Caleb stared at the woman in his doorway. The hallway’s dim light flickered, throwing fleeting shadows across her face. She had the kind of piercing green eyes that didn’t flinch, even under scrutiny, and a posture that spoke of confidence—or desperation.


    “My name’s Evelyn,” she repeated, her voice low but steady. “And if you want to stay alive, you’ll let me in.”


    Caleb didn’t move. His hand remained on the edge of the door, his instincts kicking in. Something about her tone set his nerves on edge—not fear, exactly, but an awareness that this woman wasn’t telling him everything.


    “How do you know my name?” he asked, his voice calm but sharp.


    Evelyn exhaled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Up close, Caleb noticed a faint scar tracing her jawline, subtle but distinct, like a reminder of something she’d tried to forget.


    “I’ve been following your case,” she said. The murders. The keys. The symbols. I know more about what’s going on than you do.”


    “Right,” Caleb said, his tone flat. “And you just decided to show up at my apartment in the middle of the night out of the goodness of your heart?”


    Evelyn’s jaw tightened, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I didn’t come here to argue. If you’re half the detective people say you are, you’ve already figured out this case is bigger than what’s on the surface. I can help you understand what you’re dealing with.”


    Caleb didn’t respond. He studied her closely—the set of her shoulders, the slight tremble in her fingers, the way her eyes darted toward the book sitting on his table. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling the whole truth, either.


    “How do I know you’re not part of it?” he asked.


    Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “If I were, you’d already be dead.”


    It wasn’t the kind of answer that put him at ease, but there was a sharpness in her voice that made him think she wasn’t bluffing. Caleb hesitated, then stepped back slightly, leaving the door open just enough to keep the chain in place.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    “Five minutes,” he said.


    “That’s all I need,” Evelyn replied.


    She stepped inside as far as the chain would allow, her gaze immediately locking onto the blackened book on the table. Caleb followed her line of sight, his own unease growing.


    “You seem really interested in that book,” he said. “Care to explain why?”


    Evelyn turned back to him, her expression hard to read. “Because it’s the reason people are dying.”


    Caleb’s stomach tightened, but he didn’t let it show. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”


    Evelyn crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe. Her jacket shifted, revealing a flash of something metallic—a knife, maybe, tucked into her belt. Caleb made a mental note of it, though he kept his expression neutral.


    “You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you?” she asked. The Vault. The legends. " The idea that somewhere out there is knowledge so dangerous it’s been buried for centuries.”


    “Yeah, I’ve heard the stories,” Caleb said, his tone skeptical. “They’re called conspiracy theories.”


    “They’re not theories,” Evelyn snapped. They’re real. And this book is part of it.”


    Caleb tilted his head, his arms crossed. “Let’s say I believe you for a second. What do you want from me?”


    “I want to help you,” Evelyn said. “I know more about the Vault than you think, and I know how dangerous the Keepers are.”


    “The Keepers?” Caleb echoed.


    “They’re the ones behind the murders,” Evelyn said, her voice softening slightly. They’ll kill anyone who gets too close to the truth. And right now, you’re on their radar.”


    Caleb let her words hang in the air for a moment, watching her carefully. There was conviction in her voice, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t playing him.


    “You sound like someone who’s been running from them for a while,” he said.


    Evelyn’s expression flickered—just for a second—but it was enough. Caleb leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual but his mind racing.


    “What’s your angle?” he asked.


    Evelyn’s gaze hardened. “My angle is staying alive. Same as you.”


    Caleb didn’t respond immediately. He glanced at the book, then back at her. “If everything you’re saying is true, why come to me? Why not go to the cops, or someone who’s actually trained to deal with this kind of thing?”


    Evelyn let out a bitter laugh. “The cops? They wouldn’t last five minutes against the Keepers. You’ve already figured out more than they ever will. That’s why I’m here.”


    Caleb’s jaw tightened. She was flattering him, but it wasn’t working—not yet.


    “Let me guess,” he said. “You have all the answers, but you can’t tell me everything yet. Is that how this works?”


    Evelyn sighed, the exhaustion in her face becoming more apparent. “I can’t force you to trust me, Detective. But if you want to make it through this alive, you’re going to need me.”


    Caleb hesitated, the weight of her words settling over him. He didn’t trust her—not completely—but something about her story felt too real to ignore.


    “Alright,” he said finally. “Start talking. And don’t leave anything out.”