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“You’re right,” Theodore agreed. “We must act quickly.”
“Friday,” Nicole proposed. “Friday, I’ll host a private viewing at the gallery. It will allow us to observe Christopher—I’ll invite him personally—and perhaps we’ll hear something.”
“We can’t reveal our hand too soon. We have to have unarguable proof.” Theodore’s hand found hers.
“Caution is my middle name,” she replied.
“Then until tomorrow,” he said.
“Until tomorrow,” she echoed.
“ANYTHING?” THEODORE’S voice was low as he watched her go through a pile of envelopes.
“Nothing but invitations and thank you notes.” Nicole felt her frustration mounting. “It’s as if...”
A sudden rustle of paper drew their attention to the far corner of the room. A single envelope had slipped from a pile, unnoticed until now. It bore no seal, no mark—just a plain, unassuming surface.
“Here,” Nicole said, her heart skipping a beat. She carefully opened the envelope, withdrawing the single sheet within.
The message was brief—a mere few lines scrawled in a hasty hand:
“Meet at the stroke of midnight, where history sleeps and secrets keep.”
“Could this be it?” Her voice quivered with a cocktail of hope and trepidation.
“Perhaps,” Theodore mused, his brow furrowed. “But it’s too vague. ‘Where history sleeps’ could be any number of places in this city steeped in the past.”
“Then we must consider ‘secrets keep.’” Nicole’s mind raced, her thoughts spinning. Could it refer to the royal archives? Or somewhere more clandestine?
“Let us not rush to action,” Theodore cautioned, laying a hand on her arm. “This could very well be a trap laid by Christopher to ensnare us.”
They were so close, yet the fear of a misstep loomed over them like a specter, threatening to undo all they had worked for.
“Then we’ll set our own trap,” Nicole said with newfound resolve. “We’ll watch and wait. If Christopher appears, we follow. If not, we’ve lost nothing.”
“Agreed.” Theodore stepped back, allowing her the space to think. His trust in her was a balm to the sting of uncertainty.
They spent the remaining hours before midnight in silence, each lost in their thoughts.
When the time came, Nicole and Theodore took their positions, hidden in the shadows of the grand hallway that led to the archives. Their breaths were shallow, their bodies taut with anticipation.
And then, the unexpected occurred.
“Nicole!” Theodore’s grip on her arm was sudden and firm. “Look.”
At the end of the corridor, a figure emerged—a man they both recognized, but not Christopher. It was the older gentleman who frequented Nicole’s gallery.
“Is he...?” Nicole’s question hung in the air, unfinished.
“An assassin? An ally?” Theodore’s words were laced with disbelief. “Or something else entirely?”
“Go get it,” Theodore said.
Nicole darted forward, her hands shaking as she retrieved the package. Inside, they found not a message, but an object—a tiny, intricately carved chess piece in the shape of a bishop.
“Christopher’s playing games,” Nicole murmured, a chill running down her spine.
“Or sending a warning,” Theodore added grimly.
