The town loomed closer, the road curling ahead like a maze with no way out. All I felt was a tug in my chest, pulling me forward. I didn't know if the end meant salvation—or something worse.
My heart pounded wildly, as if it wanted to stop me before I saw what waited at the end. What if I were too late? What if they were already gone? What if the vision had lied?
In my head, Allison's voice echoed again and again—crying, calling my name. I couldn't tell if it was a memory or a vision waiting to come true.
The alley of shadows appeared. My fingers locked on the wheel, eyes scanning every corner. Everything looked too familiar—too still—silence, thick and threatening. I used to lead. Now… I was following the sound of my terrified heartbeat.
"We need to split up," I said, my voice cracking. I went west, Dylan east, and Oliver south. And yet—like gravity had chosen for me—I ended up with Oliver again.
He stepped closer, his eyes fragile like the stillness before a storm. I lifted my hand instinctively, a silent stop. His expression froze—confused, almost vulnerable. Something in my chest ached.
"What's wrong?" I asked, desperate to break the silence that had lingered since the kiss. A breeze stirred between us, carrying the scent of wet leaves and rusted metal. The air vibrated, uncertain of which way my heart would fall.
But his hand still held mine—as if time had paused just for us. "We can't. Not now," I whispered, fighting myself.
"I thought you liked the kiss," he said softly, fingertips brushing my shoulder.
I bit my lip. Maybe because I did like it—but this wasn't the moment. "It was one of the most incredible things that has ever happened to me," I murmured. "But if I lose Allison because I let my feelings take over—I'll never forgive myself. Not ever."
Since the kiss, I couldn't shake the fear that I'd lost focus. Maybe that was how the kidnapper beat me.
He didn't step back. Instead, he brought my hand to his chest. "I won't say no," he whispered. "But if you're unsure—I won't be the one to convince you."
A quiet smile tugged at my lips. "… Thank you." His hand felt like an anchor in a collapsing world. But when we let go, the warmth fled like a final breath, leaving behind a silence sharper than any wound.
Footsteps. Dylan stepped from the shadows. His glance at Oliver was quick—but unmistakable. Cold. Focused. Maybe even hurt. It was as if a silence between them had been screaming for years.
Something was there—an ancient secret waiting to erupt.
"Everyone, here!" Dylan shouted. I rushed to him, Oliver close behind.
"I remember this street," Dylan said. "The first house on the right."
We ran—quietly, urgently. Every step felt final.
"What if we can't get in without breaking in?" I whispered.
"What's the problem?" Oliver replied. "Dylan can read their thoughts."
"Yeah, but thoughts can be blocked," I said. Dylan heard me—and didn't deny it. He needed eye contact, focus, and fully formed thoughts. If someone built a mental wall, he'd see nothing. That's how it worked in training.
The house appeared—low and worn. A flaking fence surrounded the place. Its windows were shuttered. The weathered number 17 stood out. We stopped at the rusted gate.
My hand trembled as I knocked. Each tap felt like a gunshot. Even the door knew this was a moment of life and death. I can't fail again. Not now.
The door creaked open.
An older man stood there. Pale skin, as if it hadn't seen sunlight in weeks. His eyes fixed on me like he already knew who I was—like he had waited for this moment. But he didn't smile. He didn't speak.
Something in his face… is familiar. It's not from this life. Maybe in a vision. Maybe from somewhere deeper.
He smelled of faded smoke and old fabric—like he belonged to a forgotten past. His eyes locked on mine for a second too long. My eyes burned, a tear slipping free before I could stop it, as if an ancient memory clawed its way out.
The way he clutched the doorframe reminded me of someone—but I couldn't recall who. He didn't blink. Not once. He maintained a calm demeanor, akin to an old doll. It could be likened to a predator concealing its teeth.
Too quiet. Too calculated. He exuded a sense of having meticulously planned every detail. I was just a piece in his game.
A necklace hung around his neck. It featured a straightforward child's drawing of a smiling girl. She had missing teeth, and her eyes were scribbled in pencil.
I froze. My heart stopped. For a moment, I didn't know if I was alive—or if everything had gone silent.
Had they come to help me… or to make sure I didn't lose control?
He looked at me without a word. Then, in a gravelly voice edged with false innocence, he asked, "Who are you looking for?"
The tension was unbearable. If I didn't act now, I wouldn't just lose them—I'd lose myself.
But maybe… it was already too late.