Gemotions

The package was small, rectangular, and utterly unremarkable, save for the name: "Seraphina Moreau," the woman who’d lived here before, a name that sent a chill down Elena’s spine. The postman had barely left before she’d snatched the package from the porch. She knew, somehow, that this wasn’t just a mistake.

She locked the door, drawing the curtains. The apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in. Her breathing grew shallow as she slid a fingernail under the tape. What was she expecting? A threat? A clue? A final, cryptic message?

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a photograph. A photograph of her, taken a month ago, standing outside her office building. She felt her heart leap into her throat, a frantic, desperate bird trapped in a cage. Her legs gave way, and she slumped onto the floor, the photograph falling from her numb fingers.