Elena Rivera stood alone in her office, the rest of the building silent around her. She had the largest office in the building, a space dedicated to the kinds of art and treasures most people could only dream of. The only light came from a small desk lamp in the center of the room, where she held court on the phone and the computer while she appraised some of the most unique paintings and artifacts known to man.
Elena's long black hair fell over her shoulders, a contrast against the pale hue of her blouse. She was motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest, her gaze locked on the object encased before her. It was a jade figurine of ancient origin, its surface alive with the serpentine twirls of dragons and clouds intricately carved into its cool, green skin. She’d been obsessed with this piece for a while now; she’d had it in her office for a week, locked in a case as she did her best to determine its worth. She’d done this for the last few days—simply staring at it in awe after everyone else had left the building. It was more than appreciating beauty; it was taking in something that had been crafted by skilled hands from a genius mind centuries ago.
She’d always had an affinity for the exotic and the valuable, a passion that had shaped her career as a freelance art consultant. This piece, however, seemed to pull at her very soul, whispering secrets and stories from a land wrapped in mystery and time.
As she stepped forward, her footsteps echoed softly upon the polished floor. It was a sound that should've been swallowed by the expanse of the space, but instead it reverberated back to her, a reminder that she was the only one left in the building. Her office, and the rest of the building she supposed, felt different at night—more alive, as if the artifacts themselves were breathing, their histories seeping out to fill the darkness.
The dim lighting played tricks on her eyes, casting shadows that morphed and moved with an almost sentient quality. They stretched across the shelves, where other priceless relics sat, each with their own tale of discovery and danger. In this dim glow, the jade figurine seemed even more captivating, its edges softened, turning it ethereal. It was said to be the work of a master carver, a treasure once held in the grip of royalty, passed down through bloodlines and battles until it had landed here, in the quiet heart of her prestigious world. And in the quiet and brooding light, she could almost imagine it coming to life.
The gentle hum of the office building's nocturnal quiet had long since settled into a silence as thick as the darkness outside. It was why, she supposed, she was able to hear a soft sound from right outside her door. Footsteps, perhaps?
She wondered who it might be and she was instantly upset that they were ruining her private time with this fascinating piece. Why would someone be here? The cleaning crew had left hours ago, and the security system would've signaled an entry.
Her eyes, which had been drinking in the verdant hues of the jade figurine, now turned sharply toward the doorway. There, emerging from the inky shadows of the hallway like a specter summoned from the past, stood a figure. A man, and he was unfamiliar. She’d never seen his gaunt face, dark eyes, and thin smile.
Elena’s heart began to pound, each beat echoing the rhythmic ticking of an ancient clock that rested on a shelf nearby—an artifact from centuries ago, rumored to have once sat in Versailles.
The figure moved with purpose, advancing slowly into the doorway. By doing so, he blocked the only path that led to the safety of the corridor outside her office. Elena's breath hitched, her mind racing through scenarios and motives, but yielding no solace. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to cry out, but she was alone—terribly alone—with this encroaching threat.
“Who are you?” she demanded, trying not to sound terrified. “And what are you doing here?”
The man did not answer. He took another step into her office, the thin smile on his face widening.
Driven by a primal instinct, Elena backed away until her hips met the edge of her desk. Her fingers, usually so steady and sure while evaluating the finest details of art, now fumbled across the cold surface of her workspace, seeking something, anything, that could serve as a line of defense. They found their mark—a sleek, silver pen, unassuming in its utility but now a meager weapon in her desperate grasp.
With the pen clenched firmly in her hand, she squared her shoulders. "Who are you?" she asked again. She also became aware of her cell phone, sitting on the edge of her desk. On the other side, out of her reach. So calling for help if she should need it was almost out of the question.
Still, the intruder said nothing. He took another step into the office, now just six or seven feet away from her. His advance was steady, an encroaching shadow that seemed to devour the scant light in the office. Now that he was closer, Elena’s eyes locked onto the glint of metal clutched in his hand—a knife with intentions as sharp as its blade.
Panic churned within her, but it settled quickly into a cold, hard resolve. Her only avenue of escape was blocked off. She was trapped in her office and, suddenly, the jade figurine she’d been so enamored over felt like a trap—like something that had led to this dangerous moment.
The air between them thickened with tension, an invisible field charged with the electricity of impending violence. Elena's fingers tightened around the pen, its smooth surface warm from her grip. It now seemed sadder than ever in the presence of the knife in the man's hand. She watched his every micro-movement, calculating, waiting for the split second she might be able to turn the tide, to somehow skirt around the desk and make her way out of the office, just out of his reach.
Before she could entertain such thoughts, the figure launched forward, the knife arcing through the air with lethal precision. Elena acted instinctively; her arm swung in a wide arc, the pen an extension of her will to survive. But the figure was able to block her blow with his arm, barely moving at all.
He slapped her hard across the face, and though she stumbled back, she would be damned if she’d go out so easily. She was going to fight. She was not going to let this maniacal stranger get the best of her.
She opened her mouth and screamed, the sound coming from deep in her lungs. “Help! Someone help! I—”
He lunged at her again, and this time, the knife nicked her shoulder. Enraged and fearing for her life, Elena did her best to attack. She locked herself in a struggle with the man, trying to remain aware of the position of his blade at all times. She was pushed back into a shelf behind her. As a result, centuries-old vases fell to the ground and shattered, their fragments scattering across the floor. Sculptures toppled and thudded to the ground.
He was just too strong. And she realized, as another precious piece of history fell to the floor from the shelf behind her, that this was very likely how she was going to die.
Through the haze of exertion and fear, Elena felt an icy fire pierce her chest and heard the odd pop of her breastbone. The blade slid into her flesh with sickening ease. Her breath hitched, a silent scream trapped in her throat as shockwaves of agony radiated outward from the wound. She stumbled backward, each movement amplifying the pain that now seemed to envelop every single sense and nerve within her body.
Her legs collided with the hard edge of her desk, the collision sending papers fluttering to the floor like wounded birds in a storm. Grasping for support, her hands, slick with sweat and desperation, found no purchase. Elena's knees buckled and she hit the floor.
Her assailant, a shadow given form and malice, paused. For a moment, Elena saw him through the dim light, his features blanketed in darkness yet clear enough to see. Then he retreated, his presence dissolving into the shadows as if he were nothing more than a figment of the night.
Lying there as the cold floor leeched the warmth from her body, Elena's gaze wandered. It was then that she saw the jade figurine, once perched so proudly within its glass case, now lying beside her. The artifact had survived the brawl, its intricate carvings mocking her with their untouched beauty. The figure seemed to stare at her as if encouraging Elena to get to her feet.
As the edges of her vision began to blur and the world receded into a tunnel of darkness, Elena's thoughts drifted. They coursed through memories of art-filled rooms and whispered deals, the thrill of auctions and the satisfaction of preserving history. All her years of dedication to the beauty created by others, only to be undone by a single act of ugliness.
As the last few breaths passed from her body, Elena's eyes remained on the jade figurine. And with that final, haunting image imprinted upon her fading consciousness, Elena Rivera died, surrounded by several items and relics that she had centered her life around.