The photo was still on Ivy's table the next morning. She hadn't touched it. The message was still open on her phone. She hadn't responded. That was her not flinching. But that didn't mean she wasn't shaken.
She hadn't informed Elias. Not yet. She knew what he would say—they needed to go public, take it to the next level, and reveal. But Ivy wasn't ready. Not until they had everything. And they were getting close.
Instead, she pushed the flash drive into its envelope, zipped it into a book sleeve labeled "19th Century Transit Maps," and hid it in the bottom drawer of the archives behind a pile of unindexed floor plans.
Only temporarily.
The library lobby was crowded when Ivy arrived later that morning. A local historical society had arranged a walking tour, and some three dozen retired New Yorkers clad in identical windbreakers were standing near the door. They talked boisterously, and their voices echoed off the stone walls, infusing the otherwise staid atmosphere with energy.
Ivy glanced down and shoved through the throng, but one woman stood in her way.
"Excuse me—are you Ivy Casella?"
Ivy blinked. "Yes?"
The woman smiled. "You helped my grandson with his protest thesis last year. Public housing in the Bronx? He said, "You found city maps nobody else could."
"Oh," Ivy said, surprised. "I remember. Mateo?"
"Yes. He's at Columbia now. Got a full ride. Says he couldn't have done it without you."
Ivy blushed. "That's kind of him. Really."
The woman leaned in. "He told me something else about you, too. Said you're the quiet one—but when you speak up, everybody shuts up and listens."
She winked, then moved back into the group.
Ivy didn't move for a long time.
That had not been a thank you.
That had been a message.
By early afternoon, Ivy was deep in floor plans when Sasha, the janitor, reappeared—this time with two coffees.
I thought you might need a second set of eyes," she said.
Ivy smiled. "You have keys to the whole city and now caffeine?"
"I'm full of secrets," said Sasha. "What are we searching for?"
They pulled Cabinet Seven open together. Behind it, as Sasha had said, was the hatch. Old. Iron. Sealed at the seams with rust but still clinging tight. With a bit of leverage, it burst free, and a small ladder fell away into darkness.
"Mail tunnel," Sasha confirmed. "They used to deliver packages underground from building to building when the streets were too crowded."
Ivy leaned into the darkness. "Where does it go?"
"No one remembers. Most were blocked off decades ago. But this one's not on any recent blueprint."
Ivy grabbed a flashlight and swung one leg down onto the first rung.
"You're not going alone," Sasha said, rolling her eyes. "Men break things. Women build secrets. Let's see where this one leads."
The tunnel was colder than expected. Dust swirled in the flashlight beams. There were pipes along the walls, old and dirty, some of which were still quietly humming with long-defunct systems. They moved slowly, carefully, their feet muted on the old trash and silence.
A hundred yards or so in, they reached an iron door. It was locked—but not very. A little pressure, and it groaned open.
It had a little room. Cement floor. File boxes. Cabinets. And one large metal desk in the center, lit by a single flickering overhead bulb powered by a portable generator.
Paperwork was everywhere. Stamped. Signed. Labeled in red ink.
It was an unofficial archive. One that somebody did not want filed upstairs.
Sasha whistled. "This is the real stuff."
Ivy tugged open the top drawer of the desk. A nameplate, chipped and dusty, was inside: L. DEVANEY.
A former deputy director of records. Vanished after a corruption probe in 2017. No indictment. No closure. Just disappeared.
"What is this place?" Ivy breathed.
"Evidence graveyard," Sasha said. "The only problem is you just woke it up."
Elias was waiting upstairs, pacing.
He looked up, saw Ivy, and moved swiftly to close the distance between them.
"You didn't text me back," he said. "I thought—"
"I'm fine," Ivy said quietly. "Come with me. You need to see this."
Ten minutes later, Elias was standing in the tunnel room, staring at the contents of a file labeled URBAN EXPANSION UNIT—PRIVATE CONTRACT DISCREPANCIES.
"This—" he breathed. "This is everything."
"Not quite," Ivy said. "But it's more than enough to start burning down the scaffolding."
She explained the secret hatch, the new archive, Sasha's help, and Jordan's flash drive.
Elias sat back against the desk and let out a slow breath. "They're going to lose their minds."
Ivy nodded. "Let them."
The first firestorm erupted later that night.
Ivy was home, actually sleeping for the first time in days, when her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Nice tunnel. Cute that you think no one's watching.
A second picture was included.
Her and Sasha. In the mail tunnel. Overhead shot.
A blurry picture, but unmistakable.
She did not hesitate this time.
She forwarded the picture to Elias with two words:
"Game on."
The following morning, she walked into the archive and was greeted by something she never expected.
Silence. But not the usual kind.
The respectful kind.
People looked up as she passed. Some nodded. Others whispered.
One intern stood and offered her coffee.
Someone had spoken to someone.
And now people watched.
Not to tear her down—
But maybe… to see if they needed to stand beside her.