Behind the Mill
Cold wind whipped the pine needles as the cabin door creaked shut behind us.
Noah’s breath came in ragged bursts, his wheelchair rolled aside and clattered against the floorboards.
Vanessa, still trembling from the river, clutched my hand and whispered, “Elena, is this really safe?”
I squeezed back, feeling the damp cut of the night on my skin, the metallic taste of fear still on my tongue.
Noah pulled a battered leather satchel from his coat and set it on the rough table.
“You need to see this before they find us,” he said, voice low, eyes darting to the windows.
He opened the satchel and slid a thick folder across to me, the edges torn and stained with water.
My fingers brushed the glossy cover, the title flashing in bold: Project Evergreen – Adrian Kline.
“All the lies,” I muttered, heart pounding as I lifted the
