The Unseen Miracle

Chapter 2

Lucia stared at the email until the screen dimmed. She blinked, heart pounding. The image was still there. The cold body on the table. Mark’s face. Pale, still, unmistakable.

She tried to trace the email. Nothing. No IP. No metadata. Just static, as if the message had been written from nowhere. She hit Reply. Who are you?

Delivery failed. Address not found.

Lucia cursed. She tried forwarding it to her tech contact, but the file corrupted the moment it left her inbox. Vanished.

She was left alone in her darkened room, one hand clenched tightly around the edge of the desk.

Who did we bury six years ago? And why did that corpse look exactly like her husband?

Downstairs, Mark stood in the garden beneath a tree heavy with night blossoms. His hands were bare, palms open to the moonlight. 

The scent of jasmine was thick in the air, but his mind wasn’t on flowers. “She's close to the truth,” came a voice from behind the hedges.

Mark didn’t turn. “Then feed her just enough to keep her walking in circles.”

“She’s clever. She doesn’t trust easily.”

“She doesn’t need to trust me,” he said, “just stay alive long enough.”

The voice paused. “What if she becomes a threat?”

Mark turned slightly, eyes like silver steel. “Then I’ll choose what I always do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sacrifice.”

Lucia didn’t sleep. By morning, she had already called a meeting with her discreet informant, a woman named Lena DuPont, a retired agent who now worked as a private investigator.

They met in a secluded café where phones were forbidden, and the tables had old-fashioned booths. “You look like you saw a ghost,” Lena said, sliding into the seat.

Lucia didn’t answer right away. She slid the printed copy of the corpse photo across the table. Lena looked at it, raised a brow, and whistled softly. “That’s your husband?”

Lucia nodded. “According to this, he died six years ago.”

“Well.” Lena studied the picture. “Then either someone faked this photo, or you married a ghost. Which option do you prefer?”

Lucia’s voice was low. “I want you to dig. Quietly. Find out who Mark Lewis really is. Where he came from. Who died six years ago, and why someone wants me to know about it now.”

Lena gave a slow, respectful nod. “Alright. I’ll start with his company. Marvin, right?”

Lucia’s eyes sharpened. “Don’t go to Marvin. That place is airtight. They’ll know you’re sniffing before you blink. Look into hospitals. Military records. Underground facilities.”

“Got it. Leave a burner at your usual dead drop. I’ll contact you in five days.”

Lucia was already getting up. “Make it three.”

Back at the mansion, Mark received a notification. DuPont activated.  Surveillance level: Green. Threat level: Moderate.

He stared at the screen, emotionless. “Elara,” he said into his comm.

His assistant’s voice answered immediately. “Yes, sir?”

“She’s testing the story. Monitor quietly. But if Lena gets too close.”

There was silence, then Elara responded, cool and smooth: “You want her warned?”

“No. Watched. If she takes one step near Project Sanctum, we bury the lead.”

That evening, Lucia returned home to find Mark in the kitchen, cooking. She froze in the doorway. “You’re domestic?”

Mark glanced over his shoulder. “You’re not the only one with survival skills.”

“Should I be impressed?”

“Not at all.” He plated a dish and set it on the counter. “Eat something. You’ve been out all day.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Spying on me now?”

“I prefer ‘being concerned for my wife’s health.’”

She moved to the table but didn’t touch the food. “Why are you really here, Mark?”

He met her gaze. “For peace.”

“Peace?” She laughed once, bitterly. “Is that what the corpse meant?”

His fingers tightened subtly on the edge of the counter. “What corpse?”

She reached into her bag, pulled out the photo, and tossed it onto the table. Mark stared at it.

She watched him closely. “You’re not surprised.”

“No,” he said after a beat. “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not the first time someone’s tried to use a dead man to expose me.”

Lucia leaned in. “So you’re admitting this is you.”

Mark’s jaw shifted. “I’m admitting the man in that photo had my face. But he wasn’t me.”

“Explain.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then I’m filing for divorce.”

“You could,” Mark said calmly, “but you might want to wait.”

“Why?”

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly colder. “Because the people who sent that photo? They’re not just after me.”

Lucia paused. “What do you mean?”

Mark’s eyes darkened. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Outside the mansion, a drone silently hovered. Inside its shell was a camera trained on Mark and Lucia through the glass window, infrared lenses watching, recording.

Inside a dark control room across the city, a figure leaned back in a chair. On the screen was a blinking name: Lucia Thomas-Lewis. Underneath: Level 3 Risk. Target Status: Pending.

The figure smiled. "Let’s see how long your marriage survives, Mark."