Miranda sat at her desk, her fingers tapping a rhythmic staccato against the polished wood as she perused a stack of files, her attention sharp and focused.
The soft knock on her office door broke the silence, and she looked up as her secretary entered, bearing an envelope with Miranda's name scrawled across the front.
"This was delivered to your office, ma'am." The secretary said, her tone respectful and efficient.
"Thank you." Miranda replied, her eyes fixed on the envelope as her hand reached out to accept it.
Her fingers deftly parted the envelope's seal, her gaze sweeping across the contents within: a series of pictures, each frozen moment a puzzle piece in the game she and Dahlia were playing.
And then, she saw him. Anton Miller, his blond hair a halo of light in the photographs, a haunting image that clicked into place in Miranda's mind.
