The Manila envelope arrived on a Tuesday morning, unmarked and impossible to trace. Evelyn Blackwood stood in the Washington Tribune mailroom, holding the heavy packet like a live explosive. There were no stamps, no return address, and the paper was too pristine to have ever seen a sorting bin. It was hand-delivered—slipped into the building’s internal system by someone who understood exactly how to move through secure corridors without leaving a footprint. At twenty-eight, Evelyn was a study in controlled precision. Her gray eyes, sharpened by five years in military intelligence, were trained to find patterns in chaos. She had...
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