The office was still, save for the faint hum of the flickering light above Rachel's desk. Papers were scattered around her workspace, files stacked haphazardly, some edges curling from overuse. The scent of old coffee lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of the city filtering in through a cracked window. The old computer in front of her emitted a dim glow, casting long shadows on the walls.

  Rachel's green eyes scanned the document in her hands, but her mind was elsewhere. She tapped her pen rhythmically against the desk, the sound breaking the silence. Her eyes shifted to a stack of old case files nearby, their frayed edges a testament to countless hours of work. Flipping one open absentmindedly, she scanned through faded notes and grainy photographs, her mind turning over the relentless cycle she'd thrown herself into.

  Does it ever end? Solve one case, and two more show up. It's like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket.

  Rachel leaned back, her hand brushing through her dirty brown curls, streaked with deep hazel undertones that caught the dim light of the office. Her fingers paused mid-motion as she sighed, the weight of endless cases pressing on her mind.

  "I can't think like that," she muttered, shaking her head firmly, her curls bouncing slightly as she pushed the unsettling thoughts away.

  Rachel spun herself in her chair, her fingers tapping lightly against the metal armrest, the soft scuff of her well-worn leather loafers brushing against the tiled floor. The motion felt aimless, like she was trying to shake off a weight that wouldn't budge.

  "Why does it feel like no matter how much I do, it's never enough?" she muttered, her voice almost lost in the stillness.

  The chair slowed to a stop as the light above flickered again, casting an uneven glow. Her chest tightened, a cold sweat forming at her temple. She tried to push the feeling aside, but the flickering light dragged her back, the memory forcing itself forward like an uninvited guest. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears as she gripped the pen tightly, unable to stop her mind from slipping into the past.

  Her grip on the pen tightened, her nails pressing into her palm as if pain might anchor her. But it was no use. The weight of the moment dragged her down, the flickering light becoming sharper, almost blinding. It wasn't just a memory—it was a trap she couldn't escape, replaying itself against her will. The familiarity of the light's rhythm mirrored the unsettling flicker of her thoughts, and her surroundings began to fade away against her will. She blinked hard, but it didn't help.

  Suddenly, she wasn't in the present anymore. She was back at her desk, but younger. The flickering light overhead seemed sharper, almost accusatory. The faint aroma of coffee filled the room, mingling with distant footsteps—familiar, haunting. Rachel recognized the memory immediately, and her chest tightened as she tried to resist being pulled into its rhythm. But her mind wouldn't let go.

  Elliot's voice cut through the air, sharp and clear: "Newbie." His gray hair was neatly combed, and his suit, though slightly wrinkled, still carried an air of authority. He leaned casually against her desk, holding a steaming mug of coffee, its aroma rich and almost comforting. His face, though familiar, felt like a ghost—a presence that shouldn't be there.

  Rachel's throat tightened, the guilt weighing on her chest like a stone, but she played along as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

  "What are you still doing here? That light's been flickering for weeks. Didn't drive you nuts?" Elliot asked, his voice laced with the same warmth and humor she remembered.

  Rachel forced a faint smile, though her stomach churned. "No, I didn't notice," she replied, rising stiffly to give the light bulb a quick twist. Her fingers felt cold against the glass as the flickering ceased, leaving a steady, unyielding glow. Her movements were automatic, the memory playing out exactly as it had before.

  The flickering stopped, casting a steadier glow across the room. "There. Fixed your distraction." But even as she spoke, her eyes darted around, almost desperately, searching for something—anything—that felt different, as if the memory might suddenly offer her a clue she had missed the first time.

  Elliot chuckled, pulling up a chair and spinning it around to sit backward, his arms resting on the backrest. "Alright, but seriously—why aren't you out with the rest of them? Big night, lots of noise, terrible decision making."

  Rachel shrugged, returning to the file in front of her. "Not really my thing. Cheap drinks, loud idiots screaming about a game they probably win or don't win, spending most of their savings on it—who cares... hard pass."

  Elliot leaned forward, grinning. "You really know how to sell the fun, don't you? You know, the Hawks are playing the Chargers tonight. The Hawks are definitely going to win—best team in the league."

  Rachel chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible, you know that? What happens when your Hawks lose tonight?"

  "They won't," Elliot replied confidently, then paused with a grin. "But if they do, I'll blame the refs. Classic strategy."

  Rachel couldn't help but laugh, but her expression faltered for a moment, the weight of the memory pressing down on her. Elliot caught the shift and tilted his head.

  "What's up? You looked like you saw a ghost."

  Rachel quickly shook her head, forcing a small smile. "Nothing, just... distracted," she said, grabbing a file from her desk to refocus.

  "I've been looking into a case."

  Elliot leaned forward with a knowing grin. "Ah, so this is the real reason you stayed back late."

  Rachel chuckled softly. "Not really. The person who reported it is a friend of my mother, Enzo Bellini. He owns an Italian restaurant on Lombardi Street, a few blocks from here. It's a missing persons report—two of his cooks, Diego and Marcus, vanished in the span of a week. Both younger guys, early twenties."

  Elliot frowned. "You sure they're missing? Sounds like they could've just quit. You know how it is—young guys get restless, find something better, or just walk out."

  "I already looked into that," Rachel said, flipping through the file. "Diego's mom said he was planning to help her move into her new place this week—he wouldn't just vanish. And Marcus? He clocked out Monday night and was supposed to start his shift at Enzo's the next morning. He never showed up. Enzo even called, said Marcus never answered. Something's off here, Elliot."

  Elliot nodded, his curiosity piqued. "What does the restaurant owner think happened?"

  Rachel slid a photograph across the desk. It showed a blurred image of an older woman with raggedy hair and clothes.

  "He thinks it involves her. She's been snooping around the back of the restaurant, going through the trash."

  Elliot raised an eyebrow. "You think this old woman did it? She looks harmless."

  Rachel shrugged. "I don't know if she did it, but there's more. The owner said she's been spreading strange warnings, talking about 'judgment.'" She pulled out another photograph, showing the word 'Judgment' scrawled in what appeared to be blood on the restaurant's wall.

  "Pig's blood," Rachel clarified. "She did this."

  Elliot leaned back, letting out a low whistle. "I don't know, Rachel. Sounds a little far-fetched to me. A creepy old woman, pig's blood, and two missing kids? Maybe they just skipped town."

  Rachel's gaze sharpened as she slid the photograph back toward herself. "I didn't ask you to join in on this case, did I? I'll take care of it by myself if you're not interested."

  Elliot smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "That's not how this works, newbie. We're partners. If you slip up, it's on me too."

  Rachel rolled her eyes, her lips curling into a faint smirk despite herself. "Fine. So, are you going to help me or not?"

  Elliot chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Let's make a deal. You and me both get some rest tonight, and we'll start fresh in the morning."

  Rachel hesitated, tapping the edge of the file with her nail. "Alright, fine. I guess you can tag along," she replied with a small, reluctant smile.

  The faint click of the door made them both freeze. Rachel's head snapped toward the sound, her heart suddenly pounding. "That... wasn't supposed to happen," she muttered.

  "What wasn't?" Elliot asked, his brow furrowing as the edges of the memory began to blur. Before she could answer, the door creaked fully open.

  The sound dragged Rachel violently back into the present. Her surroundings dissolved into sharp clarity, the dim light of the office and the familiar scent of old coffee grounding her back to reality. Her chest heaved as her breathing quickened, and without warning, she coughed harshly, doubling over as a thick, dark fluid spilled from her lips, pooling into her palm. It gleamed, inky and alive, before rippling and vanishing into her skin.

  Her hands trembled as she straightened, her heart racing with the weight of what had just happened. Her gaze darted to the door, where Alex stepped inside, his casual grin clashing starkly with the storm still raging in her chest.

  "Darn it," Alex said, shaking his head as he set a bag and two steaming cups of coffee on her desk. "Thought I'd beat you here. You look like you could use this."

  Rachel forced herself to sit upright, swallowing hard as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still faintly warm from the strange substance. "Alex," she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. Her fingers brushed against the desk, seeking a stability she couldn't quite find.

  "Everything okay?" Alex asked, glancing at her with a note of concern as he sank into the chair opposite her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Rachel managed a faint, fleeting smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just lost in thought," she replied, tapping the edge of the file lightly to shift the conversation. "What's in the bag?"

  Alex leaned back, the familiar ease in his posture returning. "Breakfast pastries. Figured you'd need something besides stale coffee to get through the morning," he teased, sliding one of the cups toward her.

  "Thanks," Rachel murmured, her voice softer now, as she tried to focus on the present, leaving the memory and the black fluid behind her for now. But her hand still tingled, as if the memory had left its mark.

  Alex shook his head with a grin. "Gosh, I thought I had it this time."

  "Had what?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Come on, you know—beating you here. I bet Susie a box of cookies I'd be the first one in," Alex replied, leaning back smugly.

  Rachel smirked. "Guess my job's done then. Buy my niece some cookies right after you get off."

  Alex grabbed a napkin, balled it up, and lobbed it at her. Rachel caught it with ease, tossing it aside. "Hey! Don't hate—just be better," she shot back with a grin.

  Alex rolled his eyes and pulled up a chair beside her. Rachel took a big bite of her egg-and-cheese sandwich, savoring the warmth as Alex sipped his coffee. "Today's going to be a pretty boring day," he remarked.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Rachel sighed, nodding. "Yeah, I know. Paperwork day."

  Alex groaned dramatically. "On a Friday too? Geez."

  Rachel chuckled. "Well, we don't have many cases, thanks to the new hires."

  Alex shrugged. "Yeah, I wouldn't say it's a bad thing—gives us a chance to chill a little. Just the paperwork part is the annoying bit." He glanced at her desk. "I can tell you seem to be way ahead of it, though."

  Rachel closed the file in front of her, sliding it into the desk drawer. "Yeah, I've got a head start," she said, the faintest hint of unease crossing her face as she locked it away—the weight of Elliot's case still pressing on her mind.

  Just then, Alex's phone buzzed with a notification from his favorite radio station. "Hello, San Francisco, where the atmosphere is filled with the sounds of cable cars and the scent of fresh seafood! It's a stunning morning out there! I'm Tony Marlowe, and I'm here to bring you the most captivating stories from our city of The Bay Beat. Today, we've got reports of vampires spotted lounging by the bay. Yes, you heard right—vampires! I mean, what's next, mermaids sunbathing on the pier? It's all in the spirit of our vibrant city, or maybe just a few too many spirits from last night's festivities!"

  Alex laughed, shaking his head. "The weird people in this city, always coming up with a bunch of fairy tales."

  Rachel's eyes narrowed as her phone buzzed with a breaking news notification from The Sentinel Times. She hesitated for a moment before tapping it open, the headline immediately catching her attention: "Man Found Bleeding in Alley with Mysterious Bite Marks."

  Her expression shifted to one of disbelief as she read aloud, "A man was discovered bleeding out in an alley late last night, bite marks visible around his neck. Witnesses reported he looked like he had been in a fight. The victim claims he has no memory of how he ended up there. According to the report, his teenage son found him while returning home from soccer practice and immediately called 911."

  Alex, who had been casually sipping his coffee, leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "That's... disturbing. You think it's legit?"

  Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line as she scrolled further through the article, the tension in her shoulders tightening. "I don't know. The son finding him adds some credibility, but bite marks? It's bizarre. And he doesn't remember anything? That's a giant red flag."

  Alex shook his head, skepticism flickering in his tone. "Sounds like the start of some late-night horror show. Or maybe he's covering up something. Who gets into a fight and doesn't remember a thing?"

  Rachel's gaze lingered on the screen, her mind racing with possibilities. "It's odd, even for this city. I mean, a man bleeding out in an alley with bite marks—it's not exactly a typical Friday night."

  She paused, locking her phone and grabbing a stack of files from her desk. "I'm sure someone else will handle it. Besides, even if we wanted to snoop around, we've got enough on our plate as it is."

  She set the files down with a soft thud and glanced at Alex, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Nothing like the job for Sentinel Times, though. I mean, the guy doesn't even have a degree in law, and they still let him in on cases because he's basically a superhero."

  Alex raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee. "Don't say superhero. It's metahuman, Rachel."

  "Right," she said with a mock-serious nod, "metahuman."

  As time passed, the hum of pens scratching against paper and the rustle of files filled the office. Rachel and Alex worked through the mounting stack of case files, their progress steady but slow. Alex eventually leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a groan.

  "Alright, I need to head out soon," Alex said, checking his watch. "Gotta pick up Susie from school."

  Rachel glanced up from her paperwork, her pen hovering over the page. "Hey, are you still coming to my mom's book opening later?"

  Alex nodded as he gathered his things. "Yeah, I got Susie a babysitter. After I drop her off, I'll be there. It's still at eleven, right?"

  "Yeah, I think so," Rachel replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She leaned back in her chair, twirling her pen absentmindedly. "Make sure to tell Susie I said hey. And don't forget her cookies this time. We wouldn't want any problems."

  Alex chuckled, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Noted. No cookies, no peace. Got it." He paused at the door, giving her a quick grin. "See you later, Detective. Try not to drown in paperwork."

  "No promises," Rachel called after him with a smirk, watching as he disappeared through the door. With a quiet sigh, she turned her attention back to the files in front of her, the rhythmic sound of the clock ticking accompanying her focus.

  The soft shuffle of papers filled Rachel's office. Her pen moved rhythmically across the page, the scratching sound blending with the faint hum of the overhead light. The buzz of her phone broke the stillness. She glanced at it, her green eyes narrowing slightly as Salvatore Russo flashed on the screen. Rachel exhaled sharply, letting the phone ring. Her pen pressed harder against the paper, the line of ink darker, more deliberate. When the ringing stopped, she leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension.

  "Not tonight," she muttered under her breath. Minutes passed, and she immersed herself back into the case file, flipping through faded photos and scribbled notes. Then, the phone buzzed again, this time ringing persistently. Rachel clenched her jaw, snatching the phone from the desk and answering without hesitation.

  "What is it, Russo?" she said, her tone clipped but even.

  A brief pause on the other end. Then came the familiar, steady voice. "Rachel," Sal said, his tone softer than usual, cautious. "I saw your mother at the market the other day."

  Rachel blinked, the unexpected comment making her grip the phone tighter. "And?" she asked, her tone sharp.

  "And," Sal continued, a hint of hesitation creeping into his voice, "she asked how you were doing. I had to tell her that you stopped coming to our sessions."

  Rachel's jaw tightened, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Why would you tell her that?"

  "Because she's worried about you," Sal said simply. "Just like I am. You're pushing everyone away, Rachel."

  Rachel let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, thanks so much for your concern," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "For once, can you just get a life and stay out of my business? If you want money, keep working, but don't drag my family into this."

  "Rachel," Sal said, his tone shifting, more earnest now. "You know it's not about the money."

  "Then what is it about?" Rachel shot back, her voice rising slightly. "Huh? What do you want from me, Sal?"

  "I just..." Sal's voice trailed off, and the hesitation in his silence only fueled Rachel's frustration.

  "You just what?" she pressed, her tone biting. "You just can't let me move on? Or is this some kind of personal crusade to prove you're the only one who cares? Well, newsflash—I don't need your pity."

  "It's not pity," Sal said, his voice firmer now, though there was a tremor beneath it. "I care because—"

  Rachel didn't let him finish. "You care because you get to play the savior. That's all this is. Don't act like it's more than that." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying a flicker of emotion beneath her sharp words. "You don't know what I need, Sal. You don't even know me."

  "That's not fair," Sal replied quietly, the weight of her accusation hanging in the silence between them. "You know that's not true."

  Rachel exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Whatever. You're not answering my question, so I'm done." Without waiting for a response, she ended the call, tossing the phone onto her desk as her heart pounded in her chest.

  The office felt heavier now, the quiet oppressive as Rachel rubbed her temples, willing the tension away. She knew she had been harsh, but she didn't care. Not tonight. Not when everything felt like it was closing in on her.

  The hours slipped by in a haze of paperwork. Rachel had lost count of how many files she'd sorted through, her pen dragging across the pages like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her desk was a warzone of scattered papers and half-drunk cups of coffee, but the end was finally in sight. She leaned back in her chair with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  "Done," she muttered under her breath, though the satisfaction was fleeting. Her green eyes flicked to the window, catching the deep indigo of the sky. It was darker than she'd realized, the stars piercing through the city's usual haze with surprising clarity. The sight gave her pause, her chest tightening in a way she couldn't quite explain.

  Rachel stood, stretching her stiff muscles before beginning the process of packing up. She slid her laptop into her bag with practiced efficiency, then hesitated as her gaze fell to the locked drawer on her desk. She didn't want to open it, not now. Not when she was already so close to leaving.

  But the pull was irresistible. With a quiet sigh, she pulled out the key from her pocket and turned the lock, the sound echoing in the empty office. The file inside was thick, its edges worn from constant handling. Rachel ran her fingers over the cover for a moment before slipping it into her bag with the laptop.

  "Not tonight," she whispered, as if the file itself were listening.

  She flipped off the light, the room plunging into darkness except for the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Her loafers tapped softly against the floor as she moved toward the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. Just as her hand reached for the knob, something flickered at the edge of her vision.

  Rachel froze, her pulse quickening. She turned her head slowly, her eyes scanning the dimly lit office. "Hello?" she called out, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.

  No response. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the building's old wiring. Rachel's hand tightened on the strap of her bag, her senses sharp as she scanned the room again. Nothing moved, but the air felt heavier, like it was holding its breath.

  "Get a grip," she muttered to herself, shaking her head as she reached for the door again.

  Before she could turn the knob, a sharp, frantic knocking shattered the silence. Rachel jumped, her heart slamming against her ribs as her eyes darted to the source of the sound. The door in front of her rattled with each panicked thud.

  Her fingers brushed against her holster, but she hesitated. She leaned closer to the door, her voice firm. "Who's there?"

  The knocking stopped. Rachel's breath caught in her throat as she waited for a response. Nothing came. She took a cautious step back, her hand resting on the butt of her weapon. "I'm not playing games. If you need help, say something."

  Still nothing. Her unease grew, but she forced herself to steady her breathing. She yanked the door open, her other hand ready to draw her gun. The hallway was empty, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. She scanned the space, her sharp eyes catching no sign of movement.

  "Dammit," she muttered under her breath, closing and locking the door behind her. Her hand lingered on the key for a moment, the sense of wrongness clinging to her. She turned to leave, her thoughts racing.

  And then she saw him.

  A man stood at the edge of the sidewalk, his silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights. His disheveled hair and wild eyes were the first things she noticed, followed closely by the way his clothes hung on him—torn, stained, and worn like he hadn't slept in days.

  Rachel's hand went to her side instinctively. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

  The man took a step closer, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Please," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I need your help."

  Rachel's eyes narrowed, her posture tense. "You've got about ten seconds to explain before I call the cops."

  "My name is Walter," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "Walter Finch. I—I've been looking for someone. You're Detective Parker, right?"

  Rachel's chest tightened. Her name on his lips made her stomach churn, though she couldn't say why. "How do you know my name?" she asked, her voice low and controlled.

  Walter's hands trembled as he moved closer, holding out a crumpled piece of paper. Rachel instinctively took a half-step back, her eyes narrowing as she watched him warily.

  "I read about you," Walter said, his voice frantic but tinged with hope. "I—I found this article. Said you don't turn people away when they've got a real case. And this is real. You have to believe me. Please."

  He shoved the paper toward her, but his hand shook so badly that it slipped from his grasp, fluttering to the ground. Rachel glanced down briefly but didn't pick it up, her green eyes snapping back to his face. His movements were erratic, his breathing uneven, but there was a desperation in his tone that rooted her to the spot.

  "I came a long way to find you," Walter continued, his voice cracking. "Please, just hear me out. I don't mean any harm. I just..." He paused, swallowing hard as he pressed his hands against his head. When he looked back up, his eyes were hollow. "I've unlocked something. Something dark. Evil."

  Rachel's lips tightened, her posture remaining tense as she weighed his words. "What are you talking about?" she asked cautiously.

  Walter stepped closer, his hands trembling as he gestured wildly. "I meddled with something that didn't belong to me. All because of research," he spat, his voice rising before he laughed bitterly. "Always the damn money."

  Without warning, he smacked the paper on the ground, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "I thought I was discovering something worth millions," he said, his voice almost a growl. "A box. I found it in a cave while I was working out west. Near Arizona. I thought it might've been something sacred, something left behind by the tribes, or maybe even older than that. You should've seen it—hand-carved, intricate designs, symbols I'd never seen before. I've studied a lot of cultures, but this... this was different. Unique."

  Rachel's brow furrowed as he spoke, her curiosity battling with her caution. Walter's gaze darted around as if he expected something to leap out of the shadows. He took a shaky breath before continuing.

  "I brought it home," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "At first, it was fine. I locked it up in my study, thinking I'd figure out what it was, maybe get it appraised. But then..." He hesitated, his hand brushing through his unkempt hair. "Little things started happening. I'd hear whispers at night, like someone was in the house with me. I thought maybe it was just stress, you know? Not enough sleep. But then—then I started seeing things."

  Rachel's stomach tightened as she watched him, his words taking on a chilling edge. "Seeing what?" she asked, her voice low.

  Walter laughed again, a sound that made her skin crawl. "Nightmares," he said. "At first, I thought that's all they were. My wife, my kid, burning in a fire. It was so real... so vivid. The same fire I nearly died in when I was a kid. And when I woke up? It wasn't over. I'd see the flames, smell the smoke, but it wasn't real. I couldn't tell what was real anymore and what wasn't."

  His hands shook violently, and he stumbled back a step, his breathing ragged. "Hell," he muttered, a humorless smile twisting his lips. "You might not even be real. This could all just be in my head."

  Rachel's heart pounded, but her face remained impassive. "I'm real," she said firmly. "And so is this conversation. But you need to tell me—what happened to the box?"

  Walter's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "I got rid of it," he said. "I thought... I thought if I dumped it, it would stop. I took it to a landfill, miles away. Left it there. But it didn't work. It still haunts me. It wants me to pay for letting it go. But all it wants—all it's ever wanted—is to be free."

  Rachel felt an eerie weight settle over her chest as Walter's frantic words hung in the air. It wasn't just fear she felt radiating from him—it was something sharper, more primal, something that made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. Her breath caught as her senses sharpened, every sound and flicker of light suddenly amplified.

  "I think it's alive," Walter said, his voice trembling. "Whatever's in that box... it shows you things. Your fears. Your darkest thoughts. It pulls them out and makes them real. And now... now it's coming for me."

  His words sliced through the cool night air, their weight leaving Rachel rooted to the spot. Before she could process what he'd said, Walter's wide, terror-filled eyes darted left and right, his body vibrating with a manic energy.

  "No. No, he's here," he whispered, his voice dropping to a shaky rasp. "He's watching me. I can feel him."

  Rachel's brow furrowed, her voice steady but edged with urgency. "Walter, stop. There's no one here. You need to calm down."

  But Walter didn't seem to hear her. His movements became erratic, his breathing shallow. "You don't understand!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "He's coming for me!"

  He spun around and bolted into the street, his feet pounding against the asphalt.

  "Wait!" Rachel yelled, her heart slamming against her ribs as she sprinted after him. "Walter, stop! Watch out!"

  The world seemed to slow as Rachel reached the curb, an inexplicable pull freezing her mid-step. A shiver, electric and unfamiliar, crawled over her skin, forcing her eyes to dart back. That's when she saw it.

  A shadow.

  It lingered at the edge of her vision, just beyond the dim glow of the streetlights. For a fleeting second, vivid blue eyes burned through the darkness, piercing and inhuman. Rachel's pupils constricted as her chest tightened, her breath caught in her throat. The air around her seemed to still, and her mind slipped back into an unbidden memory.

  She was kneeling in a pool of blood, her hands pressed desperately against Elliot's neck as his life spilled through her fingers. The sharp tang of copper filled the air, suffocating her. Her gaze darted up to the woman from the case, her face twisted in fear—or something worse. And behind her, looming like an omen, was the same shadow. Its blue eyes bore into Rachel's soul, its grin jagged and sickening, etching itself into her mind.

  The flash broke with the sharp, jarring sound of a bang. Rachel whipped her head toward the street just in time to see Walter's body collide with the hood of a car, the impact reverberating through the air. His torso slid across the pavement, stopping mere feet from Rachel's frozen form. She watched in stunned silence as the rest of his body lay sprawled across the street, a gruesome trail of blood connecting the pieces.

  Her stomach churned as she crouched beside Walter's broken form. His mouth moved faintly, blood pooling and spilling from his lips. Rachel leaned closer, her voice barely audible. "Walter..." she murmured, her tone laced with disbelief.

  Walter's lips twitched as he rasped out his final words, each syllable a struggle. "You... you have to stop it... before it gets out. You can't... let it..." His head lolled to the side, his bloodshot eyes staring lifelessly into the void.

  Rachel clenched her teeth, her breath hitching as she stood, her eyes following the trail of blood to where Walter's legs lay mangled. His spine jutted unnaturally, his body a grotesque testament to the violence of the collision.

  The sound of the car door opening snapped Rachel's attention to the driver. A young man stumbled out, his face pale and his hands trembling. "I—I didn't see him!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "He just... he jumped in front of my car! Is he... is he okay?"

  The boy's words faltered as his gaze traveled to the trail of blood and Walter's twisted body across the street. His knees buckled, and he bent over, retching violently. The sound of vomit splattering on the pavement jolted Rachel into motion.

  Wiping a damp sensation from her cheek, her fingers came away smeared with blood. Her green eyes locked on the boy as he stuttered, pacing erratically. "I was just trying to get home... before my mom noticed I was gone," he muttered, his voice shaking. "This isn't even my car. Shit, this isn't my car!"

  Rachel's voice cut through his frantic rambling, low and sharp. "You were speeding," she said, her face a mix of shock and cold precision. "You didn't have to drive that fast."

  The boy froze, his eyes wide and tear-filled. "I—I didn't mean to... I swear I didn't mean to!" he sobbed, clutching his head as he turned away from the scene.

  Rachel's gaze drifted back to Walter's body, her thoughts swirling as she replayed the moment. The shadow, the grin, the haunting blue eyes—it all replayed in a loop, gnawing at the edges of her mind. "This... this doesn't make any sense," she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. Her grip on her bag tightened. "But it makes perfect sense."

  She turned her eyes skyward, searching for something—anything—that might bring clarity. Instead, the city lights blurred into the night, leaving her with more questions than answers.

  Rachel pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed. The boy's panicked cries faded into the background as she knelt by Walter's lifeless form once more, her voice steady as the dispatcher answered.

  "911, what's your emergency?"

  Rachel's eyes lingered on the trail of blood one last time before speaking. "This is Detective Rachel Parker. I need to report a pedestrian accident. A man has been struck by a car at the intersection of Fifth and Main. The victim... the victim is deceased."

  Her words felt heavy in her throat as she ended the call, her thoughts still haunted by the shadow's lingering presence and Walter's dying plea.