Whispers in the storm

Eleanor landed hard on the balcony of the floor below, the impact sending pain shooting up her legs. She scrambled to her feet, adrenaline propelling her forward as she darted through the open door into an empty apartment.

Behind her, she could hear the men shouting, their footsteps pounding above her. She ran through the apartment, out into the hallway, and toward the nearest exit.

The fire escape led her down into a narrow alley, where she pressed herself against the wall, struggling to catch her breath.

Her mind raced. The notebook—Richard still had it. If they got to him, everything would be lost.

She had to go back.

Eleanor made her way back to the hotel, slipping through the shadows like a ghost. Her every nerve was on edge, her senses heightened by fear.

She entered through the service door, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached Richard's floor. The hallway was eerily quiet, the door to his suite left ajar.

Inside, the scene was chaos. Furniture was overturned, papers scattered everywhere. Richard lay slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him.

Eleanor ran to him, tears streaming down her face. "Richard!"

He opened his eyes weakly, his voice barely a whisper. "They… they took it. You have to stop them."

"Who?" she asked desperately. "Where did they go?"

He struggled to speak, but his words were cut short as his body went limp.

Eleanor felt a surge of anger and grief. She rose to her feet, her jaw set with determination. She wasn't going to let this end here.