The van felt smaller the second time.
Not physically.
Nothing had changed.
Same narrow space. Same cold metal surfaces. Same muted hum of equipment in the background.
But now—
Elara knew what was inside.
And worse—
something inside knew her.
She didn't say that out loud.
Because once she did—
it would become real.
"Start where you stopped," Aaron said behind her.
His voice was quieter now.
Not guiding.
Not pushing.
Just—
present.
That should have helped.
It didn't.
Elara moved forward anyway.
CASE 02.
The zipper waited where she had left it.
Half-open.
Like something interrupted.
Or something—
unfinished.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then pulled it down.
The man's face stared back at her.
Unchanged.
Unaware.
Empty.
But the moment she looked—
something in her chest tightened.
Not fear.
Recognition.
That made it worse.
"I don't know him," she said quickly.
Too quickly.
Aaron didn't respond.
That silence—
made her continue.
"I've never met him."
Still nothing.
Elara swallowed.
"Right?"
She wasn't asking Aaron.
She was asking—
something else.
Something that didn't answer in words.
She crouched.
Slower this time.
Careful not to get too close—
and then realizing that distance didn't matter.
Because it wasn't physical.
It was already happening.
Her hand hovered over the body.
Not touching.
Not yet.
Her breath slowed.
She told herself:
Just observe.
Just facts.
Age.
Condition.
Position.
Normal.
Controlled.
Real.
And then—
it slipped.
Not a memory.
Not something she recalled.
Something—
inserted.
A moment that wasn't hers—
but landed inside her anyway.
Crowded air.
Metal screeching.
A voice—
"Excuse me—"
Her breath caught.
Her fingers twitched.
And then—
something else.
Not a scene.
Not a sound.
A sentence.
Clear.
Sharp.
Not heard—
but understood.
"You saw me."
Elara froze.
Her entire body went still.
"No," she whispered.
Too soft.
Too immediate.
Because she knew—
that wasn't imagination.
Her eyes darted.
The body hadn't moved.
Nothing had changed.
Except—
everything had.
"I didn't—" she started.
Her voice cracked.
Aaron stepped closer.
"What is it?"
She shook her head quickly.
"Nothing."
Lie.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
And she wasn't ready for that.
But the feeling didn't stop.
It deepened.
Pressed.
Like something waiting for her to admit it.
Her hand lowered slightly—
closer now.
Closer than she intended.
And the moment that invisible line crossed—
it came back.
Stronger.
More insistent.
"You were there."
Her breath broke.
"No."
This time louder.
Aaron's expression shifted.
"Elara—"
"I said no."
Too sharp.
Too defensive.
Because she could feel it now.
That pull.
That certainty—
that she didn't want.
"I don't remember this," she said, forcing the words out.
Her voice trembled.
Aaron didn't interrupt.
Didn't correct.
Didn't confirm.
He just watched.
And that—
was worse.
Because it meant—
he was waiting.
Waiting for her to say it herself.
Elara forced herself to look again.
Really look.
The man's hand.
Curled inward.
Not relaxed.
Not natural.
Reaching.
Toward something.
Or someone.
Her chest tightened.
"…What were you reaching for?" she whispered.
Silence.
And then—
not silence.
That same pressure.
That same intrusion.
Not words this time.
Not exactly.
A feeling.
Urgency.
Fear—
but not his.
Hers.
Reflected.
Returned.
And then—
another fragment.
A flicker of movement.
Her own hand—
pulling back.
Stepping away.
Choosing—
not to engage.
Her breath stopped.
"No…"
Her fingers curled into a fist.
"I didn't do that."
But the feeling didn't change.
Didn't weaken.
If anything—
it settled deeper.
More certain.
"You left."
The words landed—
final.
Unavoidable.
Elara staggered back slightly.
Her balance off.
Her breath uneven.
"I didn't leave him," she said.
But now—
it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
Aaron spoke quietly.
"What did you see?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
Lie.
Again.
But weaker this time.
Because she was starting to.
And that—
terrified her.
"This isn't a memory," she said.
"Then what is it?" Aaron asked.
She swallowed.
Her throat dry.
"…Evidence."
The word hung there.
Heavy.
Cold.
Real.
Aaron didn't react immediately.
But something in his eyes shifted.
Recognition.
Agreement.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he said quietly.
Elara looked back at the body.
Her hands trembling now.
"They're not just victims," she said.
A pause.
"They're witnesses."
The van felt smaller again.
Tighter.
Like the walls had moved in.
"And they all saw something," Aaron said.
Elara nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Her breath shook.
"And I was there."
Silence.
Complete.
Irreversible.
Because now—
she had said it.
And there was no taking it back.