The subway rattled beneath the city streets, its fluorescent lights flickering above Caleb’s head. He sat in a corner seat, the blackened book resting on his lap. Around him, the train was filled with the usual late-night crowd—tired office workers, rowdy teenagers, and a woman with a sleeping toddler cradled against her chest.
He barely noticed any of it. His focus was on the book, on the symbols scrawled across its pages. They made his head ache, as if they were alive, twisting and reshaping themselves each time he glanced away. Caleb clenched his jaw, leaning his head back against the window.
A sharp screech as the train pulled into the next station made him wince. The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, but he didn’t look up until a faint voice tugged at the edge of his memory.
“Caleb,” his father had once said, his voice steady and calm, “Truth isn’t something that shouts. You have to learn to listen for it in the quiet. That’s where it’s hiding.”
The air had smelled like rust and rain that day. Ten-year-old Caleb stood on the edge of a construction site, his small hands clutching the chain-link fence. Beyond it, the machines loomed like steel giants, their claws tearing into the earth.
“Stay back, Caleb,” his father’s voice warned from behind him.
He turned to see the man striding toward him, his jacket flapping in the wind. Detective Marcus Strider was a commanding presence, with sharp eyes and a voice that left no room for argument. Caleb had always looked up to him, even when his sternness felt like too much.
“What’re they digging for?” Caleb asked.
His father knelt beside him, his tone softening. “Something they shouldn’t be.”The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Caleb frowned. “What do you mean?”
Marcus hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the site. For a moment, he looked… afraid.
“Sometimes, Caleb, people dig too deep,” he said finally. They find things that aren’t meant to be found. You remember that.”
Before Caleb could ask what he meant, a voice called out from behind them. Marcus stood, his expression snapping back to its usual intensity. He put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
“Go home, son. I’ll be back later.”
But he hadn’t come back.
The subway jolted to a stop, snapping Caleb out of memory. He blinked, disoriented, as the automated voice announced his station. Grabbing the book, he stepped onto the platform, the cold air biting at his skin as he made his way toward the exit.
The memory lingered as he climbed the steps to the street. It had been twenty years since his father disappeared, and he still didn’t know the full story. The official report said Marcus had been investigating a smuggling ring when he went missing, but Caleb had never believed it. His father had been obsessed with something—something bigger—and the way he’d spoken that day still haunted Caleb.
“Sometimes, people dig too deep.”
Caleb unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside, the silence wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. Tossing his coat onto a chair, he placed the book on the table. For a long moment, he just stared at it.
Finally, he grabbed a notebook and pen, sat down, and began copying the symbols. His hand moved almost on autopilot, sketching each intricate design with care. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the answer was there, hidden in the lines and curves of the markings.
Hours passed, and the city outside began to quit quiet. Caleb leaned back, rubbing his tired eyes. The notebook was filled with symbols now, and still, they made no sense.
Frustrated, he shoved the book aside and stood, pacing the room. He needed help. Someone who could make sense of this mess. But who?
His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone. Grabbing it off the table, he saw Jack’s name on the screen.
“Yeah?” Caleb answered.
“You sitting down?” Jack asked.
“What is it?”
“The lab finished running tests on that key. You’re not going to believe what they found.”