The door opened with a hiss.
Detective Rowan Dyer stepped into the silence room, gun raised, jaw locked. The chanting stopped the moment his foot crossed the threshold—as if the place itself could feel him.
"Mara?" he called.
A figure sat in the center of the floor.
Still. Masked.
He advanced cautiously, heart hammering.
"Mara—"
The figure looked up.
She removed the mask.
Her face was pale, her hair slicked with sweat. But her eyes—
Still hers.
Rowan knelt and untied her quickly. "Are you hurt?"
"Not yet," she whispered. "We have to move. Now. They're—"
But then the door slammed shut behind them.
Lights flickered. A new voice echoed overhead, deep and warped through speakers:
"You came too soon, Detective."
Rowan raised his weapon toward the sound. "Claire?"
"Still so predictable."
Mara stood. "She's watching us. I think this whole room's wired."
Rowan nodded. "We'll find another way out."
But before they could move, a second door at the far end of the room opened.
And Claire Holloway stepped in.
No robe. No mask. Just a long black coat, red-stained cuffs, and a calmness that chilled.
Rowan raised his gun.
She didn't flinch.
"Mara," Claire said softly. "You should've come to me sooner. It could've saved so much pain."
Mara stepped forward. "You're sick."
"No," Claire said. "I'm cleansed. And I have something you need to hear."
Rowan's voice was sharp. "You're under arrest."
Claire turned to him. "You of all people should understand. You've lost someone. You remember what it felt like to scream in an empty house and hear nothing come back. The rot grows from loss."
"Save it for trial," Rowan snapped.
But Mara's voice was low. "What do you think I need to hear?"
Claire looked at her with something between pity and admiration.
"You've spent your life chasing death," she said. "But you never asked why it always finds you."
Mara frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Claire stepped closer.
"Your sister didn't die in an accident."
Rowan looked at Mara, startled.
Mara's blood ran cold.
"No one ever found the driver. No one claimed responsibility. You blamed the town, the police, the system. But the truth is—" Claire's voice dropped to a whisper—
"She was chosen."
Mara took a step back. "Liar."
"You already know it's true," Claire said, almost gently. "You always felt it. The way they covered it up. The missing footage. The witnesses who changed their story. Your sister wasn't a victim of fate, Mara. She was a sacrifice. An offering. One of the first."
Rowan raised his gun again, voice tight. "Enough."
Claire turned slowly toward him.
"And you," she said softly. "You think you came here to save her. But you were always part of the story."
She reached into her coat—and held up a photo.
Rowan's breath caught.
It was a surveillance still.
Him.
Six years ago.
Standing outside a hospital.
Behind him, on the wall, carved faintly into the brick…
The spiral.
Claire stepped closer.
"You were marked, Rowan. Before you even took your first badge. That missing boy from the Silverbird case? That wasn't your first brush with us."
Rowan looked shaken. "How do you know that name?"
"You were being tested," Claire whispered. "And you failed."
She dropped the photo at his feet.
"I'm not here to kill you. Not yet. I'm here to show you the truth. Both of you."
She gestured to the far wall.
Another door creaked open.
Beyond it: stairs.
Stone. Old. Leading deeper.
"Come," Claire said. "See what your stories were always meant to end in."
Rowan turned to Mara. "We don't go with her."
But Mara's voice was quiet. Steady.
"We do."
Rowan blinked. "Mara—"
"She knows about my sister. She knew about Lila. She knew we'd come. I don't care what this is. I need to know."
Rowan hesitated—then nodded.
Together, they followed Claire down the stone steps.
Beneath them, the air grew colder.
Wetter.
The chant returned—faint and distant—echoing up from a place deeper than the earth should allow.
Mara felt it before she saw it:
A pulse.
Like something alive was waiting in the dark.
Claire stopped at a final door. Metal. Rusted.
She turned to them.
"Behind this door," she said, "is what your world has forgotten. But we remember. We always have."
She reached for the handle.
And whispered:
"Welcome to the heart of the Cleaners."