Chapter 30 - open flame
Six months later, the spring sun broke warm and bright over the green lawns of the estate. The ruined carriage house had been completely cleared away, replaced by a circular flower garden filled with white roses and lavender.
Nora and Chloe remained living at the estate. The house was no longer quiet or cold; the sound of Chloe's bright, ringing laughter echoed through the high-ceilinged hallways every afternoon as she played with her toys on the sunroom rug.
I sat in the library at my father's mahogany desk, reviewing the annual financial reports for the foundation we had established in Julian's name—a trust fund dedicated to protecting corporate whistleblowers and their families. The company was clean, the syndicate's assets had been seized, and Vance was currently serving a thirty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary.
It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon.
At four o'clock, the mail carrier arrived at the front gate, leaving a small, padded courier envelope on the porch table before driving away.
Nora brought the envelope into the library, setting it gently on my desk. There was no return address, no postage stamp, and no recipient name printed on the paper—only a single line written in dark blue ink across the front:
For the girl with the purse.
My fingers went cold as I picked up the envelope. I carefully tore open the top seam and turned the package upside down over the green felt blotter.
Sliding out onto the mahogany wood was a brand new, mirror-polished silver Zippo lighter.
It had no scratches, no scorch marks, and no serial numbers on the bottom. But engraved cleanly across the polished front casing was a small, perfect silhouette of a flying raven, holding a tiny key in its beak—the exact emblem Julian used to draw on the back of my school notebooks thirty years ago.
Tucked inside the steel lid was a small, hand-written white card containing four short words:
Keep the flame lit.
May you like
I stood up slowly and walked over to the tall bay window, looking out across the quiet lawn toward the green woods bordering the estate. The afternoon wind rustled gently through the pine trees, and for a split second, beneath the shadow of the old stone gatepost at the edge of the road, a tall figure in a dark coat appeared to be standing, watching the house.
I flipped open the silver cap. The sharp clack echoed through the silent library as I spun the flint wheel, watching the small, yellow flame leap to life in my palm as the spring breeze blew gently through the open doorway.
