Chapter 2 The weight of silence

Freedom felt heavier than the cage.

The weight was more than Maya could explain

It had only been a week since Maya walked out of SLAYTHEORY, resignation letter clutched in her trembling hand, her heart pounding with a strange mixture of pride and dread. She had stood her ground in front of Mr. Damian-her boss, the man who once praised her, the man whose eyes turned cold the moment she said, "I'm done."

"You don't know what you're walking away from," he had said, voice low and laced with something that had felt more like a threat than advice.

She hadn't known what he meant. Not then.

Freedom didn't have to be this terrific.

Now, every second out of that building felt like walking deeper into a fog of uncertainty. Instead of relief, Maya found herself swallowed by an aching kind of silence. It had suddenly become no emails, no deadlines.

But at the same time,no backhanded compliments in the hallway. But also, no structure. No noise to drown out the scream in her chest.

Each day blurred into the next. Her body moved occasionally. Yes,she ate, she bathed, she stared at the TV-but her mind was somewhere far away. Panic attacked her in the stillness. Grief curled up beside her in bed. She had walked away from hell, only to find herself in limbo.

Until the letter arrived.

It was a small envelope, plain and silent, left on her kitchen counter like it had always been there. No return address. No stamp. Her name, handwritten in bold black ink.

Inside was a single note, its message short and brutal:

It wasn't an accident.

That was all.

Maya read the words a dozen times or more , hoping they would morph into something else. Anything else. But they didn't. They just sat there, burning into her brain like a scar she couldn't peel away.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest. She hadn't thought about the details in a long time. The accident. The death. Her father.

Poor Orphan 😔

Something deep inside her stirred-a fear she had locked away years ago. What did the note mean? Why now?

She grabbed her coat, barely aware of her trembling hands, and headed to her father's old house.

Maybe it held answers,maybe it didn't

The place was untouched, as if frozen in time. A film of dust coated the furniture, and the air smelled of abandonment. But it was the study,her father's study

e one room she had never dared to enter that drew her forward now.

She opened the door slowly,like there was a fine to pay if she did it hurriedly

Nothing had changed. The same books. The same photos. The same chair he used to sit in, eyes behind glasses that were resting on the old mans, mumbling softly to himself.

Then she saw the file on his desk.

It was thin. Unmarked. Forgotten.

She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the paper with hesitation. Inside was a single letter-blank except for several red warning signs stamped across it, jagged and bold. No words. No actual explanation.

And then she saw it.

In the bottom corner, etched in ink, was a symbol.

A circle intersected by three sharp lines, forming a twisted triangle in its center. She had seen it before-hanging in Mr. Damian's office, carved into a plaque on his bookshelf.

Her stomach dropped.

That symbol didn't belong to her father. It belonged to her boss.

Her mind reeled. Why would something from Mr. Damian's office be hidden among her father's things? Why the red warnings? Why now?

He had never mentioned knowing her father before his demise?

What's happening

She needed answers.

Over the next few days, Maya became obsessed , insane maybe. She combed through the internet, trying to identify the symbol. Secret societies, cults, corporate emblems-nothing matched. She reached out to her former colleagues subtly, casually slipping the symbol into conversation. But no one recognized it. Or maybe they were pretending not to.

Then something else disappeared.

A newspaper clipping she had kept for years-an article about her father's supposed "accident." She remembered reading it over and over as a teenager, trying to make sense of how a man so careful could just vanish in a fire. But now, it was gone from her drawer.

Someone had been in her apartment.

That's when the pieces started falling into place.

Mr. Damian had always been curious about her father, too curious. He asked questions when no one else did. He hired her too quickly, watched her too closely. And now that she had left, now that she was asking questions-things were disappearing. Clues......Evidence....

And that voice. That voice she had heard a few nights ago when she had passed by the old SLAYTHEORY building. Damian's voice on the phone.

"She's getting too close. We need to stop her before she finds the rest."

He had been talking about her.

Maya couldn't breathe but she knew this wasn't the time to be a weakling

She needed help, but there was only one person left .

Just one link to Mr. Damian that he couldn't control.

Adrian.

Mr. Damian's estranged son. The black sheep. Rumors swirled about him .How he left the company, how he disappeared. Maya remembered his face faintly from a staff photo, remembered how out of place he looked among the polished corporate smiles.

She decided he was the only way in. Or out.

She picked her phone again,she had to find something

What exactly was she looking for? Something!

She found out where he hung out-a café known for its low lights and old jazz. She went once. Then again.....Then again.

And finally, one evening, as she sat by the window pretending to read a book, he looked up and caught her staring.

He didn't frown. He didn't seem startled.

He smiled, slow and knowing.

"It's you again," he said, walking over to her table, eyes sharp with curiosity.

Maya's heart skipped a beat.

She didn't know what she was walking into.

But she was ready to find out.