"…and somewhere deep inside, she welcomed it."
The words still lingered in her mind as the knock came—sharp, precise, as if measured by a metronome.
Elara froze.
She wasn't expecting anyone. The email had said within the hour, but she hadn't expected them to be so—literal.
Another knock. Same rhythm. Same firmness.
She stepped slowly toward the door, pulse thudding in her ears. The hallway light flickered under the frame, casting thin bands of gold across her bare feet. She hesitated, one hand hovering over the lock. Something in her chest tightened—not fear exactly, but the cold awareness that whatever was waiting on the other side was the first step into a world far beyond her own.
She unlatched the door.
A man in a black coat stood on the threshold. Tall. Expressionless. His posture was immaculate, spine straight, chin angled barely downward so his dark eyes met hers without blinking. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance—and that was what made him unnerving.
People who blended in like that were always trained to.
"Elara Vance?" His voice was smooth, practiced, almost empty.
"Yes," she managed.
He handed her a metal briefcase. Not a modern one—sleek, steel, heavy enough to suggest something important, sealed with a biometric lock she didn't recognize.
"You will find all necessary documents inside," he said. No greeting, no apology for the late hour. "Please sign immediately."
He held out a digital pad. Her full legal name was already typed across the top, along with the words: CONFIDENTIALITY AND NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT — ENACT UPON SIGNATURE.
She looked up at him. "Who sent you?"
His face remained unreadable. "The client."
"That doesn't answer anything."
"It answers everything that is permitted," he replied without a flicker of irritation. "Please sign. The timeline is strict."
A sliver of unease curled in her stomach, but refusing wasn't an option—her reply email had already committed her. Her hand trembled only slightly as she pressed her signature onto the pad.
The courier watched, his breathing almost imperceptible. When she finished, he tapped a sequence of commands on his device. Her signature flashed, then disappeared—as if swallowed whole.
"Your acceptance has been recorded. Instructions are inside the case. Your departure is scheduled for dawn." He paused—just long enough for her pulse to spike. "Pack lightly."
He turned to leave, but before she could muster another question, he stopped. Slowly, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Elara," he said quietly, almost like a warning. "Whatever you think this is… prepare for it to be something else."
Then he walked away, coat whispering around him, footsteps silent despite the creaking hallway floor.
Elara remained frozen at the doorway, the metal briefcase heavy in her hands. She felt its cold through her skin, a chill that traveled up her arms and settled beneath her ribs.
She closed the door softly, as if afraid to draw attention, and placed the case on her table. The lamplight gleamed against its polished surface, highlighting the lack of any mark—no name, no logo, nothing.
Just a reflection of her own face staring back.
She ran a fingertip over the biometric lock. Whatever this job truly was, it had already crossed into territory she didn't understand.
But the courier's words echoed in her head.
Prepare for it to be something else.
She inhaled deeply and unsealed the case.