“We have to go. Now.” Magda’s words were a whip crack in the echoing exhibition hall. Danuta didn't wait for a second invitation. The scrape of Magda’s chair was still reverberating as Danuta launched herself forward, her mind racing. The quiet hum of the gallery’s climate control now sounded like the low thrum of a predator’s approach. Ewa wasn’t just watching; she was moving, her invisible claws already extending. Magda grabbed Danuta’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Back exit, follow my lead. Don’t speak. Don’t look back.” They moved with a practiced urgency Danuta didn't know she possessed. Through a service door, down a narrow, utilitarian corridor that smelled of cleaning solvents, and out into the cool, damp Warsaw night. A sleek, unmarked sedan was waiting, engine idling, its dark windows reflecting the city lights like unblinking eyes. Magda shoved Danuta into the back seat before sliding in herself, barking an address at the driver, who accelerated away from the curb with a smooth, silent efficiency. Danuta sank her back against the leather, ribs aching as air dragged into her lungs. The adrenaline hummed in her veins, a stark counterpoint to the quiet terror that had settled deep in her core. Ewa Nowak was not just a cunning businesswoman; she was a hunter, and Danuta had just been glimpsed in her sights. The Gilded Perch wasn't just a gilded cage; it was a snare, tightening with every move Danuta made. They drove in silence, Magda on her phone, her expression unreadable. Danuta stared out at the passing streetlights, each flash illuminating a fragment of her chaotic thoughts. Tymon. The plan. The lark’s song. Her past self’s instructions were a fragile lifeline in this swirling current of danger. When she finally returned to The Gilded Perch, dropped off by Magda’s driver a few blocks away to avoid suspicion, the sprawling mansion felt less like a home and more like a tomb. Tymon was waiting in their suite, a worried frown etched on his face. He rushed to her, his gentle hands immediately checking her over. “Danuta? Are you alright? I received a garbled message from Magda – she said there was trouble. You were gone for so long.” His voice was laced with genuine concern, a stark contrast to the cold calculation that permeated the rest of the estate. Danuta clung to his touch, the warmth of his presence a momentary balm. “I’m fine, Tymon. But Ewa is moving faster than we thought. She knows. Or at least, she suspects enough to send her hounds.” She recounted the hurried escape from the exhibition, her voice low and urgent. “Magda confirmed it. Ewa plans to liquidate everything, frame you, and vanish. It’s not just about the inheritance anymore; it’s about your freedom, your life.” Tymon’s face paled, the implication sinking in. He took a shaky breath, then met her gaze with a newfound steel. “Then we have to move faster. What’s next? The key from the aviary, does it lead anywhere?” “My study,” Danuta said, a sudden certainty blooming in her mind. “The key must be for something there. My past self hid things carefully.” They moved to the private office, the one they’d broken into weeks ago. The room, usually sterile and cold, now felt charged with anticipation. Danuta walked directly to the large, ornate mahogany desk, running her fingers along the polished surface. Her gaze drifted to a series of intricately carved panels on the wall behind it, depicting stylized forest scenes. “It’s not in the desk,” Tymon murmured, having already begun a cursory search. “Maybe… behind something? Like a hidden compartment in one of the bookshelves?” Danuta shook her head, her attention fixed on the carvings. “No. It’s too obvious. My past self was more subtle than that.” Her fingers traced the rough bark of a carved oak, then moved to a small, almost imperceptible knot in the wood. It looked like a flaw, an organic imperfection in the grain. But beneath her touch, she felt a slight give. “Here,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She pushed, and the knot clicked inward. A section of the wall panel, depicting a lone stag, swung open silently, revealing a narrow, dark recess. Inside, nestled on a velvet lining, was a small, sleek laptop. “A safe,” Tymon said, peering over her shoulder. “And a laptop. What do you think is on it?” Danuta pulled the device out. It was a minimalist design, unbranded, almost like a prop from a spy thriller. She tapped the power button. The screen flickered to life, displaying a single, stark prompt: a password field. Just as she was about to try a random guess, her burner phone vibrated. It was Xaw. His messages were always brief, always pointed, like tiny, encrypted arrows. [Xaw]: *The password is the lie she told when he died.* Danuta read the message aloud, her voice flat. Tymon stiffened beside her. Xaw’s words hung between them, cold and stark. The lie Ewa told. About his father. The memory of the bruised, fear-stricken face in the photograph from the aviary flashed into Danuta’s mind. “His father,” Danuta said, turning to Tymon. “The picture. The bruises. Ewa claimed he died peacefully, didn’t she?” Tymon’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions. Confusion, then dawning horror. “She… she said he fell. In the aviary. A tragic accident. Peaceful sleep afterwards. That was her official statement. What the family believed.” His voice was barely audible, a fragile thread. “I was young. I just… believed her. I didn’t question it.” “But the photograph,” Danuta urged gently. “It showed more than just a fall. It showed fear, Tymon. And those marks…” She paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “That wasn’t a peaceful death.” Tymon ran a hand through his hair, his eyes distant, unfocused. He slumped into the chair at the desk, his frame suddenly seeming smaller, diminished. “She was so cold. At the funeral. Everyone offered condolences, and she just… smiled. A polite, distant smile. She said it was a blessing, that he was finally at peace. I remember feeling a chill, even then. But I dismissed it. I told myself it was grief, her way of coping. Mother was always so strong.” His voice cracked. “But it wasn’t grief, was it? It was… something else.” A tear tracked a path down his cheek, a raw, unexpected river of sorrow and dawning realization. Danuta knelt beside him, placing a hand on his knee. “Tymon, it’s not your fault. She’s a master manipulator. She molded your reality.” He looked at her, his eyes brimming. “All those years. I never questioned. I loved him, Danuta. He was the only one who understood me, who encouraged my architecture, who didn’t scorn me for not wanting the corporate fight. And she… she took him.” His voice was a choked whisper, the pain of a suppressed truth finally breaking through. “The lie,” Danuta prompted softly, her own heart aching for his anguish. “What was the exact phrase she used for his death?” Tymon closed his eyes, a shudder passing through him. “She kept repeating it. To everyone. ‘He died in his sleep, from natural causes, after a minor fall.’ Those two words. It was her mantra.” Danuta turned back to the laptop, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The words Xaw had sent, the truth Tymon had just uncovered, coalesced into a single, chilling phrase. She typed it, slowly, deliberately. No spaces, the way such things often worked. `NaturalCauses` She pressed Enter. The screen flickered once, then transformed. A new interface appeared, a digital journal. The cursor blinked expectantly. And at the top of the screen, in a bold, unwavering font, was the final entry, dated years ago: `If you are reading this, Ewa has killed me.`

The Father's Secret