Chapter 20
Bruce sat alone at his desk, the first light of morning creeping through the curtains. He had not gone to bed. The study was littered with remnants of his search—drawers pulled open, folders stacked haphazardly, yellowing papers spread across the surface like pieces of a puzzle he could not fit together.
In the center lay a worn envelope, its edges soft with time. Inside were letters he had not touched in years, Ella’s handwriting looping across the page in strokes that carried her voice more clearly than memory could.
Do not forget that the truth always surfaces, Bruce.
He read the line again and again, though it had meant little to him when she first wrote it. Now it pulsed with meaning he could not ignore. His fingers traced the ink, searching for hidden codes, signs he h
