She hadn't known the time in hours.
The dim light seeping through the cracks in the old blinds barely revealed the dust floating in the air. The room was small, silent, and for the first time in a while, Valeria felt like she could breathe… but not trust.
She was alone. Or so she thought.
Lena had vanished after they crossed the canal. "I'll find you when it's safe," she had said. But the promise had felt hollow, like they both knew they might not see each other again.
Valeria sat up on the makeshift mattress. In her hands, she still held the map's symbol sketched in pencil—like an anchor she didn't want to forget. Something in her had shifted. She wasn't running out of fear anymore, but moving by choice.
She stood and walked to the small table, where she had left the box she still hadn't dared to open.
A noise outside the door stopped her.
Footsteps.
She held her breath. But instead of fear, she felt something else: intuition.
Because this time, whoever was coming… was bringing answers.
The door didn't burst open. It clicked slowly, deliberately, as if the person on the other side didn't want to startle her.
Valeria took a step back, her body tense, eyes locked on the doorknob turning.
When the figure stepped through the threshold, time froze for a moment.
—"Ezra?"
He looked at her with the same intensity he had back in the hallway that first time. His clothes were damp, his beard thicker, and his eyes held something… different. Pain, maybe. Urgency.
—"You have no idea what you're doing," he said without preamble.
Valeria didn't know whether to hug him or shove him away. Part of her felt safe seeing him. Another part felt furious. He had left her alone.
—"How did you find me?"
Ezra didn't answer right away. He shut the door behind him and dropped a backpack to the floor.
—"Lena is not who she says she is. And that box… it's not just a memory of Matteo. It's a key."
Valeria frowned.
—"A key to what?"
Ezra looked at her, eyes heavy with truth.
—"To everything you're about to uncover. And once you start… there's no going back."
Ezra didn't sit down. He walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back like the weight of his words rested on his shoulders.
—"I didn't tell you everything because I thought keeping you away would protect you," he began, not looking at her. "But it wasn't enough."
Valeria said nothing. She watched him, waiting.
—"I met Matteo during a time when we were both looking for answers… to things we didn't know how to name. He had been involved with a group—people obsessed with ancient symbols, with energies, with gateways that supposedly connected worlds." He paused, breathing deeply. "I didn't believe it. Not until I started seeing things."
Valeria stared at him, confusion and fear mixing on her face.
—"What kind of things?"
—"Shadows that didn't cast light. Voices that came from nowhere. Dreams that weren't mine."
Ezra finally turned to face her.
—"Matteo believed you were connected to all of it. Something old. Something that's been following you since before you were born. That's why he could never really let go."
Valeria felt a chill in her stomach. The words hung heavy in the air.
—"And Lena?"
Ezra looked down.
—"She was part of it too. But she stayed too long. She changed."
Something in Valeria cracked a little more.
—"So what now?"
Ezra stepped closer.
—"Now, we open the box. But not here. And not alone."
Ezra folded the map he had spread out on the makeshift table in the hostel. He marked a point with a red pen.
—"This place is off the usual paths. No one will follow us there."
Valeria nodded, though her mind was still trapped in the words she'd just heard. Something had been following her since before she was born? Why would Matteo drag her into this?
—"And what if the box… shows something we don't want to see?" she asked quietly.
Ezra met her eyes with unwavering seriousness.
—"Then we face it. Together."
But before they could pack what they needed, a knock at the door stopped them.
Once. Then two more.
Valeria froze. Ezra instinctively reached out, shielding her.
—"Don't open it," she whispered.
The knock came again. Louder.
Then a voice —dry, male, carried like a gust of wind— came through the door.
—"Valeria… you can't run anymore."
They looked at each other. And without hesitation, Ezra grabbed the box, shoving it into his backpack. He opened the back window.
—"Plan B."
They jumped into the alley, barely lit by the city lights. The tension pushed them forward.
Behind them, the hostel door burst open.
But they were already gone.
The car stopped in front of an old house on the outskirts of a small town. No neighbors nearby, no streetlights. Just darkness, the creaking of branches, and the whisper of wind.
Ezra stepped out first, quickly scanning the area.
—"This is it."
Valeria hesitated before getting out. Her body was exhausted, but her mind kept racing.
The inside was rustic but cozy. Wood, old rugs, a cold fireplace. No sign of recent life, but it was clean. Prepared.
—"Is this yours?" she asked.
Ezra shook his head.
—"Someone who trusts me."
He said nothing more.
Valeria placed the box on a round table. She stared at it for a long moment, as if her gaze alone could crack it open.
—"What do you think is inside?"
Ezra shrugged, but his tone was steady:
—"Whatever made you different."
Valeria swallowed hard.
For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel afraid. She felt a near-physical need to know. To understand.
But not tonight.
—"Tomorrow," she whispered, like a sacred vow.
Ezra nodded.
They looked at each other in silence, and for a moment, the world stopped chasing them.
Valeria couldn't sleep. Ezra had fallen asleep in an old armchair, a blanket draped over his shoulders. She, instead, walked toward a small bookshelf filled with dusty books.
She grabbed one at random. When she opened it, something fell to the floor: an old photograph.
It was Matteo.
Young, smiling, with a group of people she didn't recognize. But what froze her was Ezra in the photo too.
She turned it over. A date and a handwritten note:
"Not everyone who seems like an ally truly is. Beware of the masks."
Valeria looked at Ezra, asleep. For the first time, she hesitated.
"Who is Matteo really to you, Ezra?" Valeria asked bluntly, the photograph still in her hand.
Ezra opened his eyes slowly. His expression wasn't surprise—it was resignation.
"You found it," he murmured. "I knew it was only a matter of time."
Valeria didn't lower her guard.
"You're in this photo with him. How long have you known him? What are you hiding?"
Ezra stood up calmly, as if any sudden movement could break something invisible in the air.
"I met him years ago, yes. We were part of something… complicated. He changed. So did I. But I'm not here because of him. I'm here because of you."
"That's easy to say."
"I know. And I don't blame you for doubting," he said, taking just one step closer. "But not everything you've discovered about him will make sense if you see him as just a liar. Things are darker… deeper."
Valeria looked down at the photo, noticing for the first time a shadow in the background—blurred, almost hidden.
"Who else is in this story, Ezra?"
Ezra looked at her with seriousness.
"Someone you're not ready to meet yet."
Silence thickened between them. Valeria didn't trust him completely. Not yet. But something in his eyes… wasn't a total lie.
The conversation lingered in the air as Ezra left the room under the pretense of preparing something to eat. Valeria took the chance to scan the shelter. It was simple, but safe… or so she wanted to believe.
A crack in the wall, right beside a doorframe, caught her attention. She moved closer, not knowing why—as if something was pulling her. When she touched it, the texture changed. It wasn't just a crack. It was a symbol, faint and nearly invisible, carefully carved.
Three vertical lines and a cross cutting through them. She hadn't seen it before. It didn't seem recent, either.
"What is this?" she whispered, tracing the carving.
"You shouldn't touch that," came Ezra's voice from the doorway.
Valeria turned, startled. He stood there with his arms crossed, no trace of a smile.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
Ezra hesitated. For the first time, he looked uneasy.
"It's a mark. From the people who were here before. People like Matteo. People like me."
"And me?"
Ezra stepped closer.
"I don't know yet."
Valeria couldn't help herself. Something inside her—curiosity, need, or maybe just plain desperation—pushed her to touch the mark again. This time, with more force. She closed her eyes without even noticing.
And then, she saw it.
They weren't her memories. They were disjointed flashes, lightning-fast images: a dark room, a voice screaming a name she couldn't catch, a hooded figure handing over an envelope. Eyes that weren't hers… but somehow saw through her. And amidst it all, a name echoed over and over:
"Ezra... Ezra... Ezra..."
A deafening hum shot through her skull. Valeria pulled back with a gasp, falling to her knees, trembling. Ezra rushed to her side, kneeling beside her.
"Hey! Are you okay? What did you see?"
She looked at him, still dazed.
"They weren't my memories. But… they were in my head."
Ezra paled. He helped her up gently.
"The mark isn't just a symbol. It's a memory gate. A key. And if it activated for you… that means you're more connected to all this than I thought."
Valeria swallowed, her heart still racing.
"Who were those people, Ezra?"
He stared at her in silence. And for the first time, his eyes showed fear.
It was already night when Valeria opened her eyes again. Ezra was asleep, sitting against the wall, arms crossed. The calm of the shelter barely muffled the storm inside her.
That's when she noticed something sticking out of the backpack Lena had brought. A small folded letter, with her name handwritten on it: Valeria. It hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had, and she simply hadn't seen it.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
"If you're reading this, it means the box is already with you. Trust no one. Not even Ezra. There are things he hasn't told you. Things I couldn't either."
"You need to go back to where it all began. Only then will you understand why all of this started with you."
—M.
A sharp pang struck her chest. The envelope had no more clues. Only a scribbled address in faded black ink.
She sat there, letter in hand, watching Ezra sleep.
"What are you not telling me?" she thought. But she didn't wake him.
Not yet.