The fourth letter was unlike the others.
There were no riddles, no riddled threats. Just a single photograph stapled to a page—aged, grainy, but unmistakable. A young woman with sharp eyes, standing beside a man with silver hair. Behind them was a burning building. Scrawled beneath it, in faded ink:
"You have her eyes."
Elara stared at the woman. There was something hauntingly familiar—her posture, the defiance in her jawline. Was this... her real mother?
She flipped the page.
Another note was glued beneath:
"The fire at Rosebridge Institute was no accident. Find the survivor. He remembers everything."
The Rosebridge Institute.
That name tickled a distant memory—whispers from her childhood, a place her mother never spoke of. But now, it seemed like the missing piece. If someone survived the fire, maybe they held the key to everything—Project L.E.A.F., the letters, the deaths.
She tucked the letter into her coat and grabbed her bag. The streets outside were damp from an earlier rain, streetlamps glowing like ghostly sentinels. Elara moved quickly through the alleys, avoiding the main roads. She didn't want to be followed again.
The library's records section was closed, but she knew the side window always had a loose latch. She slid it open and slipped inside like a shadow.
The archives smelled of mildew and time. She found the local incident files, fingers scanning through old newspaper articles. Her pulse raced when she found it:
"TRAGEDY AT ROSEBRIDGE – INSTITUTE ENGULFED IN FLAMES"
There was a name in the article—Eli Bram, the sole survivor. A patient, seventeen at the time. No known family. Vanished after the investigation.
Elara whispered the name like a spell. Eli Bram.
She snapped a photo of the article and climbed out the window, heading home to plan.
The next morning, she used every online database she could access. After hours of searching, she found a trace—an abandoned cabin registered under Eli's name near the old edge of Wrenmoor Forest.
She left a note for Mrs. Henders, saying she'd be gone overnight for a school project. Then she packed her flashlight, knife, notebook, and the fourth letter.
The forest loomed ahead like a beast asleep, trees arching like ribs over the winding trail. The air was damp, thick with the scent of moss and decay. Birds didn't sing here.
After nearly two hours of trekking, she found it.
The cabin was small and sagging, swallowed partly by vines. The windows were fogged over, and the door was slightly ajar.
She stepped in slowly.
Dust blanketed everything. A lantern flickered to life near the back of the room, and a figure turned.
He was tall, gaunt, with a scraggly beard and sharp, sunken eyes. Time had etched lines into his face, but his gaze was clear. Focused.
"Elara," he said, voice raspy. "They said you'd come."
Her throat tightened. "You're Eli Bram?"
He nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"I knew your mother," he said. "Before she became a ghost."
Elara's fingers gripped the strap of her bag tightly. "You knew my mother? How?"
Eli walked to a worn chair and gestured for her to sit across from him. He lit a second lantern, casting the room in a warm but flickering amber glow. Dust danced in the air like memories refusing to settle.
"She wasn't who the world thought she was," Eli began, his voice hollow. "Her name wasn't really Evelyn Moore. That identity was constructed after Rosebridge burned down."
Elara felt her heart skip. "Then who was she?"
"Her real name was Liora Anden. A brilliant mind, too brilliant. She was one of the lead researchers behind Project L.E.A.F. But when she realized what the project was actually doing, she tried to stop it."
"Project L.E.A.F.," Elara whispered. "You mean the thing connected to all these deaths?"
Eli gave a small nod. "It was supposed to be a cure for memory disorders. A way to preserve and implant memories—but something went wrong. The subjects started losing their own memories, replacing them with false ones. They became violent, erratic... some disappeared entirely."
"Wait," Elara leaned forward, "Are you saying my mother was one of the creators?"
"She tried to destroy the project," he said. "But someone betrayed her. The facility was set on fire to cover it all up. I was there that night. I saw who locked the doors."
Elara's heart pounded. "Who?"
Eli's eyes darkened. "Dr. Lennox. He was the real architect of the experiment. He made sure everyone burned, everyone who knew the truth. Your mother got you out—barely. She vanished afterward."
"I don't understand," Elara whispered. "Why the letters? Why kill people?"
Eli looked at her solemnly. "Because someone is tying up loose ends. They think you inherited something—maybe knowledge, maybe immunity. And if you're receiving those letters, it means they're watching you. They're waiting to see what you remember."
"I don't remember anything," she said, frustrated.
"You will," Eli replied. "The memories are buried deep, hidden. Your mother designed you to survive. You're the key."
Elara shook her head. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Eli said. "Think about the dreams. The déjà vu. The way you see things others don't."
She stiffened. He was right. Lately, her dreams had turned vivid—too detailed to be imagination. Places she'd never been, people she didn't know, but emotions that felt hers.
"Come with me," Eli said, standing. He led her to a cabinet and opened it. Inside were folders, old photos, audio tapes—evidence. He pulled out a small voice recorder.
"This tape," he said, "was made two days before the fire. It's your mother."
He pressed play.
A woman's voice crackled to life. Soft, but firm.
"If anything happens to me, Elara must know the truth. She's not just my daughter. She's the final piece."
Elara's breath caught.
"I hid the formula in her memory. They'll never find it unless she unlocks it herself. Tell her I love her. Tell her I'm sorry."
The tape clicked off.
Elara stood frozen.
Everything she thought she knew had shattered in seconds. Her mother hadn't just died in an accident—she'd died trying to protect her. And the secrets inside Elara weren't just inherited—they were designed.
Eli put a hand on her shoulder. "They'll come for you soon. If you're going to survive this, you need to find the fifth letter. And fast."