Milan had no idea what was in there.

  He gripped the envelope, sliding his hesitant fingers between the pointed flap. It was glued shut, with no bends or creases, and Milan thought it was from a professional institution if it weren’t for his name written in red with crooked letters on it as if the person who wrote this was in a hurry. Or angry.

  Should he open it? He didn’t know anyone who would send letters. Distant family? Possible, but unlikely. Even they knew how to send messages from the internet. They were just terrible at it. Friends? Yeah, no way. Could it be someone he didn’t know?

  He flicked the letter in his hand.

  “Did you open it yet?” Milan’s mother caught a glimpse of him as she forked the food in the corner of her plate. Steak with mashed potatoes and peas. Nothing unusual. “Come on, Mil, dinner’s getting cold.”

  “Yeah, we wanna know what it is.” Dad’s lips curved into a crooked smile, the smile when he was excited about something but didn’t want to show it. “Perhaps from a crush? A love interest?”

  Milan scoffed. “As if. No one writes letters anymore.” He pulled the flap off and his eyes scanned the letter’s contents.

  Dear, dear Milan. I suspect you’ll receive this letter today.

  Meet me at Hope Park at 9 p.m., or I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I were you.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  No one knows what could happen.

  Till we meet.

  The letter was about to slip out of Milan’s hand, and his stomach clenched. His eyes darted nonstop back and forth between the words, pushing the note closer to his face. He’d gone over it ten times by now, but the more he read it, the less he understood.

  He let out a steady breath. He had to think about this rationally. What could this letter mean? Was it a prank letter? Someone trying to mess with him? But then it had to be from someone who knew him relatively well. It wasn’t that the person writing this knew his name; it was Hope Park. It was close to where he lived.

  Wow, so kind, he thought. They picked somewhere close. So considerate. Or not.

  He eyed his not-so-special watch. The black bracelet encircled his wrist, and the navy crystal showed the date and year, along with the hands indicating the time.

  A few minutes to eight. If he went now, he’d have plenty of time.

  “What is it?” His mother’s body tilted forward. “Who is it?”

  “Nothing.” Milan stood from the table. “Got to go. I have plans with friends.”

  “Suuure, with friends!” Dad’s laugh resounded throughout the house as he rapped his fist against the table, bouncing everything on it.

  “Darling, I’ve told you time and time again not to do that! You’re ruining the dinner table!”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You always say that!”

  “Sorry!”

  Milan didn’t hear the rest of their bickering. He was already out the door.