The letter felt heavier than paper should. Her hands trembled as she unfolded it, the silence of the station pressing against her ears.
"By the time you read this, everything you believed will begin to fall apart."
She stopped breathing for a second.
It was Arin's handwriting. The same sharp curves, the same slight tilt. But that was impossible. Arin had disappeared a year ago without a trace. No calls. No messages. Nothing.
Her eyes scanned the next lines."I didn't leave you. I was taken. And the truth is closer than you think."
A cold wave ran down her spine. Taken? By whom?
The station announcement suddenly echoed louder than before, making her flinch. She folded the letter halfway, debating whether to read further. But curiosity—and fear—glued her eyes back to the page.
"Locker 27 wasn't the secret. It was the warning."
Her pulse pounded harder. Warning about what?
She quickly looked inside the locker again. Beneath the letter, there was a small silver key taped to the back wall. She hadn't noticed it before. Her fingers carefully peeled it off.There was a number engraved on it: 13.
Thirteen. The same number from the last message Arin ever sent her. "Trust no one. 13."
Her mind began connecting fragments she had tried to forget. The strange car parked outside her house last winter. The unknown number that called and hung up. The feeling of being watched.
Had it all started earlier than she thought?
She refocused on the letter.
"If you're reading this, they're still watching. Don't react. Don't panic. Go to the old bridge at midnight. Bring the key. Come alone."
Her throat went dry.The old bridge. The one outside the city where they used to meet during college days. The place where Arin had first told her he loved her.
Was this a trap? Or a rescue?
A sudden realization struck her—if Arin had been taken, how did he leave this letter? And why today? On her birthday?
Footsteps echoed behind her.
She turned sharply.
A man in a dark coat stood at the end of the corridor, pretending to check his phone. But his eyes—she was sure—had been on her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"They're still watching."
The words burned inside her headShe forced herself to act normal. Slowly, she folded the letter and slipped it into her bag along with the key. Without looking back again, she walked toward the exit.
The cold evening air hit her face as she stepped outside Central Station. She didn't know whom to trust anymore. Not the police. Not her friends. Maybe not even her own memories.
But one thing was certain.
Tonight at midnight, she would go to the old bridge.
And whatever waited there—
Would finally reveal the truth.