The cassette tape felt heavier than it should have.
Its plastic casing was cracked, the label frayed at the corners, but the handwriting was unmistakable:
"For Ava. Do not listen until the cabin burns."
Damian stood beside her in the vault, silent. Even he seemed uncertain—as if this tape might change everything.
Ava stared at it, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Her voice trembled. "Why would my mother leave me this? And why now?"
"No one leaves messages from beyond the grave unless they plan for the grave to be temporary," Damian said darkly.
Ava closed her fingers around the tape. "Then let's press play."
A Hidden Room Beneath Blackwood Tower
Levi led them into a soundproof chamber, its walls lined with analog equipment. The kind that couldn't be hacked or traced.
He inserted the cassette.
With a click, the reels began to spin.
Static hissed.
Then—her mother's voice.
Clear.
Alive.
"Ava... If you're hearing this, it means the cabin still stands. And if the cabin still stands, then the lie still breathes."
Ava's hands went cold.
"They told you I died in a fire. But fire doesn't kill a Romanov. It rebirths us."
Damian's eyes sharpened. "Romanov?"
"You were born into a bloodline older than Blackwood. A bloodline hunted. Hidden. Lied about. Even by me."
"But now he's found you. The Man Without a Name. And if he has Lily... then he knows what you are."
"You're not just my daughter, Ava. You're his target. And his weapon."
Silence.
Then:
"Go to the cabin. Burn it. And when the fire rises, you'll see me again."
The tape clicked off.
Ava was frozen, her mouth slightly parted, heart beating like thunder.
Damian turned to her. "Your mother... she's alive?"
"I don't know," Ava whispered. "But I'm going to find out."
Hours Later – Pine Hollow Forest
The sun was setting as Ava stepped into the woods.
Each step deeper into the forest peeled back a layer of memory she hadn't touched in years—the scent of wet bark, the screech of distant crows, the soft crunch of needles beneath her boots.
The cabin waited at the center, its rotting beams looming like bones in the twilight. Vines crept along its walls. The front door hung crooked, swinging in the wind.
She moved slowly, each breath shallow.
Then she saw it.
Lily's unicorn backpack—half-buried in the dirt by the porch.
Her knees nearly gave out.
She ran.
Inside the Cabin
Dark.
Empty.
The floor groaned beneath her boots.
She flicked on her flashlight—its beam slicing through layers of dust and cobwebs.
"Lily?" her voice cracked.
Silence.
Only the wind answering.
And then—
A whisper.
From the attic.
She froze.
Ava crept up the stairs, each step creaking louder than her breath. At the top, the attic door stood slightly ajar.
She pushed it open.
The room was lit by a single candle. On the floor: old journals, burnt letters, and in the center—a mirror.
But not just any mirror.
This one… showed her reflection as a child.
Ava stumbled back.
In the reflection, her eight-year-old self stared straight at her.
Then the child's lips moved.
"You left me here."
Behind Her… Footsteps.
Real.
Heavy.
Not from the mirror.
She spun around.
There—emerging from the shadowed corner—stood her mother.
But not the woman she remembered.
This version looked… untouched by time. Her hair pinned up in a regal twist, her emerald eyes burning with secrets.
Alive.
Strong.
Terrifyingly calm.
Ava gasped. "Mother?"
Vera Romanov tilted her head. "I told you fire doesn't kill us. But you didn't listen."
Ava backed away. "This is impossible."
"No," Vera said. "This is inheritance."
Vera stepped forward, extending her hand.
"Choose now, Ava. Your daughter's life… or your old one."
Before Ava could answer—
the cabin exploded with light—
A blinding flame erupting from beneath the floorboards.
And from the smoke stepped the Man Without a Name, his pale eyes locked on both women.
His voice sliced through the air.
"The fire wasn't meant to kill you. It was meant to awaken you."