Lena's hands trembled as she unfolded the letter she'd found wedged between the floorboards of her grandmother's attic. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded but still legible. It was dated three days before her grandmother died.

My dearest Lena,

If you're reading this, you've found the first clue. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person—they were watching too closely. The inheritance I left you isn't money. It's something far more valuable, and far more dangerous.

Trust no one. Not even family.

Start with the painting in the east parlor. Look behind the eyes.

All my love,
Nana

Lena's breath caught. The east parlor had been locked since the funeral. Her uncle claimed the key was lost, but now she wondered if that was a lie. She glanced at the window—a car she didn't recognize sat idling across the street, engine running.

How long had it been there?

She folded the letter carefully, tucking it into her jacket pocket. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

Stop searching. For your own safety.

Lena's jaw tightened. She'd never been good at taking orders.

The east parlor was two floors down. She moved quickly, quietly, her sneakers barely making a sound on the old wooden stairs. The house was empty—her uncle wouldn't be back until evening—but the weight of surveillance pressed against her shoulders like invisible hands.

At the parlor door, she knelt and examined the lock. Old brass, ornate. She pulled a hairpin from her pocket and began to work.

Click.

The door swung open, hinges groaning. Inside, dust motes danced in shafts of afternoon light. And there, on the far wall, hung the painting her grandmother had loved: a woman in Renaissance dress, eyes dark and knowing.

Lena approached slowly. Up close, the woman's gaze seemed to follow her. She ran her fingers along the frame's edge, feeling for anything unusual.

Nothing.

Look behind the eyes.

Lena leaned closer, studying the painted irises. Was there something... off? A slight discoloration, like the paint had been disturbed?

She pressed gently against the left eye.

The painting swung inward like a door.

Behind it, a wall safe gleamed in the shadows. And taped to its surface was a photograph: Lena's grandmother, years younger, standing beside a man Lena had never seen before. On the back, a single word in her grandmother's handwriting:

RUN.

The front door downstairs slammed open.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

#fiction #mystery #serialfiction #thriller