Pieces of the Puzzle

The air inside the storage unit is thick with dust and the faint smell of mildew, but Zara barely notices. She stands frozen in front of the open box, staring at the contents with wide eyes. Mia leans in, her flashlight illuminating a stack of weathered papers, a faded black-and-white photograph, and a small leather journal with a broken clasp.

"Zara," Mia breathes, "this is your dad's handwriting."

Zara picks up the journal carefully, her fingers tracing the familiar scrawl on the first page. It's dated over twenty years ago, long before she was born. As she flips through, she finds entries about archeological digs, strange names of locations she doesn't recognize, and sketches of intricate symbols that look eerily similar to the designs on the bracelet.

Her heart skips a beat when she stumbles upon an entry that reads: "The Shadow Market is real. If this falls into the wrong hands..." But the sentence trails off, the ink smudged.

"What's the Shadow Market?" Mia asks, peering over Zara's shoulder.

"I don't know," Zara whispers. "But it sounds dangerous."

Before they can delve deeper, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the unit. Zara and Mia freeze, exchanging panicked looks. The flashlight flickers as Zara hurriedly closes the box and shoves it into the corner.

"Who's there?" a deep voice calls, firm and commanding.

Mia clutches Zara's arm. "What do we do?"

Zara doesn't reply. Instead, she presses herself against the wall, her heart pounding so loudly she's sure whoever is outside can hear it. The footsteps grow louder, stopping just outside the unit. A shadow moves under the door, and Zara holds her breath.

But just as suddenly as the footsteps appeared, they retreat. The silence is deafening as Zara and Mia wait, not daring to move. After what feels like an eternity, Zara cracks the door open and peers outside. The corridor is empty.

"We have to get out of here," she says, her voice shaking.

Mia doesn't argue. They gather what they can—carefully stuffing the journal and papers into Zara's backpack—and bolt.

Later that night, back in her room, Zara spreads the contents of the box across her bed. Her mom hasn't said a word about the bracelet since their tense exchange, but Zara's sure the woman is hiding something.

Mia calls, her voice frantic. "I did some digging on the Shadow Market."

"And?" Zara asks, gripping her phone tightly.

"It's not just some underground thing. It's global. They deal in illegal artifacts, rare stolen items, stuff like that. Zara, if your dad was involved with them..."

Zara's stomach twists. "He wasn't," she says firmly. But her confidence wavers when she spots the photograph at the bottom of the pile.

It's a picture of her father, standing next to a group of people she doesn't recognize. One face catches her eye—a man with piercing eyes and a scar running down his cheek. Her gut tells her he's dangerous.

Flipping the photo over, she finds something scrawled on the back: "Trust no one."

Zara stares at the words, her mind racing. She's never felt so lost, so unsure of what's real. She thought coming to the U.S. was going to be about fitting in and surviving high school. But now, it feels like she's caught in something far bigger than herself.

And for the first time, she's starting to wonder if she'll ever truly know the truth about her father—or herself.