stakes.
Now it wasn't just about discovering the truth.
It was about who she was willing to lose to get it.
---
The next morning, Valeria arrived at Detective Elena Reyes' office unannounced.
Reyes didn't look surprised to see her.
"I was wondering how long it would take you," the detective said, leaning back in her chair, steepling her fingers.
"You knew Nico was alive," Valeria accused. "You knew and you didn't tell me."
Reyes gave a slow smile, like a wolf who'd been watching the rabbit all along.
"I suspected. That's different from knowing."
"Bullshit. You've been keeping things from me since day one."
Reyes leaned forward, tone cold. "You think I owe you something, Valeria? I was the only one who didn't close your parents' case. The only one who cared."
Valeria slammed the photo of the surveillance footage on her desk. "Then explain this."
Reyes studied the image—Cassandra and Nico at the diner.
Her face hardened.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was sent to me last night," Valeria said. "Along with a countdown and a threat. Someone has them. Both of them."
"Someone?" Reyes repeated. "Or Nico?"
Valeria blinked. "You think he's the one behind it?"
Reyes exhaled slowly. "Nico Carver was declared dead ten years ago, and no one's seen him since. Until this week. Until your mother comes out of hiding. Until you start digging into things that were meant to stay buried."
She slid open a drawer and pulled out a thin file. Inside were grainy black-and-white photos of Nico—more recent than any Valeria had ever seen.
One showed him leaving a warehouse.
Another: shaking hands with a man who looked suspiciously like Marlow Crane.
"He's not the man you remember, Valeria," Reyes said softly. "You loved a ghost. This one? He's become something else."
Valeria clenched her jaw.
"I don't care who he is now. I care that he's playing with people's lives. Mine included."
---
By late afternoon, Valeria was back at her studio—if only to think. To breathe. To feel in control again.
She paced, watching the shadows stretch along the walls, the painting of her crying blood still propped in the corner. A twisted mirror of herself. A warning.
She was still staring at it when she noticed something… strange.
A tear in the canvas.
No, not a tear—a hidden slit.
Her pulse quickened.
She retrieved her scalpel and carefully peeled back the layers.
Inside—tucked between the wood frame and canvas—was a micro-SD card.
Tiny. Black. Easy to miss.
She inserted it into her tablet.
It contained a single encrypted file.
Password protected.
She almost gave up—until she remembered something from her childhood.
Her mother's favorite phrase whenever Valeria was afraid of the dark:
> "Truth is light. Even when it burns."
She typed: truthislight.
The file unlocked.
A video.
This one was clearer than the diner footage.
It showed a man—Rafe DeLuca—standing in a lavish room, speaking on the phone.
"…she's not ready. If she finds out everything now, she'll run. Or worse."
Pause.
"No. Not yet. I'll handle her. I know how to earn her trust."
Valeria's chest tightened.
Was this recent?
Or was it staged?
And who was he talking to?
A click in the background drew Rafe's attention. He turned to the camera, eyes narrowing.
Then the video cut to black.
---
Before she could replay it, her tablet shut off.
Dead battery.
She reached for the charger.
That's when she noticed the studio door was wide open.
Again.
She froze.
Someone was inside.
She turned slowly.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
Tall. Dark coat. Scar above his right brow.
Nico.
Alive. Real. Standing ten feet from her.
Her breath hitched.
His eyes met hers—familiar and foreign all at once.
"Vale," he said softly. "I told you to stop digging."
"You left me," she said, voice shaking. "You faked your death."
"I had to. To keep you safe."
"Is that why you're threatening my mother? Rafe?"
He flinched.
"That wasn't me."
"Don't lie to me again," she said, backing away.
He raised both hands in surrender. "I'm not the enemy here."
"Then who is?"
He hesitated.
"Someone worse. Someone you haven't met yet. But they know everything. About your mother. About DeLuca. About you."
She stared at him, unsure whether to run into his arms or call the police.
"Why now?" she whispered. "Why come back?"
His eyes darkened. "Because they know what you are."
She blinked. "What I am?"
But he didn't answer.
Instead, his head snapped toward the window.
"They found me," he said. "I have to go."
"Nico—!"
He grabbed her hand, pressed something into her palm—a small iron key.
"If you want answers," he said urgently, "go to Lockridge. Storage unit 3B. Don't trust Reyes. Don't trust Rafe. Don't trust anyone."
Then he was gone.
Vanished like a ghost again.
---
Valeria looked down at the key in her hand.
And noticed the faint numbers etched into the side:
"03:02:57"
It was a countdown.
Another one.
Ticking faster.
As if time was running out—
Not just for her mother…
But for her entire past.