Ava sat at the kitchen table, her fingers curled tightly around a chipped porcelain mug. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner. Outside, the city continued its eternal rhythm—horns, footsteps, voices—but inside, everything felt suspended. A silence so thick, it could be mistaken for snow.
She stared at the cassette on the table. The word "Cassandra" had faded further since last night, as if the name itself resisted being remembered. The edges of the tape were worn, frayed like an old memory.
Across the table, Caroline leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Her dark hair was tied in a messy bun, and concern creased her features.
"So, this is what Ben left you?"
Ava nodded. "This... and a warning."
"And the person who broke into the townhouse—did you see them?"
"No. Just footsteps. Upstairs. I ran."
Caroline exhaled through her nose. "You're lucky."
Ava picked up the cassette and turned it over in her hands. "Do you still have that old recorder from Columbia? The one you used for interviews?"
Caroline nodded slowly. "It should be in the storage closet. I'll look."
As Caroline disappeared down the hall, Ava remained still. Her thoughts spun, looping around that single word: Cassandra. Why had Ben circled it? Why a cassette? Why now?
She had trusted Ben with everything once. And then he'd vanished, leaving behind a funeral and a gaping wound in her heart. Now, he reappeared as if nothing had happened, whispering warnings and slipping clues into her coat pocket.
Caroline returned, holding a small gray box. She set it on the table and flipped it open. The cassette player looked ancient, its buttons slightly rusted.
"Batteries?"
"I think it still works."
Caroline inserted the tape. The machine whirred for a moment, then clicked. Static filled the room. Ava held her breath.
A woman's voice emerged—crackly, distorted.
"March 17. 2:13 AM. This is Cassandra N. Recording from safehouse #3 in Tribeca. If you're hearing this, then I've already failed."
Ava looked at Caroline.
"Who is she?" Caroline whispered.
The voice continued, hurried now. "They've breached the second level. Dr. Malcolm is dead. They know about Project Echo. I repeat: Echo is compromised."
Caroline sat down across from Ava, her eyes wide.
"If this reaches you... find the relay. It's buried beneath the old Franklin Station. Ben knows the rest. Don't trust 'the choir.' They're everywhere."
Static. Then silence.
Ava hit stop. The air felt colder now.
"What the hell is Project Echo?" Caroline asked.
Ava shook her head. "I don't know. But this isn't just about Ben. This is bigger. Much bigger."
She looked out the window. The clouds were gathering again.
"We need to go to Franklin Street."
---
The subway station had been shut down since 2001. Franklin Street was dark, overgrown with vines and graffiti. The entrance was chained, a rusted sign dangling on a single bolt.
"Are you sure about this?" Caroline asked, holding a flashlight.
"Ben led me here. Cassandra confirmed it. This is the relay."
They cut the chain and descended the steps. Dust billowed with every footstep. The air grew damp and heavy.
Ava felt the map in her jacket pocket—the same hand-drawn one Ben left her. The red circle was marked beside a platform.
When they reached the underground platform, Caroline swept the light across the floor. Rats scattered into the shadows.
Ava knelt near an old maintenance hatch.
"Here."
They pried it open. A ladder led down into blackness.
Caroline hesitated. "You better be right."
Ava began the descent.
At the bottom, they found a narrow corridor. Wires lined the ceiling. Panels blinked with dim red lights. Ahead, a steel door stood half-open.
Inside was a room full of outdated servers, humming softly.
In the center of the room was a small pedestal. On it sat a folder.
"Project Echo," Ava read aloud.
She opened it.
Photographs. Maps. Lists of names.
One of them was Ben's.
"He was involved," Ava whispered. "Not just a victim. A player."
Caroline picked up a page. "These names… some of them are politicians. Journalists. Scientists. This is a hit list."
Ava found a picture of a woman—Cassandra. Her ID badge read: Department of Strategic Signal Intelligence. A branch of the U.S. government that didn't exist publicly.
"What was he doing with these people?"
Footsteps. Behind them.
They turned.
A man in a black coat stood in the doorway.
He raised a gun. "You shouldn't have come here."
---