"You left early."
The funeral dissolved into a haze of somber designer attire, whispered condolences, and the cloying scent of lilies that choked the air. Elara recalled nothing but that single, searing moment, when Elias turned his back and strode away, the eulogy's final words still hanging unfinished in the grief-thick atmosphere. What secret had driven him to such a public display of contempt for the dead?
She had watched his rigid back vanish into the crowd, a betrayal in every step he took. The one person who should have embraced her quiet, specific grief had simply walked away, leaving her hollow.
"He abandoned me when I needed him most," she thought, the memory twisting like ice in her stomach.
Now, ten days later, Elara sat motionless at the kitchen table, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched, cold mug. The apartment mocked her with its pristine emptiness, not just silent but suffocating, a mausoleum of what they once shared rather than a home.
She clutched the silver cufflink of Lena's final secret, etched with that enigmatic symbol. The metal pressed cold against her palm, a tangible fragment of the real Lena, not the sanitized version lying in that gleaming casket.
A thunderous knock shattered her reverie. Not the considerate tap of a concerned neighbor, but an aggressive, commanding thud that rattled the door in its frame.
She didn't need to check who it was. Elias. Of course. He never bothered calling to see how she was coping with her grief. No, his only concern was inventorying Lena's possessions, claiming what he believed rightfully his, as though grief were something to be parceled and distributed like estate property.
Elara went to the door and pulled it open. Elias stood there, dressed in a sharp black suit despite the early hour. He looked tired and severe. The moment he saw her, his eyes didn't meet hers; they scanned the apartment over her shoulder.
"I need access to Lena's work drive," he demanded, his voice strained with barely contained impatience. "The facility is demanding an inventory of her remaining assets."
"Assets?" Elara yanked the door wider, stepping aside but positioning herself like a sentinel at the threshold. "She was your sister, Elias. A human being, not some corporate property to be catalogued."
"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Elara," Elias snapped, brushing past her into the living room. "The facility is a private defense contractor. Her research is classified." His presence invaded the space, radiating a cold, domineering authority that seemed to drop the temperature in the room by several degrees.
Elara felt the familiar anger simmer. He always spoke to her like she was a security risk, someone who hadn't mattered as much as her proximity to Lena's genius suggested.
"The drive is in her desk. You know where it is," Elara said, crossing her arms.
Elias strode to Lena's small wooden desk where she conducted her less-clandestine work. He snatched the external drive, slipping it into his inner jacket pocket without a word.
Pivoting toward Elara, his features momentarily softened, not in recognition of her anguish, but merely to showcase his own torment.
"I realize this cuts deep," he said, his hollow words hanging in the air between them. "But you must exercise caution. Lena was developing technologies that powerful people would kill for. Valuable innovations. Lethal innovations. Should anyone reach out to you, if something unexpected arrives…"
"What exactly might arrive, Elias?" Elara cut in, her voice barely audible yet razor-edged with accusation. "Did your sister bother to record a final message? A farewell letter? Did she leave me even a single memento to remember her by?"
Elias looked away, his jaw clenching. He never talked about Lena's life before the research. He had never liked their easy, messy closeness that had started in university.
"No. Lena was contained. Everything that mattered to her, she put into the work," Elias insisted. "She was focused entirely on her final project. You need to let go, Elara. She's gone. You need to stop looking for ghosts in the coffee."
He gestured dismissively toward the mug on the table. It was the same gesture he used to dismiss their entire friendship.
"You don't know what she valued," Elara snapped. "You didn't know her as I did."
"I knew her for thirty years. You knew her for ten years, in a student apartment, arguing about physics and bad TV," Elias retorted, the jealousy finally breaking through. He regretted it instantly; his face tightened further. "Look. I just need you to be rational. If anything strange appears, you call me immediately. Do not touch it."
Elara stared at him, holding the silver cufflink tight in her hand. He didn't see the small black box sitting on her doormat, where it had been dropped moments before his arrival. It was outside, hidden from his view.
"Understood," Elara said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You can leave now, Elias."
He hesitated for a moment, sensing the cold finality in her tone. He wanted to say more, to apologize for the anger, but he couldn't find the right words. He just nodded curtly and walked toward the door.
Elias passed through the doorway and was gone. The apartment door shut with a heavy click.
Elara waited until she heard the distant, grinding sound of the elevator taking him away.
She walked to the door and looked down. There it was. The small, perfectly square box, black and seamless. It looked exactly like the kind of dangerous thing Elias had just warned her about.
It sat on her mat, waiting.
Elara knelt by the door, the small black box now visible. She saw no labels, no postal marks, only the smooth, dark plastic.
Who sends a present now?
The memory of Elias's fearful warning, If anything strange appears, you call me immediately. Do not touch it, clashed violently with her desperate need for a final connection to Lena.
Will Elara listen to Elias's fearful warning and call him about the strange, unmarked package, or will her grief and curiosity compel her to investigate Lena's final secret alone?