The night was heavy with mist. Streetlamps glowed like pale moons, their light swallowed before it could touch the ground. Kael kept his hands deep in his pockets, his mind buzzing with questions.
Riven walked a step ahead, hood up, his movements quiet and precise. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was charged—like both of them were thinking the same thing but not saying it.
They had decided to check the old warehouse near the docks. It was where the mysterious note had told them to go next. The handwriting had been sharp, deliberate. No name. No explanation. Just: If you want answers, be there at midnight.
When they reached the warehouse, the air smelled of rust and old sea water. The metal doors stood half-open, swaying faintly with the wind.
"You sure about this?" Kael asked, his voice low.
"No," Riven said simply, "but I'm going in."
Kael followed.
Inside, the place was empty except for old wooden boxes and the sound of dripping water. Their footsteps echoed. The beams from their small flashlights cut through the darkness, sweeping over walls covered in faded paint and old posters.
Kael was about to speak when a soft sound came from above—a faint creak of a boot on metal.
He froze. "Riven—"
"I heard it," Riven murmured.
A figure appeared at the top of the rusted stairs. Tall, dressed in black, a hood hiding most of their face. They didn't run. They just stood there, watching.
"Who are you?" Riven called out.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, they tossed something down—a small envelope—that landed between Kael and Riven with a soft thud. Then, without another word, they vanished into the shadows.
Riven ran up the stairs, Kael close behind, but when they reached the top, there was no one. Just a broken window swinging open in the wind. Whoever it was, they were gone.
Back on the ground floor, Riven picked up the envelope. Inside was a single photograph—grainy, black and white. It showed two men standing together, faces partly shadowed, but Kael's breath caught.
One of them looked exactly like him.
The other… Riven.
Only the clothes were different. Old-fashioned. Military. And both men were standing shoulder to shoulder like they'd known each other their whole lives.
Kael's pulse pounded. "This… this can't be real."
Riven's jaw tightened. "We've never met before this year."
Kael wanted to agree, to dismiss it, but something deep in his chest told him otherwise. The moment his fingers brushed the photograph, his vision blurred—
Gunfire. Smoke. The scent of burning wood. Kael—though in this memory his name wasn't Kael—was crouched behind a crumbling wall, gripping a pistol. Beside him, Riven—no, someone who looked like Riven—was bleeding from a cut across his forehead.
"You're hurt," Kael said, voice hoarse.
"I'm fine," the other Riven replied, eyes sharp. "We need to move. They're closing in."
Kael grabbed his wrist. "I'm not leaving you."
For a brief moment, amidst the chaos, Riven had looked at him with something raw and unspoken—trust, fear, something more. Then they ran.
Kael staggered back into the present, gripping the side of a box for balance. Riven was watching him carefully.
"You went pale," Riven said. "What happened?"
Kael shook his head, unsure how to explain. "I… I saw something. Us. Somewhere else. Another time."
Riven didn't laugh. He didn't call it crazy. He just frowned, as if maybe he believed him.
Before they could say more, a noise came from outside—the sound of a car door slamming, then footsteps approaching the warehouse.
The mysterious figure was back. But this time, they weren't alone.