The manila envelope was on his doorstep when Oliver opened the door early that morning. No address. No markings. Just his name scrawled in neat block letters.
Inside was a USB drive and a single photograph.
The image made his stomach knot—a still frame from a surveillance camera showing Amanda sitting in the garden of the safehouse, speaking with someone whose face was conveniently obscured by a tree. The timestamp aligned with a day when only Ron and Damian had clearance to visit.
Beneath the photo was a note:
"You're not the only one she talks to."
Oliver didn't waste time. He shoved the photo and drive into his coat pocket and sped off.
⸻
Within the hour, he was standing in Damian's office, the envelope spread across the table as Ron looked on silently.
Oliver crossed his arms. "This was on my doorstep. Someone's trying to play with my head. But I thought you should see it."