They all stood now, their eyes fixed on the small wooden box Jacob had placed on the desk. Curiosity flickered across their faces as they slowly began moving toward him.

Kyra tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "What's in it?"

"That's the thing—it's locked," Jacob said, placing it on the desk. "I've been trying to figure it out, but so far, no luck."

Ryan leaned over, studying the box with mild amusement. "You dragged us all here for a locked box?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Jacob shot him a look. "I didn't drag you. I invited you."

Kyra rolled her eyes, stepping closer to inspect the box. "There's a combination lock. That's it?"

Lena's gaze lingered on the numbers etched into the lock. "Your dad must've set the password to something meaningful to him," she said, her tone thoughtful.

Ryan snorted. "How do you know that?"

Kyra tapped his shoulder with mock annoyance. "Because it's common sense, genius. Everyone picks something personal for their passwords. Try your birthday, Jacob."

Jacob nodded and quickly entered the digits, but the lock didn't budge.

Lena crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "What about his favorite artist? Didn’t you say he was obsessed with Miles Carter’s music?"

Jacob’s face lit up with realization. "You’re right. He was a massive Miles Carter fan."

He quickly entered a set of numbers—the release year of Carter's most iconic album, but the box remained firmly shut.

The group took turns guessing—important dates, family milestones, even random combinations—but nothing worked.

Finally, Lena snapped her fingers. "Wait a second. You forgot the most obvious one. Try your mom's birthday."

Jacob blinked, realization dawning on his face. "Oh, right! My bad." He entered the numbers, and with a satisfying click, the lock released.

The group let out a collective gasp of excitement as Jacob opened the box. Inside were a few neatly arranged items—a folded letter, a couple of photographs, and a thick, weathered diary.

Lena's eyes immediately locked onto the diary. Its cover was striking, embossed with a silver tree whose branches twisted and curled like streams of smoke. The words The Silent Chronicle were engraved in elegant, shimmering letters that seemed to shift subtly in the light.

Kyra leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "Why would Uncle Richard keep a diary in here?"

Jacob shrugged, picking up one of the photographs, but Lena's attention remained on the diary. She carefully picked it up, running her fingers over the intricate design.

"What's so special about this thing?" Ryan asked, watching Lena's fascination with the book.

"I don't know," Lena murmured, flipping it open. The pages were blank.

Kyra frowned, leaning closer. "It's empty? That doesn't make sense. Why would your dad lock away a blank diary?"

Jacob scratched the back of his head, clearly just as puzzled. "No idea. Maybe it's some kind of keepsake?"

Lena placed the diary back on the table, her fingers lingering on its cover for a moment before pulling away. The group’s attention shifted back to the box, their curiosity piqued by the other contents inside. There were a few more items—a strange metal key, a coin engraved with unfamiliar symbols, and what looked like a fragment of an old map. Each piece seemed significant, yet none of them could make sense of it.

Ryan picked up the coin, turning it over in his hand before letting out a low chuckle. "So... I think your dad had some kind of obsession with collecting weird stuff."

Jacob gave him a flat look. "Really helpful, Ryan. Thanks."

Despite his sarcasm, no one disagreed. The box seemed to hold more questions than answers, and the group could only wonder what secrets Jacob’s dad had left behind.

Kyra sighed, brushing her hands off. "Okay, so far, it just looks like your dad's personal stuff," she said with a small shrug. "I think it’s time we head out."

She glanced at Ryan, who nodded in agreement. Lena glanced at the diary one last time before picking it up and clutching it in her hands. The group started walking downstairs, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house.

When they reached the entrance, Kyra and Ryan turned toward Lena and Jacob. "So, I guess we should leave now," Ryan said with a grin. "But hey, since we're living here now, we'll be seeing each other often."

Kyra smiled and hugged Lena, then Jacob. Ryan followed, giving each of them a quick, friendly squeeze. "Take care," he said before they both stepped out into the night.

After closing the door, Lena turned to Jacob, holding up the diary. "If you don’t mind, can I take this with me?"

Jacob looked at her, raising a brow. "What would you even do with it? It’s completely blank."

She smiled faintly, shrugging. "Just... want to look through it. That’s all."

He hesitated for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. "Sure, take it. Honestly, it’s no use to me anyway."

Lena slipped the diary into her bag, securing it carefully. Jacob walked her to the car, standing by as she opened the door. She turned back and hugged him tightly. "Goodnight, Jacob. I’ll see you soon," she said warmly.

"Goodnight, Lena," he replied, a soft smile on his face. Their bond as siblings shone in the quiet moment before she stepped into her car.

Placing the bag on the passenger seat, Lena waved to Jacob one last time before driving off into the night. The streetlights cast fleeting patterns across the dashboard, but her thoughts were anchored to the diary resting beside her, its enigmatic presence pulling her toward a mystery she couldn’t yet grasp.

Lena pulled into the driveway of her home in New Avalon, a quaint townhouse nestled along the quiet stretch of Alderstone Avenue. The streetlights outside cast a warm glow, highlighting the small, neatly trimmed hedges lining the walkway to her front door.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the keys and unlocked the door. The soft creak of the hinges echoed in the stillness as she slipped inside. The interior was simple yet warm—soft earth-toned walls, a snug gray couch in the living room, and bookshelves filled with novels, articles, and keepsakes. The kitchen, with its clean white countertops and stainless steel appliances, opened to a tiny dining nook where an unfinished cup of coffee still sat from earlier.

Lena sighed, dropping her bag on the entryway bench. She removed her coat and hung it on the rack before heading upstairs. The narrow staircase creaked under her weight, each step taking her closer to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Upstairs, her bedroom was modest, painted in soothing blue hues, with a neatly made bed, a few framed photos of her parents and Uncle Richard adorned the dresser, alongside a stack of books she had meant to read but never found the time. It was a quiet, peaceful refuge—perfect for a reflective night after a long day.

After a quick shower, she changed into her pajamas and settled into her nightly routine—checking emails on her phone, skimming through her to-do list, and glancing at a stack of articles she’d yet to finish. But her thoughts kept drifting back to the diary.

With a soft sigh, she turned off the light and lay down, staring at the faintly glowing stars she had once stuck to her ceiling as a teenager. Tomorrow promised a chance to do something meaningful again. She would meet the Revenant, Valerie had told her about and see if he could provide the information she needed.

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If she uncovered something unusual, something worth writing about, it could be the break her fractured journalist career desperately needed. A spark of hope flickered in her chest as she closed her eyes, letting sleep take her, the weight of the diary still lingering in her thoughts.

The next morning, Lena was running late. She hurried through her routine, hastily preparing a slice of toast and a cup of coffee for breakfast. As she took a quick bite, her phone rang, the screen lighting up with the name Chief Editor.

Answering it, she balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder while quickly finishing her toast and setting down her coffee. After a brief moment of panic, she rushed to grab her bag from the chair where she'd left it the previous night.

"Are you going to meet that Revenant today?" Valerie's sharp, no-nonsense tone came through.

"Yes," Lena replied, slinging the bag over her shoulder and glancing at the clock.

"You should take someone from the media house with you," Valerie suggested.

"No need. I’ll handle it," Lena said, her voice calm but resolute.

Valerie sighed on the other end. "Just be careful. Don’t get yourself killed trying to talk to him."

Lena smirked, unlocking the front door. "Yes, boss," she said with a playful lilt before hanging up.

Sliding the bag into the passenger seat, Lena started her car and pulled out onto the road. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts and the day ahead that she didn’t notice the diary still tucked inside her bag—a silent passenger on her journey to uncover the truth.

Navigating the maze of the Undercity wasn’t easy. The dimly lit streets, filled with graffiti-covered walls and shadowy figures, were a stark contrast to the polished facades of New Avalon’s upper districts. Lena walked briskly, her side bag slung over her shoulder, its weight a constant reminder of her mission. She approached shopkeepers, street vendors, and even a few wary passersby, showing them the scribbled address she’d managed to obtain from a source. Most people averted their eyes or waved her away, clearly unwilling to help.

Hours passed, and frustration mounted, but she refused to give up. The strap of her bag dug into her shoulder, but she barely noticed as she moved from one person to the next, determined to find the Revenant. Finally, a scruffy boy, no older than twelve, gestured her toward a crumbling building at the end of a narrow alley. “You’ll find him there,” he said, before darting off without another word.

The building was foreboding, with broken windows and a rusted metal door that bore the scars of age and violence. As Lena approached, her heart pounded, but she steeled herself. She knocked, and the door creaked open slightly, revealing a burly man with a scar running down his cheek.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“I need to speak to the Revenant,” Lena said, her voice steady despite the unease prickling her skin.

The man narrowed his eyes. “Turn around and leave. Now.”

“I can’t do that,” she replied firmly.

Without another word, the man shoved the door closed. Undeterred, Lena circled the building, looking for another way in. Spotting an open window on the second floor, she climbed onto a dumpster and hoisted herself up, slipping inside.

As she hauled herself through the window frame, the edge of a jagged metal shard scraped against her finger. A sharp sting shot through her hand, and she glanced down to see a thin line of blood pooling on her skin. She grimaced but quickly wiped it on her sleeve, shaking off the pain. She couldn’t let something as trivial as a cut stop her now.

The room she entered was dark and cluttered, filled with old furniture and scattered papers. She moved cautiously, trying to stay silent, but her foot hit a metal can, sending it clattering across the floor.

“Who’s there?” a voice barked, and within moments, two men burst into the room. They grabbed her arms roughly, dragging her down a dim hallway toward what appeared to be a central chamber.

“Who do you think you are, sneaking in here?” one of them snarled, pinning her against a wall.

“Let me go! I just want to talk to him!” Lena protested, struggling against their grip.

The men didn’t listen. One of them pulled a knife, his expression cold and unyielding. Just as he stepped closer, a deep, commanding voice echoed through the room.

“Stop.”

The men froze instantly, releasing Lena as they turned toward the source of the voice.

Lena looked up, her breath catching in her throat. A man stepped forward from the shadows, his presence radiating authority. He was tall and lean, with sharp features and piercing silver eyes that seemed to see right through her. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a long black coat over a simple but elegant shirt and trousers. A faint scar ran across his left eyebrow, adding a touch of menace to his otherwise refined appearance.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” the man asked, his voice calm but edged with danger.

Lena straightened, meeting his gaze. “I’m Lena Carter, a journalist. I came here to speak with you—about the Revenant and his role in the Undercity.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Did someone send you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m here on my own. I just want to understand your world, to tell your story.”

The man chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “You think you can waltz into my territory and demand answers?”

“I’m not demanding anything,” Lena replied. “I’m just trying to shed light on the truth.”

His expression hardened. “Truth? The truth isn’t something you can handle, little journalist.”

Lena took a step forward, her determination unwavering. “Try me.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider her, but then his gaze shifted to his men. “Get her out of here.”

“What?” Lena exclaimed as the men grabbed her again.

“Consider this your only warning,” the man said, his tone final. “Come back here, and you won’t leave alive.”

The men dragged her toward the exit, shoving her outside into the cold, damp alley. Lena stumbled but caught herself, glaring back at the closed door.

She leaned against the cold brick wall of the alley, her chest heaving with frustration. The entire day had been exhausting—hours spent combing the Undercity for leads, dodging suspicion, and finally confronting the Revenant, only to be dismissed without a second thought. Her hands clenched into fists, and a wave of helpless anger surged through her.

“All of that… for nothing,” she muttered bitterly.

She glanced down at her hand and noticed the steady trickle of blood still seeping from the cut on her finger. With a sigh, she rummaged through her bag, her fingers brushing against the edge of the diary as she pulled out a handkerchief. She didn’t notice the slight smear of blood left behind on its worn leather cover as she quickly wrapped the handkerchief around her finger.

Her mind churned as she walked back to her car. Anger at the Revenant burned alongside a deep sense of failure. “He didn’t even give me five minutes to explain,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she tossed her bag onto the passenger side. The diary shifted slightly, but she paid it no mind, too caught up in her whirlwind of emotions. Her thoughts raced as she started the car and navigated the winding streets back to her home

By the time she parked in front of her apartment building, the city was cloaked in darkness, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Lena grabbed her bag, her movements tired and mechanical, and made her way up the stairs to her door. The key turned in the lock with a familiar click, and she slipped inside, letting the door shut behind her with a dull thud.

After a moment, she forced herself to her feet and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to clear her head.

The sting in her finger brought her attention back to the makeshift bandage. Carefully unwrapping it, she examined the cut—it wasn’t deep, but it still throbbed slightly. She cleaned it up properly and applied a fresh bandage before returning to the living room.

Her bag caught her eye, slumped on the table. Something about it nagged at her, but she couldn’t quite place what. Shrugging it off, she decided to leave unpacking for later.

Collapsing into bed, Lena stared at the ceiling, her mind still replaying the events of the day. Thoughts of the Revenant, his cold dismissal, and the menacing aura of his world filled her mind. “I’ll figure this out,” she whispered, as if trying to convince herself.

Unbeknownst to her, the diary in her bag sat quietly, the single drop of her blood slowly absorbing into its surface. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer danced across the leather cover before fading into nothingness.

Sometime past midnight, she jolted awake, her throat dry and her mind still groggy. She sat up, glancing at the clock on her nightstand—it was 2:43 a.m. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen.

The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound as she poured herself a glass of water. She leaned against the counter, taking slow sips, letting the cool liquid soothe her dry throat. As she turned to head back upstairs, her gaze landed on her bag, still sitting on the table near the entrance.

The diary’s edge peeked out, its worn leather cover catching the faint light filtering in from the streetlamp outside. A memory surfaced—Jacob's words about the diary being completely blank. She realized she had forgotten about it entirely in her frustration.

Curiosity flickered in her tired mind. Setting the empty glass on the counter, she walked over to the bag and pulled the diary out. It felt heavier in her hands than she remembered, and a strange, almost warm sensation lingered on its cover.

Sitting on the couch, she flipped it open, fully expecting to see the same blank pages she had seen at Jacob's house.

Instead, she froze.

The first few pages were now filled with writing—intricate, looping script that seemed both familiar and alien. Her breath caught in her throat as she flipped through the pages, each one covered in text that hadn’t been there before. The handwriting was elegant but uneven, as if written hastily in moments of urgency or fear.

“How is this possible?” Lena whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet of her home.

Her mind raced. She distinctly remembered flipping through the diary at Jacob’s place, finding it completely empty. And yet, here it was—filled with words, stories, or perhaps something else entirely.

Her fingers trembled as she turned back to the first page, her eyes scanning the opening lines:

"To the one who finds this, my name is Victor Kane. If you are reading this, it means my time has run out, and the truth must be told. But beware, for knowledge has its price."

A chill ran down Lena’s spine as she read the name. She had heard it before, whispered in rumors, spoken with fear and reverence. Victor Kane.

As she closed the diary abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest, she felt a presence lurking in the shadows. A figure stood quietly, watching her with a smirk, their features obscured by darkness. Lena had no idea she was not alone in the room. What had she stumbled upon? What truth was this diary trying to reveal? And why now, after all this time?