“I’m not leaving,” I snapped, tears burning hot and furious. “They already took Clara. They don’t get to take my life too.”
Agent Hale leaned closer, her voice a wire of urgency.
“Then help us. But you must follow our protocol. And you must prepare yourself. We recovered a recording Clara made the day before she died.”
My soul twisted inward.
“What recording?”
Agent Hale lifted a USB drive.
“We haven’t opened it yet. We believed you deserved to hear it first.”
My fingers trembled as I took it, feeling as though I held Clara’s last breath in my palm.
“We listen,” I whispered.
“Not here,” Hale replied. “Somewhere secure.”
And so grief led me out the back door of the building and into a world where sorrow had claws and secrets had teeth.
The Recording That Was Never Supposed to Be Heard
Hours later, in a secured government room that hummed with quiet machinery and hidden fear, they pressed play.
Clara’s voice filled the room.
She sounded frightened… and brave… and heartbreakingly alive.
“Mom,” she began, voice shaky but determined, “if you ever hear this, something happened to me and it wasn’t an accident…”
I clutched the table.
She continued.