The morning after the dream, Isolde woke with the taste of rain on her lips. The city outside was still gray, the sky heavy with clouds that refused to break. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the black card on her nightstand. It gleamed faintly in the dim light, as if it had been waiting for her to wake.
She told herself it was nonsense. A coincidence. A prank, maybe. But the scent of roses still lingered in the air, faint but undeniable. She picked up the card again, running her thumb over the embossed serpent. The texture was strange—smooth, but warm, almost like skin.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
Do you believe in coincidence, Doctor?
She froze. The message had no sender ID, no timestamp. Just those words. She typed back before she could stop herself.
Who is this?
No reply came. The message vanished from her screen as if it had never existed.
She dressed quickly, her movements sharp and mechanical. At the hospital, she tried to lose herself in routine—patients, notes, consultations—but her mind kept circling back to the card. To Victor. To the name Damien Vale.
By late afternoon, she couldn't take it anymore. She opened her laptop and searched again. This time, she dug deeper—old archives, encrypted forums, anything that might hold a trace. Most of what she found was rumor: whispers of a private society that catered to the elite, a place where pleasure and pain were indistinguishable, where people went to be unmade.
The Veil.
The name appeared again and again, always accompanied by the same symbol—a serpent devouring its own tail.
She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. It was absurd. A myth. And yet, Victor had believed it. He had died believing it.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
You're looking in the wrong places.
Her pulse quickened. She typed back, hands trembling.
Then where should I look?
This time, the reply came instantly.
Follow the scent.
She stared at the words until the screen dimmed. The scent. Roses. Metallic and sweet. She could smell it now, faint but growing stronger, as if the message itself had summoned it.
She stood, following the trail through her apartment. It led her to the window. Outside, across the street, a black car was parked beneath a flickering streetlight. The windows were tinted, but she could feel eyes on her. Watching. Waiting.
She stepped back, heart pounding. The car didn't move. The light flickered once more, then went out completely, plunging the street into darkness.
When she looked again, the car was gone.
That night, she dreamed of him again.
He stood in the same rain-soaked street, his face half-hidden by shadow. His voice was low, smooth, and dangerous.
You shouldn't have looked for me, Doctor.
She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn't come. He stepped closer, the scent of roses thick around him.
You wanted truth, he whispered. Now you'll have it.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her throat. The touch burned—cold and electric all at once. She gasped, and the world shattered into light.
She woke with a cry, her sheets damp with sweat. Her pulse thundered in her ears. For a moment, she thought she could still feel his hand on her skin.
The clock read 3:03 a.m.
She swung her legs out of bed and froze. On the floor, beneath the window, lay another envelope. Black. Sealed with silver wax in the shape of a serpent.
Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a single card, identical to the first—but this one had an address printed on the back.
The Veil. 47 Ashbourne Street. Midnight.
She stared at it, her breath shallow. The address was real. She knew the street—it was in the oldest part of the city, near the river, where the buildings leaned close together like conspirators.
She should have thrown it away. She should have called the police. But she didn't.
Instead, she placed the card on her desk, beside Victor's file. The serpent's silver eyes seemed to gleam in the lamplight.
She whispered the name once, testing it on her tongue.
"Damien Vale."
The sound of it filled the room like a promise.
Outside, the rain began again—soft, steady, relentless. And somewhere in the distance, a car engine started, its hum fading into the night.