Rain tapped softly against the glass. The kind of rain that blurred the world, washing neon lights into long, quiet smears.
The office was silent, except for the hum of the lamp and the occasional shuffle of paper beneath my fingers. Another case file, another dead body. Fifth this month. No fingerprints, no DNA, no motive. Just the same symbol carved into the chest: a spiral, enclosed in a perfect circle.
It wasn't random. I'd seen it before.
I leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, exhaustion settling in like a slow fog. My coffee had gone cold an hour ago. I hadn't noticed.
The door creaked behind me.
I didn't turn. I knew the sound of that step. Familiar weight. Same rhythm.
"Evan," I said.
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched — too long.
I turned.
The gun in his hand looked steady. His face didn't.
"You figured it out," he said.
My eyes dropped to the weapon, then back to him. Calm. Not because I wasn't afraid…. just... tired.
"I knew it was you," I said. "I just didn't want it to be."
His expression barely shifted. "I didn't want it to be me either."
"You're part of it," I said. Not a question. A fact.
He nodded once. "They chose me. Years ago. I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
His grip tightened.
"You were my friend."
"And still am."
The sound of the shot wasn't loud. Just a sudden, sharp crack, like a book snapping shut.
Pain bloomed in my chest — sharp, immediate. I staggered back, felt the chair tip beneath me, the floor rushed up.
I couldn't breathe.
Evan stood over me, face pale. Gun still raised. Hand shaking now.
The cold came quickly, rushing in from the inside out. Vision blurred at the edges. My fingers twitched, but I couldn't lift them.
I tried to speak, but blood filled my throat. Everything around me slowed
dimmed
then stopped.
---
Darkness.
Not empty. Not still.
It was watching.
Something vast. Ancient. Breathing behind the void.
"You see too much."
A voice, but not a voice.
"What is this?"
"A door."
Pulled. No body. No weight. Just thought. Motion.
And then—light.
A scream.
Small. Fragile. Raw.
My lungs burn. Limbs flail. The world rushes in — too loud, too bright, too real.
The pair of hands lifted me. A woman sobs.
I opened my eyes.
I was not Matthew Kelenski anymore.