I had never expected a gift on my birthday. Over the years, the day had become nothing more than a formality—just a handful of perfunctory phone calls from distant acquaintances, wishing me good health in the same monotone voices.

No excitement. No surprises. Just another mark on the calendar. But that year, something was different.

A small package sat on my doorstep, wrapped neatly in craft paper. No return address. No note. Just my name, written in black ink.

I bent down, hesitating before picking it up. My mailbox usually held nothing but bills and supermarket flyers. Something about that felt… off. But curiosity got the best of me.

Inside, nestled between layers of tissue paper, was a voice recorder.

I frowned. Not exactly the kind of birthday gift one expects. A scarf, maybe. A book.

But this?

Still, I pressed play.

[Recording: 03/12, 7:42 PM]

"Grace, it’s me. It’s Martha. Listen, I don’t have much time. I need you to come to the hotel we booked together years ago. Please. It’s important. And whatever you do, no police."

Martha’s voice was urgent, almost breathless. A far cry from the confident, teasing tone I remembered.

I gripped the recorder tighter. Martha always had a flair for the dramatic. She could turn a lost earring into a full-scale mystery. But this… this was different. The tremble in her voice wasn’t an act.

My mind whirred with possibilities.

Is she in trouble? Is this some elaborate joke?

I exhaled sharply, grabbed my bag, and called a taxi before I could talk myself out of it.

"It’s probably a prank," I muttered under my breath as the car pulled up. "A birthday surprise. Nothing serious."

But the moment I stepped into the dimly lit hotel lobby, the unease tightened around my chest.

The receptionist, a tired-looking man with coffee-stained cuffs, barely glanced up. When I asked about Martha, his forehead creased.

"Yes, ma’am, she stayed here. Room 214. But she left late last night… with a man. Black sedan. I assumed he was family."

A sharp chill crawled up my spine.

"Was the room paid for?"

"Yes, through tomorrow."

"I really need to check the room."

The receptionist hesitated, eyeing me warily. "Ma’am, I really shouldn’t... Hotel policy."

"I understand, but she left me a distressing message. I just need to check."

A pause. Then, with a sigh, he slid me a keycard. "Five minutes. You were never here."

The elevator ride was slow, each floor dinging louder than the last. When I reached Room 214, I hesitated before turning the knob.