Sleep came late, and when it did, it brought no peace.
Ethan dreamed of the lake again.
The same moonlit surface, flat as glass. The same smell of wet earth and gasoline. And always—always—the sound of something moving beneath the water, slow and deliberate, as if it knew he was there.
In the dream, he stood at the shoreline, a gas can in one hand, a matchbox in the other.
Behind him, the car was already sinking, headlights glowing faintly like the eyes of something drowning.
And inside the car—
He woke before he could remember the face. He always woke before the face.
---
The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator. It was still dark outside; the clock read 4:42 a.m. Ethan poured himself a glass of water and stood at the window, watching the city.
Somewhere down there, buried in the sprawl of lights, was the place he'd sworn never to return to. The place where his old life had ended.
---
By noon, he was in his study, pacing.
Three days. That was the deadline. The man in the colorless suit would come back, and Ethan would either hand over his truth or… what? The man hadn't said.
The Devil, at least, had been clear: fail to uphold your end, and you paid. The man in the suit was different. No threats. Just certainty.
Ethan pulled out an old, battered notebook from the back of his desk drawer. Inside were scraps of his past—scribbled notes, dates, half-formed memories he'd written down in the years before the deal.
He flipped to a page near the middle. The handwriting there was jagged, as if written in a shaking hand.
July 18th — 2:17 a.m. — she stopped breathing.
His chest tightened. He didn't read further.
---
That evening, Lena came into the study.
"You've been weird all day," she said, leaning against the doorframe.
"Work," Ethan lied.
"You don't work," she said with a faint smile. "Not anymore. You have everything you wanted."
"Do I?" The words came out sharper than he meant.
Lena frowned. "Ethan… is there something you're not telling me?"
He almost laughed. If she only knew. If anyone only knew.
Instead, he stepped forward, brushed a hand through her hair, and kissed her. "No," he said softly. "Nothing worth telling."
But even as he said it, he saw something flicker in her eyes—doubt.
---
Later that night, Ethan left the penthouse. He told Lena he needed fresh air, but really, he needed distance.
The city streets smelled of rain, though the sky was dry. He walked without direction until he found himself in the old industrial district, where brick warehouses loomed like sleeping giants.
And then he saw it.
A figure standing across the street, perfectly still. Not moving, not swaying. Just watching. The streetlight above flickered, and for a split second, Ethan saw a suit—colorless.
He blinked, and the figure was gone.
---
When he returned home, there was a small envelope slipped under his door. No name. No return address. Just a single sheet of paper inside.
Lake Harrow. Midnight. Come alone.
His blood ran cold.
---
Lake Harrow was thirty miles north of the city. He hadn't been there in years—not since the night everything had gone wrong.
Not since the night that truth had been born.
At 11:47 p.m., Ethan parked his car on the dirt road leading to the water. The air was colder here, the trees black silhouettes against a pale moon. The lake was exactly as he remembered—still, silent, endless.
He stepped toward the shore.
"Back again," a voice said from the darkness.
Ethan spun. The man in the colorless suit stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets.
"You knew I'd come," Ethan said.
"Of course." The man gestured to the water. "It's where your truth began."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You don't know what happened here."
The man tilted his head. "Don't I?"
For a moment, neither spoke. Then the man smiled faintly. "You've been telling yourself for years that it was an accident. That what happened that night wasn't your fault. But deep down, you've always known better."
Ethan's breath caught. The smell of gasoline seemed to fill the air again, as strong as it had in his dream.
The man stepped closer, his empty eyes locked on Ethan's.
"Three days, Ethan Vale. That's all you have left to decide."
And just like before, he was gone—vanishing into the night without a sound.
Ethan stood alone at the water's edge, staring at his reflection. But it wasn't his reflection staring back.
---
End of Chapter 3
Next: Chapter 4 — The Night at Lake Harrow
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