The Blood in the Pages

The Blood in the Pages


IZZY'S POV

I was going through the reports again, flipping through numbers I barely cared about anymore, when Matteo walked into my office holding a small package. It wasn’t the usual kind of thing that came in, no seal, no label, just a plain brown wrapping with frayed edges.

“This came in with the afternoon delivery,” he said, putting it on my desk. “No return address, no signature.”

I looked up from the papers. “And you’re just bringing it in here?”

“I scanned it. Nothing dangerous but… something about it felt off.”

I pushed the reports aside and pulled the package closer. It was light, too light. I tore the paper open and found an old, worn-out book inside. It looked like something from the library no one touched anymore. I turned it over in my hands, flipping through a few pages.

“Some kind of joke?” I asked.

Matteo shook his head. “Look deeper.”

I frowned, flipping again and then one page felt heavier than the others, my fingers stopped on it. There was a hollow space carved inside the middle of the book, like someone had carefully cut the pages out to hide something and tucked into that space was a folded piece of parchment.

I pulled it out slowly. My heart started to beat harder as I unfolded it.

Three words, written in smeared red, stared back at me.

They’re hurting her.

I stared at it, my mind blank. My throat felt dry.

“What is it?” Matteo asked, stepping closer.

I swallowed hard. “It says… they’re hurting her.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the note again. The writing was shaky, uneven. The red, it wasn’t ink. My gut twisted. “Matteo… this isn’t ink.”

His eyes darkened. “You think it’s blood?”

“I don’t think. I know.” I stared at the note like it might burn a hole in my hand. “Someone wrote this with their blood.”

We both fell silent for a moment.

“Could it be a setup?” Matteo asked. “A way to rattle you?”

“Maybe.” I folded the paper again, slower this time. “But why use blood? And why send it here?”

He sighed, leaning against the desk. “It means whoever wrote it didn’t have another option and they wanted you to see it.”

I stood and started pacing. My mind was racing in a thousand directions, none of them good. They’re hurting her. Her, not a name, not a place. Just her.

“Who would try to reach me like this?” I said, half to myself. “Someone desperate, someone who thinks I’ll care.”

“Do you care?” Matteo asked.

I shot him a look. “If someone’s being tortured or beaten because of me, yes, I care.”

He nodded once. “Then start listing names.”

I ran my hand through my hair and started thinking out loud. “It’s not Serena. She’s in the house, I saw her this morning. It’s not Francesca, she’s under watch. Could it be someone from the lower ranks? Someone we left behind in the reshuffle?”

“Would they go to the trouble of blood-writing a message?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. This feels personal. Close.”

“Then think closer,” Matteo said. “Think about the ones you didn’t deal with. The ones you avoided dealing with.”

That hit me harder than I expected. There was a name that lived in the corners of my mind, one I avoided thinking about because of the weight it carried. Seline.

My stomach dropped. “No…”

Matteo looked up. “What?”

I pressed the note flat against the desk again. “Seline.”

“Who is Seline?” I asked.

I exhaled shakily. “Someone I failed, Someone I should’ve protected.” My voice felt smaller than I wanted it to. “If she’s alive… if someone found her…”

Matteo walked around the desk until he was standing beside me. “Then you know what this means. They want you to know she’s suffering. That’s leverage.”

I stared down at the paper again. They’re hurting her. It looped in my mind, over and over, like the words were hammering themselves into my skull.

“Do you think it’s real?” Matteo asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if there’s even a one percent chance it’s her, I can’t ignore it.”

He was silent for a while. “If it is her, then this isn’t random. This is someone trying to bait you out. They’re counting on your guilt.”

I hated how right he probably was. My chest felt tight, heavier with every second.

“I need to know where this came from,” I said. “Who delivered it. Which courier and which route.”

“I already checked,” Matteo said. “No trace. It was slipped in with a batch from the port, but the handlers don’t remember who dropped it. No cameras in the alley.”

“Convenient,” I muttered.

He nodded. “Too convenient.”

I folded the note and slid it into my pocket. It felt like it was burning through the fabric.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Matteo said.

“Me?” I forced a weak laugh. “I am rash.”

He didn’t laugh back. “I mean it, Izzy. If this is a trap, they want you chasing ghosts. They want you off balance, don’t let them win.”

I walked to the window and stared out at the courtyard. People were moving like everything was normal. But nothing felt normal anymore.

“Do you think she’s alive?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think someone wants you to believe she is.”

That answer didn’t help. It just made the knot in my chest tighter.

“I can’t sit here,” I said suddenly, turning around. “I need to talk to people, i need to dig. Somebody knows something.”

“Then start with the ones you trust least,” Matteo said. “They slip first.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.”

I left the office with the note still in my pocket, like a weight dragging me down with every step. Every hallway I walked down, every door I passed, I felt eyes on me or maybe I was just imagining them.

When I reached the west hall, one of my father’s old guards, Enzo, stepped aside to let me pass. He bowed slightly, too polite, too rehearsed and for the first time, I wondered if he knew something.

“Enzo,” I said, stopping. “Has anyone come through this corridor today that you didn’t recognize?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, signora, only the usual.”

“Think carefully.” I asked.

His jaw tightened just a little. “No one unusual.”

I stared at him for a few seconds longer than necessary. “Alright.”

I kept walking, but my thoughts were louder than my footsteps. If Seline was alive, if she was somewhere, then this note wasn’t just a message. It was a warning and a threat.

And if it wasn’t real… then someone knew how to cut straight into the softest part of me.

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the note again. My hands wer
e shaking now. It looked worse under the lamplight darker, more real.

“They’re hurting her.”

Three words and yet they felt like a sentence.