The envelope contained a single sheet of paper, yellowed with age and creased from being folded so many times. The handwriting was hurried and barely legible, as if written in a moment of distress. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the letter, trying to make sense of the words that seemed to leap off the page.
“To whoever finds this,” it began, “know that I am in grave danger. My name is Alex Carter.
