Wraith | Ghost

9. Echoes of the Past

The coordinates had led me deep into the countryside, far from prying eyes. The drive had been long and uneventful, giving me too much time to think, to wonder what I would find. The road grew narrower as I approached my destination, winding through dense forests and overgrown fields, until finally, I arrived at the edge of a small clearing.

There it was—the cabin.

It was exactly as I remembered it, yet different in the way places from childhood always seem when seen through adult eyes. The cabin had once been a refuge, a place where my family would escape the pressures of the world for a few days of peace. But now, it looked weathered, abandoned, as if it had been left to the elements for years. The roof sagged slightly, the wood was faded and cracked, and the windows were covered in a thick layer of dust.

I parked the car a little way from the cabin and approached cautiously, my heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and nostalgia. This place held memories of better times—simpler times—but I knew I wasn't here for a trip down memory lane. I was here for answers.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound echoing in the stillness. I stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under my weight. The air was stale, filled with the smell of dust and old wood, and I could see the remnants of our family life scattered throughout the room—old furniture, a few faded photographs on the mantel, and the books my parents had once read to me.

But there was something else here, too. A feeling, a sense that this place had been used for something more than just family vacations. My instincts told me to look deeper, to search for the secrets that had been hidden away.

I moved carefully through the cabin, searching for anything out of place. It didn't take long for me to find what I was looking for. In the main room, beneath a faded rug, I noticed faint scratch marks on the floor—marks that could only have been made by something being dragged across the wood. I pulled the rug aside and ran my fingers over the floorboards, feeling for any irregularities.

There. A slight indentation, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. I pressed down, and the board shifted, revealing a small compartment hidden beneath the floor. My heart raced as I pried it open, revealing a metal box nestled within the dark recess.

My hands trembled slightly as I lifted the box out of the compartment and placed it on the floor. It was old, the metal tarnished and cold to the touch, but it was still secure. I forced the latch open, the rusty hinges groaning in protest, and the lid creaked back.

Inside, the contents were as shocking as they were familiar. There were encrypted files, stacks of papers, and a few personal effects that immediately brought a lump to my throat—a small photo of my parents, my father's old watch, and my mother's wedding ring.

But it was the documents that caught my attention. The papers were yellowed with age, but they were meticulously organized. As I began to sift through them, I realized just how deep my parents had been involved in something far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.

My breath caught as I came across a series of files, their titles stark and ominous: "Operation Black Dagger." The files detailed a massive conspiracy led by Makarov, a strategy designed to infiltrate and manipulate Western governments and military forces. My parents had been collecting information on Makarov's operations, tracking his movements, and gathering evidence of his network's reach.

There were notes, photographs, and classified documents linking high-ranking officials to Makarov's organization—evidence that could bring down some of the most powerful people in the world. And my parents had been at the center of it all, working in secret to expose Makarov's plans.

As I continued to dig through the files, one particular document caught my eye. It was a letter, addressed to me in my father's handwriting. My hands shook as I unfolded it, the paper fragile with age.

The letter was brief, written with the calm precision I had always associated with my father. It read:

"Zara,

If you're reading this, it means we couldn't stop him in time. We've uncovered something massive—something that could change everything. Makarov is dangerous, more than you know. We've gathered everything we could, but if you're reading this, we didn't make it.

There's a file in this box, encrypted with the same code we used for the safe at home. It contains the details of Operation Black Dagger and the identities of those involved. It's everything we've worked for. You'll know what to do with it.

Zara, you're strong. Stronger than you think. We believe in you. Don't let our work be in vain. Stop him.

Love always,

Dad."

Tears blurred my vision, but I quickly blinked them away. My parents had been fighting this battle long before I had any idea of the danger they were in. And now, they had passed that fight on to me.

I found the file my father had mentioned, hidden beneath the other papers. The encryption was strong, but I knew the code—it was something only our family would know. I quickly deciphered the contents, my heart pounding as the full scope of Makarov's plans became clear.

Operation Black Dagger wasn't just about control or power. It was about destabilizing the West from within, using trusted officials as puppets to do Makarov's bidding. The consequences of his plan were terrifying—a complete erosion of trust in the military, government, and intelligence agencies, paving the way for chaos and authoritarian rule.

My parents had been close to exposing Makarov, close to stopping him. But they hadn't been able to finish the job. That task now fell to me.

I closed the box, my resolve hardening. I had to return to the team, but I knew I couldn't tell them everything—not yet. This was personal, something I had to face on my own terms. The files were too sensitive, the risks too high. If I was going to take down Makarov, I needed to be smart about it.

I carefully packed the box back into the compartment, covering it with the floorboard and rug. I'd come back for it later, but for now, it was safer hidden away.

As I left the cabin, I took one last look at the place that had once been a haven for my family. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life I had lost, but it also gave me strength. My parents had believed in me, had entrusted me with this mission. I wouldn't let them down.

I climbed back into my car, my mind racing with what I had discovered. I had a plan, and I knew what I had to do. But when I returned to the team, I'd have to lie—to tell them I found nothing, just an old, abandoned cabin with no signs of activity. It was a risk, but it was the only way to protect them, to protect the mission.

The discovery is a gut punch. Not only does it confirm that my parents were murdered because they were close to exposing Makarov, but it also reveals that Makarov has been targeting me because of what I might eventually uncover. My parents' death wasn't just tragic—it was a calculated move by a man who has continued to plague the world long after their deaths.

I am overwhelmed with a mix of grief, anger, and determination. The weight of this knowledge is immense. I understand that sharing this information with Task Force 141 could lead to a larger operation to take down Makarov, but at the same time, I feel an overwhelming need to make this personal. I want to be the one to end Makarov's life, to avenge my parents in the most direct way possible.

As I drove away from the cabin, I felt a sense of purpose settle over me. The fight wasn't over—not by a long shot. And this time, I would make sure Makarov paid for everything he had done.

For my parents.

For my team.

And for me.