Page 86 of Betrayed By Sin

TWENTY-THREE

The past is alive in this house.

It lingers in the dust-covered bookshelves, in the ink of my father’s handwriting on forgotten pages, in the air that suddenly feelsthicker, like the house itself is holding onto secrets it refuses to let go of.

I feel it in the way Eleanor watches me. In the way Bria’s knee bounces under the table, her energy restless and uneasy.

This house, this supposedsafe house, was meant for us to find. “I don’t know where to start.”

Bria looks around, “If anything, this is a good space to figure things out.”

We don’t bother hiding our words from Eleanor, this woman has kept our secrets all of these years.

Eleanor reaches for a wooden box sitting on the far shelf. It’s old, the edges worn, the rusty latch refusing to open until she puts force into it.

Inside, there’s a smallflash drive.

I don’t breathe.

Ialready knowthis is about to destroy me.

Eleanor turns, holding it out to me. "This was left, I’ve never looked through anything in this house, it was never my business.”

My fingers tremble as I reach for it. The plastic iscool, smooth against my palm.

This is it.

The last message my father left behind.

I know deep in my bones, he will be on this.

Bria shifts beside me, her voice breaking the silence. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

Idon’t answer. Because suddenly, I don’t know if Icando this.

Seeing his oil painting tore me to shreds. Now, I’m about tohearhim. See him.

And I don’t know if I’m ready.

Eleanor moves to the desk, pulling out anold laptop. The kind that still has a disc drive, covered in a thin layer of dust. It whirs to life after she plugs it in, slow and glitchy, but finally, the screen flickers on.

I plug in the drive.

A single file appears.

PLAY ME.

Bria lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Your dad wasdramatic."

I shoot her a look. But deep down, I know she’s right.

I press PLAY.

The screen blinks, and my father’s face fills the screen.

Isuck in a breath so fast it hurts.

He looks… different than I imagined with movement.Kinder. More tired.His hair is graying at thetemples, his strong jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the camera like he’s making sure no one else is listening.