Buried Truths

Zara couldn't shake the unease in her chest as she stared at the box of artifacts before her. It sat innocuously on the desk in her room, but she now knew better than to take its presence lightly. For weeks, it had been the center of a whirlwind she hadn't asked to be part of—a whirlwind that had unearthed secrets about her father and thrust her into danger.

Yet tonight felt different. It was as if the box itself hummed with tension, waiting for her to uncover something that could never be undone.

The evening was quiet, save for the low hum of crickets outside her window. Zara's mom had taken an unusual call earlier in the day and disappeared shortly afterward, claiming she needed to meet "an old friend." Zara didn't press for details, but the timing made her skin crawl. Lately, every new discovery seemed to come with a cost.

Grabbing her notebook filled with sketches, notes, and symbols she'd pieced together from the artifacts, Zara sat down at her desk. She glanced over the latest puzzle—a strange series of symbols etched into one of the smaller artifacts. The notes Greg had left were vague but hinted at a hidden chamber in a place Zara had visited before. The library? The museum? Her father's study?

After dinner, Zara found herself drawn to the study her father had always used whenever he visited the States. It wasn't much—just a small room tucked at the far end of the house, filled with old books, filing cabinets, and his personal belongings. The space still smelled faintly of her father's cologne, and stepping inside felt like stepping into a part of him she hadn't seen before.

The study was an organized chaos: books stacked in uneven piles, papers scattered across the desk, and an old safe nestled in the corner. Zara's fingers traced over the desk's surface, pausing when they grazed something out of place—a small wooden box, intricately carved with symbols she recognized from the artifacts.

Her pulse quickened. She hadn't noticed this box before, but now, it seemed to stand out like a beacon. Lifting the lid, she found a single envelope inside, yellowed with age.

Back in her room, Zara opened the envelope carefully. Her father's handwriting sprawled across the page:

"Zara,

If you've found this letter, it means you're closer to the truth than I ever wanted you to be. I know I promised you a normal life, but my choices have made that impossible. What I'm about to reveal will change how you see me, your mother, and even yourself..."

The letter described his entanglement with an international organization that believed the artifacts held immense power. Her father had stolen the artifacts not just to protect them but to hide them from the very people who wanted to use them for catastrophic purposes.

But then came the shocking part: her mother had also been involved. She wasn't just running from their shared past—she was hiding things, too.

The room felt colder as Zara re-read the letter. Her hands trembled. Why hadn't her father told her sooner? Why had her mother never mentioned any of this? And, most importantly, was her mother still involved?

A knock on the door startled her. Her mom's voice followed, strained but calm. "Zara, we need to talk."

Her mother entered, holding a file with a familiar symbol etched onto it. Her voice wavered. "It's about your father—and the danger he's left behind for us."