Killing Noah would have been simple. A blade. A precise cut. Silence. But death alone would not break you, Evan. Grief fades. Pain dulls. People survive loss.
Guilt is different.
If Noah died, you would mourn him. If you believed you were the reason...You would collapse. And when people collapse, they don't run. They cling. To the only person who doesn't look at them like they're dangerous. To the only one who still believes. To me.
The location was never random. It had to be personal. The old industrial building by the river. Concrete floors. Hollow stairwells. Rusted railings that groan when touched.
You never speak about that place directly. But your body remembers it. I've seen it in the way your breathing changes when abandoned buildings are mentioned. The way your fingers curl slightly. You once described the smell without realizing you were doing it.
"Like metal and dust," you said.
You remembered our time together there.
So I chose it. Because it belonged to you, it belonged to me, it belonged to us.
If something happened there, you wouldn't hesitate. You wouldn't think logically. You would run. Exactly as I needed you to.
First thing first: Isolate Noah
The message I sent him was short. "I have proof about Hunter. It involves Evan. Come alone." Noah doesn't gamble with your safety.
He arrived right on time.
He stepped inside cautiously. Gun drawn. Shoulders tight. Calling out once.
Silence answered him.
He searched the first floor. Then the second. I stayed above him. Watching through the gaps in the metal railing.
When he reached the third floor landing, I moved. Not loudly. Not dramatically. From behind, I pressed a cloth over his nose and mouth... pre-treated with a fast-acting aerosolized anesthetic compound derived from halogenated ether. It evaporates quickly in open air. Leaves almost no trace once dispersed. Especially in a building that already smells like chemicals and decay.
He struggled for three seconds...Four...Then his body went slack. He collapsed against me, unconscious but breathing. I lowered him carefully to the floor. And I looked at him. This was the man who steadied you. This was the man you looked at with trust in your eyes. He lay there now... powerless. Silent.
That's who you are, Noah. So why did he choose you? The anger returned for a moment. Hot. Sharp. But I forced it down. Emotion makes mistakes. And I could not afford one. Not tonight.
I dragged him toward the weakened railing. Positioned him exactly where I needed him. Adjusted his body to make the fall believable. Then I waited. Patience is power.
Second: Trigger Evan
You had already been unraveling. No reply from Noah. Hours passing. Your mind spiraling. I knew you would reach a breaking point. Earlier in the week, I had mentioned the industrial district casually in conversation. Spoke about criminals revisiting meaningful locations. About unfinished business. I watched your reaction. You don't realize how easily suggestion takes root when you're afraid. When Noah stopped responding, your mind searched for answers. And it found the coordinates I planted.
You drove there yourself...7:15 p.m... Perfect.
I saw your headlights from the third floor window. Right on schedule.
When you entered the building, your voice echoed his name through the stairwell. Desperate. Raw. You ran upward. Your footsteps fast. Unsteady.
I stepped back into shadow. You reached the third floor. You leaned over the railing. And that was when I acted. One controlled push. No hesitation. His unconscious body tipped backward. The railing screamed under the sudden weight. Metal snapped. He fell. Two floors down. His body hit concrete with a sound that will stay in your skull forever. Blood spread fast. Real. Convincing. Alive.
Third: Witness Control
Two minutes before the push, I had placed an anonymous call.
"Disturbance at the old factory. Third floor. Possible assault."
Calm. Neutral. Untraceable.
Response time: six to seven minutes. Enough time for you to arrive. Enough time for you to be alone with him. Enough time for you to look guilty. You screamed. You ran downstairs. You dropped beside him. You said his name over and over like repetition could reverse gravity. And when the police stormed in, who did they see?
You...Alone...Panic written across your face.
A building tied to your trauma. A victim connected to your obsession with the case. Your history of "visions." Your insistence that you always know before it happens. The narrative assembled itself without my help.
My plan worked too perfectly. Almost beautifully. When they cuffed you, I was already there. Not first. Never first. But present. I arrived just late enough to avoid suspicion. Just early enough to look concerned.
I knelt beside Noah. Checked his pulse. Directed the medics. Gave instructions clearly, professionally. Then I looked up at you. Handcuffed. Shaking. Destroyed. And I felt something close to reverence. Everything moved when I willed it.
You ran when I predicted. He fell when I decided. The police arrived when I called. I stood untouched in the center of it all. Calm. Measured. In control. For a moment, watching the chaos unfold exactly as designed... Iunderstood why people believe in gods. Because when the world bends to your intention...It feels divine.