Weeks after the dust settled, a letter arrived at my motel room. The envelope was weathered, the postmark smudged but legible: Portsmouth, England.
I opened it with trembling hands, pulling out a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was familiar, sharp and precise.
*"Ellie,
The tide takes, but it also gives back. You've done well, but the Circle's roots run deeper than you know. The ruby is not the only key. There are others, scattered across the world, each holding a piece of the truth.
I've gone to find them. If you're brave enough—if you're ready—meet me in Portsmouth. But be warned: the shadows are watching.
Trust no one.
Evelyn"*
I stared at the letter, my heart pounding. The ruby, now locked in a safe, seemed to hum faintly, as if calling to me.
The tide never rests.
And neither do I.