The safehouse was quiet. It was the kind of quiet that only existed between missions. The calm before the storm. The breath held before the dive. Sophie walked through the hallway. Her footsteps were silent on the wood. She was looking for a map. Isaac had left a printed route on the table. She needed to verify the coordinates.
The common room was empty. The lights were dim. A single lamp burned on the desk in the corner. She walked toward the desk. The map was not there. But something else was. A notebook. Black leather. Worn at the edges. It lay open. The pages were flat. The spine was cracked from use.
Sophie stopped. She knew what it was. Dante had mentioned it once. Vaguely. In passing. Just notes, he had said. She should have walked away. She should have left it untouched. Privacy was a boundary she respected. But her hand moved before her mind could stop it. She reached out. Her fingers brushed the paper. It was rough. Textured. She looked down.
