Celeste

The soft flicker of candlelight reflected off the crystal glass in my hand. Bourbon, neat. The way I preferred it—no distractions, no dilution. The weight of the day clung to my skin like silk, exhaustion curled at the edges of my mind, but I allowed myself this one moment of quiet before the world demanded something from me again.

Then, I saw it.

A single envelope, stark against the polished mahogany of my desk.

No return address. No markings. Just my name—written in an elegant, deliberate script.

I set my glass down, the amber liquid sloshing against the rim. My fingers traced the smooth paper before I slid a nail under the seal, breaking it with practiced ease. The note inside was brief. Precise. A single sentence.

"Someone is watching. They know what you do. They know who you are."

A slow exhale escaped my lips, measured and controlled. I read the words again, once, twice. The strokes of ink were confident, unshaken. Not the work of someone grasping at power—they already had it.

I reached for my phone, dialing a familiar number.

The line rang once before a voice answered, rich and velvety.

"Celeste," they murmured. "Did you miss me already?"

"I need something," I replied, ignoring the amusement lacing their tone. "Trace a message for me. Discreetly."

Silence stretched for a beat, then: "Trouble?"

I glanced at the note once more. A calculated move. A warning, or an invitation.

"I don’t know yet," I admitted, my voice steady. "But I will." *I say hanging up the line before I hear a knock on my office door *