Chapter 53: The Key and the Cut

The envelope felt heavier than it should have. Not because of the paper—that was thin, almost fragile, the kind of paper that had been sitting in a drawer for decades before someone had thought to write on it. No, the weight came from the words. The address. The name. The shape of the thing that had been waiting, buried under a city of glass and greed, for someone to come and dig it up.