C35 The Vault Beneath

The letter's edges are already damp with sweat from my grip by the time I finally lower it, my hands still trembling as I pass it wordlessly to my father, the morning light doing nothing to soften the chill that single line has left settled deep in my chest.

He reads it once, twice, his expression shifting from confusion to something far more unsettled.

"Where did this come from," he demands