The rain didn't stop.
It clung to everything—glass, pavement, skin. Even the air felt heavier, like breathing through something damp and slow, something that didn't want to let you go.
When the door closed behind Elara, it didn't slam.
It clicked.
Soft. Controlled. Final.
And somehow, that was worse.
She didn't move right away.
Her hand stayed on the handle longer than it should have, fingers cold against the metal, like she needed that physical sensation just to stay grounded.
Don't turn around.
The thought came too quickly.
Too sharply.
Because if she did—
If she looked back at him—
She might hesitate.
She might forgive something she didn't understand.
She might stay.
And right now, staying felt dangerous.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
The elevator took too long.
She stared at the numbers, watching them refuse to move fast enough.
Then she exhaled sharply and turned away.
Stairs.
Her footsteps echoed as she descended—sharp, hollow, just slightly out of sync.
On the third flight, she slowed.
For a second—
she thought she heard something behind her.
Not loud.
Not clear.
Just… off.
She didn't turn around.
Didn't check.
Because if nothing was there, she'd feel stupid.
And if something was—
She didn't want to know yet.
Her phone was still in her hand.
The screen was black.
But the message was still there.
Burned into her memory.
NEXT PHASE BEGINS NOW.
It didn't feel like a message anymore.
It felt like a trigger.
By the time she stepped outside, the scene had already tightened.
Police tape cut across the entrance, trembling under the steady weight of the rain.
The flashing lights painted everything in pulses—red, blue, red, blue—like a heartbeat that didn't belong to anyone alive.
The smell hit her again.
Subtle.
Metallic.
Not quite blood.
Not yet.
"Ma'am, please step back."
An officer raised a hand, blocking her path.
She nodded.
Didn't argue.
Didn't try to push past.
That wasn't why she was here.
She wasn't here to interfere.
She was here to confirm something she was already afraid of.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice came from her right.
Steady.
Familiar.
She turned.
Aaron.
"You got here fast," she said.
"You sounded like it mattered."
His eyes moved across her face—not clinical, not detached.
Personal.
"You don't look okay."
"I'm fine."
Too quick.
Too automatic.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't push.
"Come on," he said.
Crossing under the tape felt like stepping into something sealed off.
The rain dulled.
The sound shifted.
The air tightened.
The body was still there.
Covered.
Too still.
But Elara didn't look at the body first.
She looked at the ground.
At the line.
The drag mark cut across the pavement—
uneven.
Interrupted.
Not clean.
Her stomach tightened.
"A few minutes old," Aaron said behind her. "We just locked it down."
She crouched.
Didn't answer.
Her eyes followed the line slowly.
Not just observing—
reading.
"This part," she said.
Aaron crouched beside her.
"Here?"
She pointed.
The mark was deeper.
More pressure.
But something about it—
felt wrong.
"He wasn't being dragged here," she said.
Aaron frowned.
"Then what?"
She hesitated.
Just a second.
Because saying it made it real.
"He moved."
The words didn't sit right.
Not in the air.
Not in her chest.
"You're sure?" Aaron asked.
No.
She wasn't.
But it felt right in the worst possible way.
"I need to see him."
"You know I can't just—"
"I know."
She looked at him.
Didn't step back.
A beat.
Then—
"…One look."
The sheet lifted.
And something inside her shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
"…no."
Aaron's tone sharpened.
"You know him?"
She did.
Daniel Hsu.
Yesterday, he had been alive.
Talking.
Careful.
Nervous, even.
Now—
"He called me," she said quietly.
"When?"
"Yesterday. Afternoon."
"What did he say?"
"That something was wrong."
Her voice slowed.
"He said the records didn't match."
"With what?"
"He didn't finish."
Aaron studied her.
Rain tapped steadily around them.
"And now he's here," he said.
She looked at him.
"You think I'm involved."
"I think you're connected," he replied.
That was worse.
"Liam," she said.
Aaron's gaze sharpened.
"Why him?"
"He lost time."
"How long?"
"Twenty minutes."
That was enough.
More than enough.
Before Aaron could respond—
an officer approached quickly.
"Sir—we found something."
"Go."
"Victim's phone. Last activity—missed call."
"From who?"
The officer checked.
Then—
"…Liam Carter."
Silence.
Heavy.
Immediate.
Elara didn't react right away.
Because something inside her had already started cracking.
"No," she said under her breath.
"There's more," the officer added.
"Unsent audio file."
"Play it."
Static filled the space.
Rain.
Breathing.
Unsteady.
"…not him…"
A pause.
"…don't trust…"
Cut.
Elara's chest tightened.
"Who was he warning?"
"Or lying to," Aaron said.
They looked at each other.
No clear answer.
No safe answer.
"I need to see Liam," Aaron said.
"Now?"
"Now."
She didn't argue.
Because there was nothing left to argue with.
They went back inside.
The elevator ride felt longer this time.
Each number flickered slowly.
Dragging.
When the doors opened, the hallway felt—
wrong.
Too quiet.
Not empty.
Just… listening.
Elara slowed.
Just slightly.
"What?" Aaron asked.
"…nothing," she said.
But it wasn't nothing.
They reached the door.
She stopped.
Hand on the handle.
Not moving.
"Open it," Aaron said.
She inhaled.
Turned it.
The door opened.
Dark.
"Liam?"
No answer.
She stepped inside.
One step.
Two—
Then she froze.
Aaron saw it too.
The line.
On the floor.
Longer now.
Darker.
More defined.
Stretching from the living room—
to the bedroom.
"No…"
This time, the fear was real.
Immediate.
Aaron moved forward.
Pushed the bedroom door open.
Light flooded in.
Empty.
No Liam.
But something had been left behind.
On the bed—
A phone.
Not hers.
Not Aaron's.
Daniel's.
The screen was on.
Waiting.
Aaron picked it up.
Read silently.
YOU WERE LOOKING AT THE WRONG ONE.
At the same moment—
Elara's phone vibrated.
She didn't want to look.
But she did.
NOW YOU'RE CLOSER.
Her hands started to shake.
Not from the cold.
From the realization.
This wasn't random.
This wasn't chaos.
This was deliberate.
And behind her—
from the living room—
A sound.
Soft.
Measured.
Too close.
A footstep.